#poem #poetry #amwriting divine comedy - canto 12

canto 12

night falls silent
or half stilled from that refrain
of cars and crush
the humming electric wire
the duller billboard of desire

but now it is too dark
amid the glow of the orange bark
to fully see my majesty
mere mortal pictures fail
to record this divine expression
desperate for grace and favour
barely shown
and never seen
as faceless now as in life

captured in the crowd on film
a visage hidden
that never rioted
of sliced a land lady with a knife
I might rattle my chains
to cry aloud in despair
but for all my want of formless frame
to escape your frightened stare

I linger here more unseen
than when keen to clamber for recogition
however slight
at best I'm a weird inconvenience
at worst I am forgotten true
for want of brass admiration
within one week
I'm the problem for those whose reality
is built on the elixir of eldorado


The Blue Book

#poem #poetry #amwriting divine comedy - canto 11

canto 11

below the decked black clouds
the upper reaching moor shines emerald now
lit by the slashing sun
between the rain soaked rungs
of the ladder bent above
without rainbow or climbing feet

the raw bouldered hanging cliff
yellow in the evening state
stripped to demerara soft
to mock their hardness and their weight

as all melt away at night
to their beds again they go
but those of us unsure tarry
stuck between our choice
of forward into bliss
of fake delay for hope to kiss
those we made
and those we love
for whom we wait above all others
we hang limp in willow wishes
for livid life taunts and sneers

back becomes
but back and how
in this place meaningless
a dimension all encompassed
all at once
and not at all
where should I wish to be a raven
I might just as easy be its call
resonate across the valley
until my legs in tiredness cease
or be breathed into a sheep
or tugged within an oaken trunk
dragged between the roots and heaven
to be blown without regard
for that craw from which I flew

and yet to see the grazing sheep
who like me are limbo laden
between the field and the gate
that opens for death

and when we slip beyond that door
where everything commends us
only memory remains
sweet as roasted lamb
for what we have become
now we lay beyond 'I am'

it is this realm of one for the road
when halfway through the glass
we think of home
and that fancy gossip we will impart
until we drink our draft
and all the night blurs slow
as we swell large our clever brightness
loud we crow
and small we love
against our belted passing time

then home we go
all thoughts clean wiped
cold shouldered for our fool talk
squeezed dry as sand in an eye
without a cup or trophy


The Blue Book

#poem #poetry #amwriting divine comedy - canto 10

canto 10

I linger in that mortal realm
display odd tricks
like moving things
caught peripheral in the dawn
or partly heard words and thoughts

so dissatisfied
so unfulfilled
so like that part of me
which lingered at the back of rooms
frightened by party chatter
gauche and gloomy
inept at what I thought was right
and why I chose to die
to escape those petty deaths

I go once more to the happy places
feel once more the pleasant smells
taste once more those views
that caught my breath
made me growth so large
I was the universe in that place
rooted to the earth and sky

absurd now
this ghost of myself
seeking the ghost of the ghost
of a ghast of a moment
forever trapped and never changing
all the while I feel the draining
of my tortured soul on brink of heaven

just let go
and rise
and trust
to remembered

this moorland hill cares not
to whom it lifts it's skirts in splendour
and this ever changing beach
seen again in blue skied summer
oyster-catcher's strutting to dip at the tide
not seeing the shadows of the headland
or bothered by the time
none of this cares for me
trapped within repeating film
for that day I hold special
when bubbled joy ascended
in humanity

just let go
and rise
and trust
to be saved
from that fear of success
that gnaws at you in prison cell

The Blue Book

#poem #poetry #amwriting divine comedy - canto 9

canto 9

as the rat chews my brain
my spirit rises to the light
streaming through the window barred
hovering high upon the wall
and I rise
rise in split souled curiosity
for though I know the simple truth
of my wished for torment
feeding rodents teeth

as lithe as water round reads
I rise
I leave the flesh of my soul
to be devoured with no regard
while my true self lifts to that window
gazes through the bars
to the meadow
and the trees
and the three sunned sky
but there I do not stop
for I fly

slip from my cell
and soar on easy beaten wings

there
there I see the town
it's white houses among trees
the river ambling carstone tinted
beneath the scutted sky
the sheep of the fielded
the scurrying people
and the afternoon idlers sipping coffee
the trout basking in the shade of the bank
and spot the ladybird
perpetually flying to an orphaned home

and there are my children
and there is my wife
at the unsettled grave
with posies of flowers
on their face they show the scar
of my confused departure

don't they know the joy
of which I have been
or understand the pain of which I suffer
and can they knot

I stop myself

for the pleasures of the self-obsessed pain
or the thrill of reunion
though fulsome in their comfort
do not stand in equal merit
to that true pleasure they possess
with each new breath
and each expelling
the wheeling seasons
or the sun warmed back

for they have that narrow path
from which slipped I
to a broader realm
and though I love each one to bursting
my place is not enticement

my candle gutters
weakened
and my phantom form
left within that cell
to the welcomed assault I bid come blithely

and I understand
why now
despite false pride
I come to watch divided

for the answer to my question is 'yes'
dead I am

it is no joke
and had I only held harder to the rope
I would not be in that hole
but whole
and one
with those I love

