Poem by Chris Sparks


 

The Hunter

Outside the big Chinese bank tower
is a shiny silver sculpture of a rhinoceros.
It seems ironic.

Under the shade of a tree by a river
sits the hunter, with his first icy, bubbling,
gin and tonic.

Close your eyes and imagine
a thread of connectedness over time and space,
holding these two things together.

Well times they change and before long
there will be no hunters left because
the rhinos will have left this place, forever.

 

“The Scream’s Solitude” © Bill Wolak

 

Chris Sparks “44 years old, husband, father and teacher. Currently we live in Taiwan where I teach Maths and write poetry, but I only get paid for one of those.”

Bill Wolak is a poet, photographer, and collage artist. He has just published his twelfth book of poetry entitled Love Opens the Hands with Nirala Press. His collages have been published in over a hundred magazines including: The Annual, Peculiar Mormyrid, Danse Macabre, Dirty Chai, Hermeneutic Chaos Literary Journal, Lost Coast Review, Mad Swirl, Otis Nebula, and Horror Sleaze Trash. Recently, he was a featured poet at The Mihai Eminescu International Poetry Festival in Craiova, Romania. Mr. Wolak teaches Creative Writing at William Paterson University in New Jersey.

 

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