Jonathan Beale- Two Poems

The Bullfight

(After the painting by Francis Bacon)

Orange: as Spanish souls.

Turning –There is no pain- there is

Nothing.

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

Beginning

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.