SurVision Magazine
An
international online magazine that
publishes Surrealist poetry
in English.
Issue Twelve
GEORGE MOORE
After the Battle
after Cezar Vallejo
After the bombs fell
the hospital kept burning
and a dead woman rose
on her gurney
She woke from the ashes
and walked out into the street
People were fleeing a few stopped
to greet her with amazement
We are blessed you are alive
How many more have survived
they asked but she
was dead and said nothing
She met a man combing the ruins
for the shoes of his children
and he said I'm so glad you are alive
but please do not ever leave me again
The woman was dead
and could not reply
Everywhere people fled
and left behind lives of wax
great impression melting
the earth eating the dead
But her silence was different
it was the weight of the dead
and their questions
the emptiness of grieving
Prisoner
after Alan Dugan
From his cell he could see the world
circling like a vulture the not-quite
dead-center of their shame
in leaving him to the birds
He scratched his name on the cell wall
in bold letters portraying a taste
for Renaissance art and façade
and possibly dance he thought
Over the years he learned to spell
the zero of his earnings swelled
and crowded others in their cells
so many dreams then of escape
The years were cured in urine
and the mold of ancient rhymes
He remembered early angry times
before the flood and devastation
He settled in to spend his wealth
on the bloodline of his memory
and when released at last
went back to work
preparing the world around him
for its blind and insolent ending
George Moore lives on the south shore of Nova Scotia, Canada. His works appear in The Atlantic, Poetry, Colorado Review, Orion, and Stand. His recent collections are Children's Drawings of the Universe (Salmon Poetry 2015) and Saint Agnes Outside the Walls (FutureCycle 2016).
