We Are Here:
Mogadon Journals:
(Oh, yes, just as once everyone was a critic, nowadays
everyone's a web designer!)
This is where I bore you all to death all my angst!
And, believe me, I have a lot of that………But first, a picture of the inevitable
cat:
Onwards to Bella Cat's House
Back to Drowning & Other Fragments
List of
Poems:
Warning
Midnight Magic
Morning
Stubborn Memory
Arise, Arise
The Hour Before Dawn
Blood Red Years
If you dismember me
I will not sit passively
I’ll sharpen my tongue
I’ll sever the cord
That restrains your song.
You flay then slay the beast
On which we feast
We dine with the priest
From whom festivities flow.
‘Til we bite into his heart
And no guest moves
They glance at the clock
Make their excuses and go.
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The magical sapphire princess
Streams through the thoroughfare
Of my dreams
Her huge heart pounds
In my head
And from her mouth
Magical nouns
And aggressive adjectives
Drop like petals
Fatigued but unbowed
My centre has shifted
And little lights flicker
In my eyes like fireflies.
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You feed me sweet mouthfuls
Of syrup or something similar
And your spirit comes
And drags me through the sky
No one hears my cry
I learnt to fly just so that
I could be with you
I soar through
The dawn’s cool dew
And, oh what a view
I have of you.
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There is a stubborn memory
Of my small boy’s dark eyes
Rich and deep and sweet
Baby blackcurrants
As he paled, faded
And disappeared
And spectres scream
As he pulls me in
As my dead heart
Ascends and his
Clear blue water cry
Lives on in my eye
Still a part of my heart
But I still wail
And I still trail
My infant through the firmaments
He is the arrow
That guides me through the sky
He is the one that in my eye
Will never die.
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Startled by blackness.
That descends, a divine hue
Discharges from some distant.
Granite God,
As one we grow,
As one we live
We are Siamese
Knock-kneed
We turn on our heels
We burrow
Through steel
We spit, we hiss, we pass,
Our bitterness on
Sister to sister
No place on
The ancient ark
For us. Old Noah
Bars our path
You are not two, he says
You are one
Because of that we cannot match,
That elder’s criterion
We moan, we rave
But we are not saved!
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In the hour before dawn, waking
Encountering the solidity,
The self sufficiency
Of the bureau, the chest,
The dining room table
I pause. I hear nothing
Not a eye blink; not a limb
twitching
A nocturnal bird beyond the window
Eyes me. Silent shadows
stalk me
A dream with an angel at its
core
A ghost glides down the staircase
A spectre floats in the hall
Sucking blood, they feast
And then they multiply
I flick the switch
And snap the silver threads
Of the greying outlines
Of all my fading yesterdays
And then there is clarity
As the lamplight glows
Lighting my way to morning.
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The blood red years
Contained losses many time larger
than me
I backtrack as a balloon floats
into the sky
And pops against the surface
of the sun
And believe please only this
That angel’s wings sprouted from
my shoulders
For that is what they are for.
Isn’t it?
Isn’t it? I lie alone
like a stone in the middle of the road
I shake the hand of life.
You liar, you thief!
As grey as my eyes, as grey
as the sky.
A bird’s eye view for those of
you who die before dawn
Embracing cardiac arrests.
Will you find me alive in the morning?
A promised land is snatched
away. Illusory?
Oh, yes, most certainly.
It is. It always was.
And it always will be.
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