Palms by the pool
The Palms across
This Plain scene
Splashed frozen like meteors
Under the 1950’s sun
Blind women under
Lizard like sun glasses
The young men’s primal
Chant – lurid
The new black & brooding
fiction
Cuts across the east
Coast – the meteors
Tingle on the flesh
Then they continue to
talk
Away the day
Poem yet to come
There is an empty space
A void you may muse
Waiting to come
Pregnant with
anticipation
The Idea; the
experience; they want
The drawing board
taught
The voice rereading the
words
You have yet to write
Listen – you many hear
them being read
On some TV radios
programmes
Listen as the word
being said
Need to be written
The many young minds to
come
Reinforcing the great
great ascendancy
…of what is to come
Along with Kipling’s
six serving men
And the eid endless
vanity
To explore and self
seek
The darkness allows a
stressless growth
The shape is formed of
the seed
In time come will the
poem survive?
Will her ruling queen
language take her?
Very epithet or even
very existence
The wine fuelled dark
Dionysian night of muse
And the vessel of life
to fill
Where memory is
predicted to fail
Still the young will
repeat the errors of all
And learning to expand
broken conscience
On the scrapheap of the
mistakes
They’ll never make
After all,
Convention takes too much time.
Dancing in 1984
Take the moment in
tango
Thrust along the beat
So go, go, go, go do not be
afraid
Take it. Challenge it. Make your own.
That unlived moment in a hollow
As if the dance - chose you
The piccolo is heard but never
seen
As the wolf incessantly howls out his
heart
The wooden floor of varnished
flesh
His bruises; dents – to remain and
remind
The hearts rate in unison with the
pinstripe
The feet who rule the floors down the M1
The brass band that once did beat for
life
Around here beats no more
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