The Blue Book

#poem #poetry #amwriting divine comedy - canto 8

canto 8

locked in a room
hearing lives roll around
in braying cries
the lacking pound of doom

head in hands
the dreams revisit
this time more honest
of my faults

in each offered passage
between the life evolved
in the shadows and the diverts
a pearl bearing clam
prized open now
by prison dirty fingers

now that name I spat with ire
sticking to me disgrace drooling
of all superiority inversed

now each unkindness shrinks me small
and bent of back
with plucked eyen
until in blindness
I call out in pleading fright
to touch another however briefly
share a smile in casual exchange
to repair the hurt
of friendship strained

now the flies extinguished
buzz malicious
surrounding round my fractured spirit
I carry heavier than tired feet

forgiveness is the sweetest fruit
but one more choked
than tasted

yet for all the desire to escape this room
I cannot accept humility


The Blue Book

#poem #poetry #amwriting divine comedy - canto 7

canto 7

'wake up'
a rat faced man
with open sores and bleeding gums
looms above me
in panic I stare at the yellowing stones
of the jaundiced cell
'liberal' he barks
in reply I meekly shake my head
all the normal caveats escape me
for now is not the place to wallow in the subtle
by the stench of the breath
I am guessing the rot in his gum
is the cause of the blood
alone and foresaken
one should not trust to chance

in the exchange of snap decisions
that pass for definition
of the entirety of the human condition
we pass
into the revealed fate

or so I fear
when in response to the questionairre
I paint a less guilty self
into a sugared corner

the rat faced man
of shrivelled wings
cares not
for I am but a number
of boxes ticked
that on a whim
he might tick to tease
or condemn

'usurer' he asks at last
probed and prodded
all my sins
nods he leaves me
to the dark drip
and the muffled screaming of souls
along the corridor
who repent and wail
in fear for what awaits

but I
refuse to lose all hope
wrapped in failing courage languished
the ant on which I stamped
and took delight
does not compare to the fists never thrown
or the knife sheathed and never dagged
nor the spit that stayed in my mouth
and whenever asked advice
I always spurned the pandered truth

as I run through these justifications
thinking the thoughts stay within my head
I feel the mocking taunt
of echo
in the tumult

for all that can make release
is a keening lamenting shriek
enjoined with the mulititude
clutching the pride of sin
tightly in the spirit's fist


The Blue Book

#poem #poetry #amwriting divine comedy - canto 6

canto 6

night falls with a clap of hands
fresh bathed in new silk sheets
scented with jasmine
and the effulgence of parched earth wetted

in the mauve darkened sky
silver stars diamond white
perfom symphonious lullabies
gentle as spring's first breath
opening the blossom

curled in sleep undreaming
there I see my life
replete with soundtrack of myself
in dialogue with action

not in the dock
but at the bar
a roll of things left undone
or moments when I might have done
but did not cat for want of change
they come not now in accusation
chiding still
but not in spite
for here where time has no meaning
one cannot set the past to right

I say not in pride
of admiration
for what was done
was done for good
these choices
now shown in aspic
are minor
they are forks in the road
events missed
in the general narrative
alternatives at best
justice is that is the process
held within the vision seen
and I shall not condemn myself
for sake of fifteen minutes
when
I lingered for a coffee
instead of hastening for the train

no stop

for perfection

stop to consider
if this is what I ought to do
gentle reader would you
would you pick at the offered threads
of misdemenours long forgotten
that child you called a name
the door you allowed to close
when it was just as a easy
to stay to keep it open
and that is before we reach the lovers
whose roses you crushed
and letter you ripped
or the plastic genius
over whose prose you skipped

yes no one is perfect
and those who have had therapy
know only to well
the purpose of this cinema spiritual
with no corporeal regard
what punishment can there be
for I too well acknowledge
the brightest of the suns
not in pity I expect
whole in mercy I respect
and this night summoned by my wish to rest 
is in itself perfection sweet
for me to be outcast


The Blue Book

#poem #poetry #amwriting divine comedy - canto 5

canto 5

in that dance of generations
I see myself re-fleshed through the ages
as each before and them that follow
show similar in ridge and brow

and from them I can see
our history ringed as in a tree
spreading and contracting stories
specific to each time and place
each time
wound and awound around a thread of hope
passed along the line

yet some do not make human change
as widened range of life emerges
dogs and raptors
birds and flees
each a dormant kin to me

for now that glade crammed space
packed in tight
too tight to dance
as each thing that ever lived
or shared an atom
crams and crushes in shaken greeting
there imortal
in memorial

