Armistice Song

The waves of my soliloquy, smash
Like a fragile man-o-war
On the rocks‎ of your eloquent entropy
We dance with words
Futile, embattled,
Furious, embittered

Our entrenched legions’ furore
Like a delicate dirge
On the lips of our prophets’ poetry
We dance with words
Fatigued, ‎estranged,
Forlorn, ‎entitled

Our canon salvos silenced‎, suddenly,
Like a hammer fall
On the ‎chains of our conflict – irony,
We dance with words
Reunited, belated,
Resolved, befriended

Patrik Gryst

Hiroshima: 70

After the thunder-shock
of seventy-thousand sighs,
a pale procession
of ghosts
bathed in blood,
limbs shattered, missing,
dumb-struck manikins
limping through
demolished Hiroshima.
Seventy-thousand leaves
on a cherry tree
in Tavistock Square,
whispering through generations,
‘Never again!’

Patrik Gryst

Hearth Song

This song
I mouth, patrolling
the house of my childhood
is heartless,
bellowed into frost-bitten hands
on summer nights
to heat a fire in the hearth
of your lost heart,
hewn from autumn wood.
My teenage poems, buried
under ice in the garden,
are thawing.
All day I have sweated
collecting wood
for the fire.

Patrik Gryst


Darkest dreaming hour:
‎The soft pre-dawn tide
Floating harbour boats,
Ghost-light of Aldebaran
My constant guide;
Ship’s silent running,
Cloud-shadowed cover
My perpetual hejira.
While fishermen and seabirds
Make for landfall’s realm,
My steerage is for Alfheim
An albatross at the helm
Patrik Gryst