Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Jonathan Beale- Two Poems

The Bullfight

(After the painting by Francis Bacon)

Orange: as Spanish souls.
Turning –There is no pain- there is
The Morlocks need, is that of a matador.
Almost seminal, equally staid - equally not:
the Matador! Bacon – Dancing. Dealing
Bacon the Matador – Dealing. Dancing.
With life, the bull can win.
The brown round earth meeting the horizon
Windows on the world – seeing in – the masses.
Revolting Ghosts.
Tenuous sprit.
Blood pulsates.
There is life
In the execution
There is an end
With ticking of the clock
Bares a new
In that shadow
Of death. 

The secret song underfoot

Play by ear
And listen to
The forests
Secret song

The harsh mush
Of the mornings air
After the nights fire
And stewed aridity

Still step on
The horses’ song
Is heard and not
Ever understood

So the sods secret is
Never to be told and thanks
It stays always beneath the feet
The lines strain to

By the midday’s eve
The inevitable is falling
The afternoon’s autumn
Is stamped inevitable
The wooding fire’s drawn
Steeping on the blackening
Mist and games
Before sleep and dawns break.   

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