Jonathan Beale- Two Poems

The crush of days

All wedges have their thin ends.

See them, in their daily crush.

The pistons strike.

The freezing morning.

The freshly inked paper.

Coffee steams meaning on.

The pistons strike.

The freezing morning.

Cobwebs of invoice’s hang.

Silently from the night.

Expectant in the dead office.

The cleaners have blessed.

The previous day.

The silent cameras.

Whirr their private song.

To  one  another.

Until

Until the pistons strike.

Shattering the freezing morning.

Once more.

“…and you weren’t under an undue stress, were you?”

After 12 Angry Men

Questioning

the questioner.

            What gets consumed?

The white detail

            swamped

            In the black

morass.

The fleeting details

have flown away.

Everything hangs

            By a thread.

And still everything hangs.

We all sit beneath and wonder

As Damocles did.

And yet forgot

Dionysius’ weight

Of decision and deed 

And then…

Before the realisation

The consequence of

What as to be done

This snaking reality

Of apathy & arrogance

And their offspring.

The realization.

Hits.

As ice water in the face.

As ice water in the face.

moving on…

to face ones error

cold reality

as one faces ones error.