Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Jonathan Beale- A Poem

Still life

The frozen white lines
Silence cutting against
The erosion of what –we-
Perceive to be life – still

Motionless uninhibited
There placed we have chosen
The white drowns against
The mental gold leaf and oil

Spread across the forming
Creation in the mind’s eye
From the blind hand
To like the marriage procreate

A mystery of the discovery
Held with what might call a frame
Or gallery – detached from our world
Yet rooted firmly in yours  

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