once a hole

he is
a prisoner

the poet prisoner

his jailer

what will you write
of this

a ha ha

and what
will you make
out of that

blood spills
to the floor

teeth fall
hardly a sound
where they settle

each movement

each moment

brings him close
to the end


a gift of paper
a gift of pencil
blunted to stub

come you poet
write me your poem
write me


the universe is black
and contained
within a room

four rising walls
and a hardened floor

there are no openings

the dark

the beam of a lonely ray
up in a roof
so high
he can hardly
imagine it

the sun
is a kindness
with a benevolent face

who longs to shine
even into the dark places
where no welcome lingers
to greet passing light

a single ray
through an un-guessed hole
a halo
around a sharp white point

high on a wall
then slow-moving around
and down

circling the room

towards the floor

as day-time passed
and the sun moved
in its progression

through the sky

so so slow

until ray meets floor
and shines its light
for a moment in passing
upon the upturned face
of one poor man

on his knees

face upturned
eyes closed
reverent as
a worshiper

the sun



so you poet

so that is a poem

I know it now

I know you now

tomorrow I will pound a poem
of my own

metal on metal

can you guess the name

my poem will be called

a hole
was here

a ha 
a ha ha ha

once a hole

© Frank Prem, 2017

June 2017 Poem #37: five bird poems (Benalla)



4 thoughts on “once a hole

  1. This is a grim but wonderful poem. I have been a member of Amnesty International’s urgent action network for over 30 years. There are many people , in the situation your poet is in, who have struggled through torture and confinement. I don’t know if that was what you were describing but it is what I saw.

    Liked by 1 person

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