John Tustin

John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many literary journals, online and in print, in the last dozen years. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.

EMPTY STATION

I wait for you
In an empty station:
My footsteps echo,
Unknown breezes irritate stray paper
Into little whirlwinds just above the tracks.
No passing trains, no announcements,
As I pace from the bench to the information booth
And then back to the bench.
You will come.
It is a cold and grimy station
And I pass the time humming to myself
And reading the advertisements flaking
On the walls.
I do not pray.
I do not worry.
You may be late,
But you will come.
I’ve been waiting my entire life.
You have to.

A FIELD OF FLOWERS

She appeared to him as a field of flowers,
Adorned him as a garland,
Surrounded him as a vine’s tangled embrace,
Nourished him as a garden and a grove

Then 

Washed him away as a flood,
Drowned him as a tide,
Diminished him as centuries of waves upon a single
Frazzled
But resolute
Stone.

A RIOT

There is a riot
Slowly emerging
Within the soft flame
Of a candlelight
Unnoticed
Flickering
Upon a windowsill
Slick on the other side 
Of the glass
With new insistent 
Rain

And this riot
It flares up
In my eyes
And even
Yours
So darkly brown
And still
Burning
Like a city
Sacked 

They have set
Our eyes
On fire
From that soft flame
On a windowsill
As the rain pounds down
Unabated

May we
Burn down
To the ground 

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