Showing posts with label classic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label classic. Show all posts

Skyscape

Hillside.
Blue sky.
Breath blowing above squinting eyes.
Watch the clouds sprinting by.

At once- a dragon, a lamb.

Souls of puddles awaiting
yellow rubber-booted stamp
of toddler’s approval.

Unsullied, before the fall.
Beyond the reach of trees and steeples tall.

I indicate the shape of a claw-footed bath.
You show me Charon’s Lethe-locked craft.
We laugh
and under the disapproving huff
of angst atmospheric
the clouds wander off
giving unbroken blue perspective.

Vertigo grips.
I bite my lip
as realization drips
savagely.
All that holds us here is gravity.

Before us an infinite we can’t see
through eyesight limited by our humanity.
The perception of being pinned in place by forces
we name and explain with theoretical solemnity;
research in universities;
master in laboratories;
weaponise selectively;
is overwhelming.

If we hold our breaths and listen
we can hear tiny rustles in the grass by our heads.
Insects inspecting our picnic while
we repose reflecting
on shifts of perspective.

The earth is a dervish and I a willing conductor.
I feel her energies flow through me.
Honeyed, bulbous, nebulous,
effervescent viscosity,
warming, wondrous.

Nails clutch roots and wet dirt crowds cuticles
as our indentations of individuality
smooth to meaningless

completed by connection’s kiss.

Clown.

Just one more clown in his circus you are.
Such a public mockery.
You are a tool in his all-consuming self-love.
Unwilling to face the one way, blackhole nature of it all.
You stand in painted smile.
The audience watch clutching breath
for him to pull out the chair.
The ringmaster owns your eyes and time.
Are you so blinded by footlights
that you can truly call this
astounding self-degradation
love?

Just one more clown in his circus you are.
Watch the pretty girls lead the horses away.
The spectacle is leaving town.

He Says, She Says

He says I'm not the me I was,
That I have changed irreparably.
He says we argue all the time.
Ironically, I disagree.
He says he looks at others now
And admits it's hungrily.
He says that there is nothing wrong,
then dredges fights long-dead to me.
He says he wants his favourite food;
My single staple kedgeree.

I says he spends no time with me.
I've substituted him because
we spend our evenings silently.
He is not moved by beat or rhyme
or language - aural gold to me.
I know I've changed, but badly? How?
It's all improvements I can see.
Does someone always end up wrong?
Or is it plainly sad to see
That Jude is our saint-patronly.

He

He is a misanthropic Dr Seuss character
Fantastic and forlorn.
In his tower, viewing Camelot.
A spaceful time; timeless but for
A dinosaur. And memorabilia of a time
More fabulous than now.
Self evident truths. Pained. Personally haunted.
Exquisite facade. Visually gifted.
Betrayed by sight.
Stand alone at arms length.
Internationally adored.

Never change.

Constant Companion

Let me with thoughts just silent be
And smoke this rollie; 43.
I have no urgent place to go,
I’m not alone. I have my Woe.
She dances oh-so-prettily
With outstretched arms on bended knee
But pauses often just to sigh
And if you ask she won’t say why.
She’ll just smile enigmatically
And offer you a cup of tea
In tones so sweet. She’s never sour.
Not once has she been known to glower.
To some she seem so pure and free,
But this is bonded liberty
And you can wager futures on’t;
There is a price for freedom’s font.
In her eyes you’ll seldom see
Unadulterated glee.
There’s always partial secrets too.
They must be kept from folk like you.
For Woe and I, we are a we,
That’s she and I, not you and me
And she’s observed all that I’ve squandered,
Lives I’ve bruised and lessons pondered.
I’m accustomed to her company
And other don’t see her, just me.
With blackened, widened, blinded eyes,
They’ll never see behind the lines
So let me with thoughts silent be.
I’m not alone, for Woe’s with me.

Bitterly Cold

How dare the Sunshine show his face,
When with illusory Autumn Summer’s replaced
And offers only cold embrace
To those who crave his warmth the most?
But cradles the cruel and wantonly idle
Whose joys are temperate and tidal;
Who never do a thing but sidle
Out of work and blithely boast.