STAN WHITE

Fallen Stars

Saturn is visible in the
west at dusk the tables
say. We see its pinpoint
yellow rising. But who’s
to say? Who tells? Who
turns the tables?
Three-quarters of our
world is hearsay. Maybe
more, untouchable and
once or twice removed;
known only by another’s
telling.
No way to touch the
striker of the bell or sight
the steeple.
What trust, what faith
 another’s truth is more
dependable than
our imaginings?

What might we think
the stars, without the
thought we think we
always know?
Realms have pyramided
on erroneous suns.

Strike the chains of
second-hand-me-downs
bright, fairy world.

SJW. 7 February 2001. 3:32 p.m.

Stan White reading his poetry at Tower Poetry Centre Book Launch

Stan White has written non-fiction all his life, and more recently, poetry and short stories. He has published books of poetry and his work appears in the usual literary anthologies and journals. He is retired and lives with his wife in Brantford, Ont.