Jonathan Beale- Three Poems

Light dancing

Watching the River Wey at day break

Light in all its masses
and in all its dimensional

States and backdrops....
As the mornings
revealed - pulling
the flesh of the night

away.  Revealing….
The sleepless river. 

Dancing - waltzing
Waltzing- twirling

Twirling - dancing
never able to stop.
These hypnotic
Waltzing whirlpools
weaving silver & gold

slowly revealing

this Xanadu.

Flood on the garden

Molehilled - the remembrance left -

Undulated skin across

The world.

Steel and leaf covered the lawn.

Nothing past the rain.

Dew, rains silent sister

Draws her finger across everything.

Bring with light to life

The – pearls - of – life.

Brother sister conflict

The black.  The white

The greenery licks the rain dry

In a silence: in darkness

Grows to flourish.

Until the rain passes again.

After today

As nights created from the  vying from the day to night

The hammer has beaten the remains of the day

Until spent dust and ashes remain

Still here, cold coffee stained the night.

This is where  that cloudlike state wafts by

The vampire night dissolves and is talked to liquidity

Muses here and my red raw eyes – contend

Against the storm chasing the dust I am lost

Fragments remain.

Archaeology of the night and its remains still around

Some places have and are the light and the life perfection.

Still sweet leaves, the reminder – and the words

The words are forgot: apathy eats them now – and why

The savannah of a stated conscience re-pleated

Here against the night.

The lightening roars not beholden to language no

It’s the end of the affair broken to repair

Standing against the wind to wear down

The roman want for all dressed in that purple gown

Talk here is as gold - milk to a cat

Striding into the falling lids falling on the mat

A strange beauty in innocence was once seen

Seen the eye is fooled what was beauty is obscene

I must lay an eye down to rest, even words need

To rest from the their power to share to feed

The muses dance around my head as torture they

Allow me against the stormy weather to make hay

I cross here before the alter before I lay to rest to rest

I take my cross the muses leave knowing they meant in jest