Sunday, August 10, 2014

Jonathan Beale- A Poem

The sullen time when artists and muses find one another.

So then what of the darkest artistic arts do find so attractive
That finds here day and night drawing out your failed – dream
The ode you drew - sonnet you sketched you think so pith
Became deformed from the minds goal to the senses seam

Talk then of your art and forget your crime – the world will forgive
The voice echo’s to hear the poet master stands unchallenged
Each day and feeling you live to relive and again to ‘us’ we too relive
There in wine fumed corner I find your eye and ear still unchallenged

The daisy, daff,-the moment’s eye, straining passion, or inevitable loss
The pollen irritates and breeds anew – the sullen summers day mist
The muses’ gauze covered lives vague and as scarred hearts emboss
The stream awaits the mositiqtuo to whose silent sting – as fatal kisses
Poet. In his black and white. Is lost. Here is lost – the sun slinks on by
the evening makes the ale and merlot a home-the food and talk – modal
The silent cold – drawn up through the flesh of the day – here so ostensibly
The night is dreamtime -the mind never rests – still hearing a muses call   

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