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EDGES MAGAZINE Issue
25 |
April 2001 |
| poet's corner
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Dan Exall is an Ex Client He is now in his
second year studying music at college. Eighteen months ago he shared his poetry
with us in Edges. We are pleased to receive his most recent poetry and share it
with our readers. |
Know Me
You got to
give a little, 'cos I take a little,
You say you have it all, but is it all
enough ?
I've taken more before, and I will again,
You mean nothing,
your all never enough.
So, another man ruined - the truth hurts,
You're weak compared to me,
Your future's bleak when stained with me,
'Cos I stain.
Believe.
I paint a bleak picture.
Your
destructive streak I take to make you falter,
Your destiny I alter. The
rest of you I scar for fun,
My work with you is done - like some dark sun,
On the world I shine through you.
I am your soul, your only goal,
Your heart I stole, your heart so cold,
My sane to your pain, my love
to your shame,
My dust to your name, my soul to your vein.
My
warmth to your tear. |
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Farmers
The incessant pounding of life's heartbeat,
Surely stifles more
eloquent forms of thought,
My blunted wits about me simple tasks,
I find
are now a battle fought,
With a colonial effort I struggle, unhinged,
In this increasingly monochrome world,
Cynicism an unwelcome visitor,
Just walk away son - this oyster holds no pearl,
How I long for the day
when I can rest,
A time again of colour and sweet smells,
My distressed
machine is winding down,
And I know not where my wonder dwells,
I find
myself lost in this damaged affair,
My mind's precious reserves are wearing
thin,
And ever decreasing periods of calm,
Hold little comfort as I
rest within,
Soon surely the pickets will rise,
Protesters of a furious
bent,
The imposed duty is too much,
And the farmers grow discontent.
All Gone
Give me a
name,
So you know me,
Tell me your story,
Though I've heard them
all before,
Show me your hand,
For as an ardent disbeliever,
I know
of nothing but myself,
Show me the sun rise over flowered fields,
Show
me a lost world,
Show me nothin at all,
Give me a cold heart,
So
this passing freeze I can bear,
Take my wonder,
For as a dead kid in a
dirty war,
I find it's wasted here,
And softly,
Quietly,
These
empty streets I dare to tread,
So,
For a moment,
Tread them with
me. |
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Godfood
Here I sit with my
pleasure,
At the table of the gods,
And the food is exquisite,
And
dining is for fools,
Would that I knew my mind's pleasure,
As my
pleasure knows my mind,
And I knew not for a second,
And on the eighth
day we dined,
Now my pleasure having tasted,
Cannot leave again with
me,
And I sit without my pleasure,
And I long to forget,
Though I
should leave my pleasure there,
I cannot leave it be,
So for now I take
my pleasure,
As my pleasure takes me. |
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