Friday, May 27, 2016

Jonathan Beale- Three Poems

A pregnant state of mind

After David Bowie

What is your current
state of mind?
He constantly asks
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

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.

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.
He studied philosophy at Birkbeck College London and lives in Surrey England

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