Monday, November 10, 2014

Jonathan Beale- Three Poems

Kafka’s thoughts when in London

Seamed here from its time past;
The legislation.  Chocking.
Croaky, dust full, filmed in filth
A bird shatters.
A predestined silence.

Moss and fractures on the roofs
Delay the eternal outcome.
Chat, somehow winsome.
Meanders up from bus stops.
Heels wear out the days.

Steel worded tongues’ drowning  
Made malleable
In the hands of a poet.
Dogs understand their doggieness
The dawn is broken by the green fox.

Placed matted lives; musty, unbroken,
Sherry glassed Sundays – devoid.
Winding drone of The Underground.
Whisking people away; resting heels.
Energy is beholden to its blind masters

Should ever the archaeologist discover?
Dusting out some vesseled lives moment
Broadening the history that.  Is Now Dead
Into a false new half life
A false new half-life.  Forgotten by all.   


In the eye

Unfathomable in this arid conundrum.  The human form speaks out;
The eye that sees speaks within such space. 
Showing the whole multiplicity of every atom. 

There are within, a single mind, a private function.  A unique private function. 
The oceanic current that crashes and destroys and allures each moon.
Needing a visible Icon, to exist, to be, we are reborn.

Greatness of seeing within the reality
They charter what exists in their vascular character. 
…and, now, dully waiting to be caught in the artist’s eye –

In the marriage of the strength & science and the conscience of art.
Life goes on and on. Art a distraction like an advert
that draws us along the rails of the Clapham Omnibus. 

Afternoon with someone, somewhere….

Everyone went about
Their day-to-day business
The heat droned on

Cars innocently hoot… as children
Randomly gabble in the street un-choreographed. 
The Heat droned on

The scent of the hot sweet tea – the...
       sun was up
            …late morning
                      The men discuss their “this’s and those that’s’.”
…Interjected with laughter
From their stories.
And still the heat went on

Backgammon they manipulate their tokens
The points
hold no hiding place
For a single chequer
Layer of sweat on all flesh

A young woman
Beautiful to the eye
passed by
drifting along

the sun up
the heat lay heavy with
sweet smelling smoke

And then….

Life lost - particles and protons smashed unrecognizably –life lost

And the heat droned on and lay around constricting.

It’s Radio 4 news at*
A female suicide bomber has….” 

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