Jonathan Beale- Three Poems

Road Trippin’

Let’s go get lost, let’s go get lost…

                                                             (Red Hot Chilli Peppers)

            We found the point with which to vanish;

down a highway; to somewhere,

            some down trodden highway leading…

we saw only infinity down the road we here stuck on

            although, that infinite white line leading away

leading us away to where the dawn breaks green

            wishes were as the cob-webbed life

swept away by a bigger hand – for not fitting

            We mapped across the night

The day before was grey against the blazing sun

            That first step as cold as hell –

We stepped on a Greyhound 20 cigarettes 

 

The Waiting Room

The spaces between:  the miniatures: the overtures’ and the passing light

Against the stagnicity of the dense white painted lines – indicating

Corpuses’ seeming alive really are the evidence of a skin deep revolt

The pictures as… staid and stagnant and…

The moment is draining against tiredness and exhaustion and bland want

Still the pictures remain and still they do nothing

The waiting room is the cubular void in which – in where – in how the dead

Past authors peoples elevated in biography remain as a linchpin of…

The light, their legs, strangeness’s capture and distract. Time is eroded

Seas pass. And again. Lamenting woes and lusting against futures

The night is beholden to the frost that silent helps the soil that feeds

And clear destroys the young saplings in the their…before their morning glory       

Country night

White fences married to the grass

Some hippy youthful union deplored

By natures elders the oak and willow

Here the barn owl glides around

The failing light the empowering dark

Bring on its new set – of scenes

The smoking clouds across the still

Here where all endings meet

Some black rat – finds a new comfort

In his darkened surrounds – he plays

Now the game that once was is

Now no more the ante is upped against the dark

The grass following is masses like behaviour

As seen in the city – yet here on the land

The noises are a new composed –

They who know leave alone until the time

The cattle frank the earth.

The dew licks the cud and innocent grass

The peeping sun offends the dark

Like the lover interrupted