Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Jonathan Beale- Three Poems

Palms by the pool

The Palms across
This Plain scene

Splashed frozen like meteors
Under the 1950’s sun

Blind women under
Lizard like sun glasses

The young men’s primal
Chant – lurid

The new black & brooding fiction
Cuts across the east

Coast – the meteors
Tingle on the flesh

Then they continue to talk
Away the day

Poem yet to come

There is an empty space
A void you may muse
Waiting to come
Pregnant with anticipation
The Idea; the experience; they want
The drawing board taught

The voice rereading the words
You have yet to write
Listen – you many hear them being read
On some TV radios programmes
Listen as the word being said
Need to be written

The many young minds to come
Reinforcing the great great ascendancy
…of what is to come
Along with Kipling’s six serving men
And the eid endless vanity
To explore and self seek

The darkness allows a stressless growth
The shape is formed of the seed 
In time come will the poem survive?
Will her ruling queen language take her?
Very epithet or even very existence
The wine fuelled dark Dionysian night of muse
And the vessel of life to fill
Where memory is predicted to fail

Still the young will repeat the errors of all
And learning to expand broken conscience
On the scrapheap of the mistakes
They’ll never make

After all,
            Convention takes too much time.

Dancing in 1984

Take the moment in tango
Thrust along the beat

So go, go, go, go do not be afraid
Take it. Challenge it. Make your own.

That unlived moment in a hollow
As if the dance - chose you

The piccolo is heard but never seen
As the wolf incessantly howls out his heart

The wooden floor of varnished flesh
His bruises; dents – to remain and remind

The hearts rate in unison with the pinstripe  
The feet who rule the floors down the M1

The brass band that once did beat for life
Around here beats no more 

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