Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Jonathan Beale- Three Poems


Prometheus

Jose Clemente Orozco ‘Prometheus’
Fresco 1930

Baby, baby drove up in a Cadillac
I said, "Jesus Christ! Where'd you get that Cadillac?"
She said, "Balls to you, big Daddy."
She ain't never coming back!
She ain't never coming back!
She ain't never coming back!
(Taylor Vince) The Clash

Still the stone carved
I’m afraid I thought this situation
Green eye to the sky
Not realised behind Zeus’ eye
The Caucasus Mountains
Are never that far away
From anyone
Stealing the golden secret
Making the golden sparkling red
Fire.  That untameable beast
That licks and devours
The air as it consumes
Without prejudice devours.
Consequences weigh

Weigh heavy in the cold
Mountain air
The Caucasus Mountains
Brace in preparation 
The unbreakable adamanite
Chains rattle a metallic
Paradiddle
Chained by Vulcan
Time to think
Every act has its home
As the eagle comes
Down each day
The eagle tears at the
Bitter meat – tormenting

Him - on and on….
There are choices
Afterwards times lines
To think and decided
That eternal sharp beak

Relief had to come
It had to in the form
Of Chiron the Centaur
Offered the ultimate
Finally freed by Hercules
“Unchained”
“Unchained”
“Unchained”
“Unchained”
UNBOUND….”



Self Portrait with Muse Otto Dix 1924

The muse like a Medusa
            Irrepressible.
She takes hold of him and pins
Him with her hypnotic eyes
            Relentlessly.

Through time, that time, time is running away
            Momentous
As the dog beholden
To the master, he is subservient
            Cosmogenesis.

The crisp blue gauze 
            lapis lazuli
Flittering in the breeze
He is held by her and his need for
            Hamadryad.

He is both creator and subject of the
            allegorical
she charms him, she feeds him
her breast must feed him and others
            infinitesimally 



A Walk around the Hotel Courtyard, Acatian. 1985

The morning, bright a diamond
A spherical as the sun
In its own private infinitity

The day, yet to come to fruition
As yet unwritten
The scribes prepare

The five trees a private pentinity
Seeking light and earth
And Sangra and cigarettes

The igloo spindle that all roads lead to
The eye begins its work
The arm and hand await instruction.

Artists, physicist’s, and philosophers’
Only understand as shadows
And paths mislead the masses.  


No comments:

Post a Comment