Blake Leitch Poems

Two Worlds

Fresh cut grass, old and rusty braziers,
a couple of empty beer bottles lying about the house;
there is laughter in these walls,
usually my favourite kind,
but it is a world of certain solitudes for those who differ.

Whitewashed walls, inspired paintings,
a labyrinth of classrooms where I long and struggle to be;
there is hope in these walls,
there is peace,
but it is a world of certain solitudes for those who differ.

Some Days

I wish I could tell you
how the sun reaches,
how the shadows crawl
on a Sunday afternoon.

I wish I could speak
of the pure white pavement
or the countless cars
behind the chapel.

If I could only tell you
of the beautiful people,
the beautiful souls…
But not today.

From time to time,
a broken mind cracks sensibility,
and sound becomes
nothing more than noise.

Elegy for Rina Smith

When I grow up I am going to be an air-hostess.
When the aeroplane crashes I am going to be a nurse.

Rina Smith, Grade II
Codrington School Magazine, 1959

Choices… choices.

For a young girl in Chipata in 1959,
there are few choices.
For a young girl in Chipata in 1959,
there must always be a backup plan.
For a young girl in Chipata in 1959,
there are no such things as idle hands.

How lucky I am despite it all.
How lucky we are who grew up with more
than the very worst, than the unluckiest.
How lucky to have choices more than Rina Smith.

Eggs

One’s basket is simply that,
ne’er more or less.
And when the chook is underfed,
the evidence lies in her nest.
When the chook is underfed
and the eggs are scarc’ly few,
how very easy it is to place
them all in One’s purview.
How easy it becomes
to forget a wider scope
as each solitary egg
becomes One’s lasting hope.
And yet, when ev’ry egg
is but one of a dozen more,
how quickly One’s little basket
becomes a veritable and d’verse store.

My Cumorah (II)

Green embers burn
at the heart of the hearth;
smoke wafts in an eddy,
higher and higher;
friends and family warm their lungs
on a soft, cloudy night.

My warmth comes from the flame,
coaxing flashes of bygone ashes.
My God is not so conspicuous tonight,
not in this place;
but absence is not what I feel.
I have a glowing fire and a promise
that leads me tonight,
a light that leads me
past endless night.

Old Ghosts

Oh, weary, weary mind;
why do you falter?
why does a ghost of twelve years passed
continue to plague thee thus?

Have you not sought refuge?
have you not sought light?

Then why, oh weary mind,
do you falter so
on these new nights?

My Way

I once fell for a girl
whose name I didn’t know,
whom I’d talked with for a midnight hour,
and vowed never to talk to again.

Such has always been my way.

A friend once asked me
if I were a masochist,
how I could let such a unidirectional emotion
direct my life. I had
no answer, and as a crossroads
has reached me once more,
…
I still have no answer.
All I have is experience
in putting shattered pieces of myself
back together to fall once more.

Such has always been my way.