Jonathan Beale- Two Poems

As the spider hangs glistening in the middle of the room at first light

The centre stage is held though and in light: against the light
As the discus spins frozen - as touch by Zeno’s stray finger.

As it lay suspended between art and engineering’s want
Master designer architect engineer and builder – sitting still

Awaiting his invertebrate bacon and eggs to make his breakfast
For today his pension is for today and this legacy will not last



A sacred geometry of fate

The tall cedar – biblical divisions of type, token, and (something else)
Something must be missing
The voice of the unknown child or the unsaid word
The silences crushing noise -

The images of broken idols - images of Narcissistic apiaries
Nectar dripping in strange meetings -from youths want
Short-sighted the dawn will catch up
The failure shown in the light

The emotion almost un-writeable
The scene to big, must written in few terms
See in pictures. You know. You’re privy
The fox is heard to howl

Like his own verse, in his own metre.
His depth of knowledge
His harsh upbringing
Has craved an artist that we will never understand

The night has its own science
This cannot be torn apart – this is private science
The night’s lines begin to fade and fall away-
Still felt invisibly like whiskey or wine in the soul

Compline turns to matins
As the nights science is forgot
Cedars remain after the flood
Shading the remaining life until it grows again