A pregnant
state of mind
After David Bowie
What is your current
state of mind?
He constantly asks
Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.
Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.
The
consciousness of the conscience
Books -
papers - music
Squeezed…
cramped in
Here and
there
Time and
pressure
‘A song in
itself perhaps?’
A diary
entry?
From
little hell
To
Beckenham Palace
And an open
mind.
What is your current
state of mind?
He constantly asks
Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant
Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant
And how Nietzsche talks
to the fertile mind
then his words pour…
then gush…
as the words spit
into rifts and chords
and old Greeks with
Apollos lyre. Create in stone.
What is your current
state of mind?
He constantly asks
Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.
Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.
The late night train times
The night blocks the doorway to
sleep,
The mystic moth takes me over. Aware of:
Vacant pavements – vacant
streets
Forlorn street lamps bereft of life
&light.
I found myself in the accident of
dressing
That cats and dogs never quite
understood.
I found myself taking the train
From the diaconal Paddington
Station
Finding a hollow space – invisible
pressure
On my head - all ideas extricated
Face up: face out against the window –
That chill air, that glass holds so
well.
The sun has set over London,
east
The strangely scintillant night,
among
Florescent tower blocks marbled to
heaven
Deadbeat rhyme
The once vague night being drowned
Out in heavier thicker darkness - caught
From the grey savage fangs of a
youthful
Night. The youthful night. This youthful night
A few people cast around the night
Just waiting – each secretly fearing
something
Is this train the wrong
train?
Consciences & doubt s dance teasing
Taking the wrong train and why – where to
go
Where to end up with my back to my home,
my bed
Where would I end up somewhere with a
sunrise
Or just over the edge of the world.
There is no reason
The garden gate always swings
open
Breaking the infinite circle
Still the long white picket fences
Barricade and covers the ancient Ha - Ha
Those lines upon lines of suburban
Façades, mask the belief
as
The advertisers’ mantra creates,
And somehow. “There must be a
reason!”
The foil and epees slide and
screen
Keep the mind and body sharp –
as they move along to another
leaving
as another door defies ‘The Selfish
Gene’
Every new cosmos, of every another
day
Hesitates before the next “On
guard”
Behind every new close quarters
behind
Every new door ‘there is no reason’.
Jonathan Beale has 450 plus poems published in such journals as:
Decanto, Penwood Review, The Screech Owl, Danse Macabre, Danse
Macabre du Jour, Poetic Diversity, Voices of Israel in English,
Miracle-E-zine, Voices of Hellenism Literary Journal, The Journal, Ink
Sweat & Tears, Down in the Dirt, The English Chicago Review, Mad Swirl,
Poetry Cornwall, Leaves of Ink, Ariadne’s Thread, Bijou Poetry Review, Calvary
Cross, Deadsnakes Review, The Bitchin Kitsch, Poetry by Birkbeck alumnus, The
Dawntreader, I am not a Silent Poet, Pyrokinection, Festival of Language,
Festivalwriter, ‘Don’t Be Afraid: An Anthology to Seamus Heaney’, Ygdrasil, The Four Seasons Anthology, The
Seventh Quarry, Van Gogh’s Ear Anthology, The Curly Mind, The Beatnik Cowboy,
Dali’s LoveChild, Storm Cycle Anthology (Best of Hurricane Press 2015) and The
Jawline Review.
He
was commended in Decanto’s and Café writers Poetry Competitions 2012. His work
has appeared in such books as ‘Drowning’ (Scar publications) and ‘The Poet as
Sociopath’ (Scar publications). He is currently working on his second volume.
His first collection of poetry ‘The Destinations of Raxiera’ is
published by Hammer & Anvil.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/
He
studied philosophy at Birkbeck College London and lives in Surrey
England
No comments:
Post a Comment