Jonathan Beale- Three Poems

A sonnet

Like the ‘Toilet of Venus’

Surrounded by the blood that makes

Her plaster pale skin – her curvature line

Drawing towards.  “What did they say”?

- in our silence.  (In her head was the…

bad child or the sweet baby).

‘Not knowing is a hole in history –

The broken watches cog’s lay out & springs uncoiled –

(Forlorn) yet written (as life could have been).

For as part of literature: a truth (a true child).

Did the devil trick or did she just

Trip or something equally unlikely.

The life!  As vacant as a lot?  Or a playground

for devils and angels – whispers’ whispers’ - 

Rainforest

It is there among the

Unknown diameters

The perforated

White and pearlescent

Twinkled light woven

Through an embroidered 

Scene – white softness

Against dogmas – black air

Trickling drums of thunder

Arch through the body -

The soul, the echo – the

Mind is carefree amongst ivy

The rain tips, touches

The tree on its territory

Again and tomorrow

Among the unknown diameters

Watching and listening to them passing

As a passer by…

The Talk in dollars. Pounds comparisons to the priorities

Of the life, those lives within the pond – this pond.

Endless Coffee: the nightlife, flights, clothes, as well as restaurants

My ears engaged!  My eyes, mind, away elsewhere.

The room echoed with scent of the apple and strawberry

Opposing. Yet there. Together in this strange relationship

“Behold! Sinners. Behold! Saints”.

“Oh stand up you, the weak and you the weak –drink from this cup”.

The jungles muggy scent with caffeine and croissants.

Youth in a vibrant desire to live to the competition.

To taste the blood in their defeat, their loss, and another and another….

            …and the ageing minds now denied their lusting cutting desire –

… are now gone…. Faded like summers lost days

Yet still happy, happy to still seek out another Xanadu.

Points on a compasses joined by a marriage by degrees

And held in order by consequence

The smash of a full cup drew the universe to halt!

…Momentarily,

…Then as if – learning to walk

Voices began again – refreshed from a stunned silence.

The voices changed,

The mood too,

The conversation whirled away

My story had retained its resonance.

It power somehow strong the tongue and grove

Of the daily talk that oils and floats around the city

And is forgotten as quickly as it is thought of

Looking at the scene of which I was apart.

Tomorrow never comes

And somehow we age and change

Against our canvas

That is our life

Whether the scene is landscape, portrait, or abstract