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john davies
notes from a small vicar
from a parish
in Liverpool, UK

    Tuesday, December 02, 2003
    Why Some Men Cannot Remember The Colour of Eyes
    Men are really listening all the time.
    Their wives see them staring at the trees,
    rivers, small sections of the garden, even sheds.
    This is because the stars reside there, the beginnings of days,
    the immense moments in the lives of insects, Leonardo
    assembling a kite in his mind.
    Of course they work to conceal this, hiding behind agendas
    and computers and sports results and men's magazines
    and big boy stuff, the serious equipment and the technical.
    They can see beyond the colour of eyes mosaics of minds
    that surpass words and even memory itself. The miracle
    of life can be encountered in a card game, on the lake's surface,
    In the second bottle of wine, in the recollection of the tree house
    in a garden that no longer exists. Thus bikes and cars and constantly
    purchasing the same shirt, thus that moment before the new
    joke is told, thus terrible ties and bird's eggs and staring through
    the immediate as if their dead fathers had just called to them.

    D.H.W. Grubb, Runner-Up, Cardiff International Poetry Competition 2003, from New Welsh Review, Winter 2003