The Blue Book

#poem #poetry #amwriting divine comedy - canto 4

canto 4

at last we reach a stand of trees
the air within is warm and free
bees flit round the honeysuckle

we sit upon a log of elm
when a second revelation comes
for suddenly I realise
that my daughter is a woman
and been since we met
and I have become a timeless foil
for in this realm she is my guide
not the baby born to death
on which my guilt full fat has fed
it is this gift a parent needs
to see their flesh full grown

then the flying working bees
transform in flashes before me
into the relatives that I love
to stand before me in a row

there is my gran smiling sweet
my father happy
as when on a saturday
drinking whiskey at the bar
beside him his stern father
and my nan
as bees convert to uncles and aunts
and all hold out
plates of food

the music of that place
changes to a banquet tune
the log upon which we rest
grows legs and chairs
and table shape

as we dance and laugh and sing
beyond the trees falls the night
and we within that fey glade
revel in our company

but reeling round and through the leaves
I notice briefly a view
more sterile than this place of cheer
of the world I left behind
it scuttle shifts
and tugs me back

now I question 'am I dead'

this death is not as I imagined
it more resembles those visions
that as a child I constructed
to reconcile those fears and dreads
of being mattered
in optimism

for this mirth
this taste if happy hours
beneath branching verdant bowers
full contradicts in delight
that black death darkness
told to us

for here is joy
without regret
in which we spirits prance
unapologetic rite
our souls entwine in caress
as when in life in idle glance
when fed on love
acknowledged
embrace the pride that swells
of sharing that divine gift

'divine divine divine' sigh I
and look up to the gorgeous sky
threefold of sun
I wish for rain
to wash my soul in ecstasy 


The Blue Book

#poem #poetry #amwriting divine comedy - canto 3

canto 3

we walk together through the fields
hand in hand touching souls
our eyes aglow like falling rain
when moonlight seeps through the clouds
droplets illuminate the flowers

it is then I note
the brightest day
three sons ablaze
in cloudless sky

one shines brighter than the rest
serene the fire and so blue
and one so faint not for the eye
it's light shines from deep within
the third a comet in aspect
a bearding tail hanging down
it's stands upon the stranded prop
around it
the two rotate
and mesh and weave full shine together
changing colours as they go

for here again the melody
flowing forth like rivers crashing
when toward in estuaries
churning out in eddying circle
forward round then back to sykes
that form in moment
break to becking brooks and streams
ripple up to inlet tide
refract
retract
to barely themes
of mass and motion
keeping time
for wind turned cocks to hold direction
sublime in time of rhyming chimes

and always at the horizon edge
stand powder trees of dusting green
swaying gently with the stillness
of those meadows in which we pass

we walk
with talk flowing through our fingers
experience held
and then let go
draining from us anxious secrets
that only we as akin may know

do not ask
my gentle reader
what was said as we stroll
for the visions in that higher plain
are meant
for my sense alone


The Blue Book

#poem #poetry #amwriting divine comedy - canto 1

canto 1

amid the flowers on tall stems
I see my daughter dressed in white
her hand outstretched in greeting

from my knees I beg forgiveness
for those words we only know
those guttural words spoken in fear
that came from darkness
into darkness go and went
and wept again
for we two bonded now shall be

and she so bright
beyond the veil
takes lead of me to wipe my tears
for no more shall vexation
bind to we

she looks just like the phantom
glanced at night beside my bed
though now she has a fuller form
taller
straighter
oh how I love her
here in this life
of bright sharp calm

lead me bright enlightened daughter
for I have done so much harm


The Blue Book

#poem #poetry #amwriting divine comedy. .- prologue 2

prologue 2

it's beautiful when the music stops
when you hear in your soul the conversation

without the cross-fed weeding lines
of idiots
 in contemplation

'do you love me'
'do you think I'm cool'
'I'll drink this to excess'
'I'm a total moron'
'oh think me cool'

no

NO

'hell is other people'
satre said

and I've been stoned so long
to know that he was right -
- and deeply
- deeply -
deeply deeply incorrect

for the hell they bring
is not the punishment of demons
or the torment of hope
but the callous disregard
of unconformed conformity
in a world of liars

and so I lie here
in that place that place
- that ever was known to me -
beyond the carping voices
beyond the lovers
and the snide remarks of the fool
to watch the sky the sky
interlinking in it's passing
ever changing
ever moving
never defined
by rules of  conduct
or the minimum wage of propriety

for here

for here

for there if we try it
is the freedom
of rejection

that path we know but never take
in which we all are kings
and queens

- for let us not forget the petty worries of women -

and there

for there
is that whiteness of the sun
beyond the road
beyond the lane

in that second of staring too brightly
in which we grasp blindly
like a sea-sick sailor
on a first voyage
forgetting that the ignorance lies in our youth
and in the fear of courage

and wisdom is that balance
of infallible falling beneath our dreams
when our throat has stretched beyond words

welcome


The Blue Book

#poem #poetry #amwriting prologue

prologue

I know this place
I know those flowers and these fields
and the stinging whip of goose grass
on naked legs

I know this sky
so clear and boundless
or so it seems
skulking beneath the infinity of blackness

but this place is not now
it is but a memory
that comes on like kerb
on a bike with no brakes
lever pulled back to the rubber grip
eyes on stalks for the impact

I lie before and after
in this place I know better than your face

and for ten minutes
I stare
or perhaps it is ten lifetimes
or perhaps I stare not all
for the things I see
are like the novels unwritten
in the blind fury of a dice roll
they rattle
so vivid at each turning
but cone out
purely by chance

come to the road
come to the road
come to the lane
and follow the path

see the sun shining
so blinding white

welcome


The Blue Book