The wood was perfect.
Hammer in hand, he toiled.
Sweat trickled down his neck.
Her face was chiselled,
A perfect portrait:
The hawk-like nose,
The high cheekbones,
The wide brow.
But not her flaring eyes.
They defied him.
In exasperation, he threw the lamp,
His only source of light,
And watched the wood burn.
In the deserted cabin.
In a wooded glen forlorn,
When the fire subsided
They found his body
Long dead, carbonised and cold.
And a piece of chiselled wood
Charred and worthless.
originally written in 10/4/2016
Categories:
carbonised, anger, fantasy, fire,
Form: Free verse
Elephant trunk palms column, canopy claps hands
Undergrowth glad heart shape leaves spiral
Navigator vines map branches, brace boa banyan
Utile duenna diary with my duties conspiring
Chaperone rope binds silent beside my grand plan
Helpmaster holsters my faltering stride, hips squared
Essential weapon for war against mediocrity
Netted fruit bag binds ideas, ripe inspiration shared
Collaboration binges exchanges evocatively
Oversees growth, buffers fumbles, humiliation spared
Unbias advisor straddles drama, miniscule mosquitos
Raised beyond current, stilts lift clear of silt
Above ravaging river, twig leg log cabin cosy kudos
Guileless sunrise server castrates lumpy guilt
Enmeshed mirror wishes bud symmetrical smiling rose
Mentor each moment monitor prods my furtive dreams
Enlivens rainblur haze, unravels twisted maze
Narrows channel between now and zany zone supreme
Twines possible to present, pours zesty praise
Strengthened, gender invalid, my meridian self esteem
9th June
Carbonised Agenda
Categories:
carbonised, angel, anniversary, blessing, friendship,
Form: Quintain (Sicilian)
First Friends
I return to an old place and old friends,
Its grey stones stand ominous henge,
Stood in a chapel that rose above the water,
Filled with well meaning, smiling sons and daughters,
Slowing realising that few know me yet seem to care,
I marvel at community, sense of being I find there,
Whilst within my anonymity, clarity of insight,
During testimony of another’s plight, non-blighted,
Feeling of explanation of grace, far sighted,
A cross not carried, a cross not sought,
But a cross bridging grief, agonisingly wrought,
And I thought, choose me,
Take my nihilistic nonsense of self worth,
Throw it upon the carbonised barbecue of a city,
Take away the chains of self pity,
And through my choice, let my voice ring out,
Turn now, oh Israel, for you make again,
The same chosen calamity,
But this time Israel, you are all of humanity.
@Andrew Carnegie, Bristol Pew’s, Tuesday 10th January 2017
If you would like to know a bit about me and my poetry please click this link below:
https://youtu.be/Ic_V7aX4xbk
Categories:
carbonised, absence, bible, christian, deep,
Form: Free verse
Midnight chimed day assassination,
sudden as a brain haemorrhage,
star-stabbed by psychotic pins;
issues aborted of carbonised wombs
blacked streets, tar-slithered.
Recovering drunk, cold sobered,
imaged upon liquid plate glass,
appliances dormant and flower-pressed
beyond his ghost,
whiskey tears wept prior sins.
Crying within for little or nothing,
the once embryo of the thing he became,
or that reflections now seem
more tangible of look than
he would ever feel again.
Invisible sackcloth mantled the bones,
he wore it well,
his future path paved ashes
to some place in the dark,
the equation lacked love.
So the dead can walk, he observed,
approximating signs of life;
and so well he knew the dead,
they whispered catechisms in his head,
for he only ever talked to himself.
Categories:
carbonised, life, lost love, sad,
Form: Blank verse
Midnight chimed day assassination,
sudden as a brain haemorrhage,
star-stabbed by psychotic pins;
issues aborted of carbonised wombs
blacked streets, tar-slithered.
Recovering drunk, cold sobered,
imaged upon liquid plate glass,
appliances dormant and flower-pressed
beyond his ghost,
whiskey tears wept prior sins.
Crying within for little or nothing,
the once embryo of the thing he became,
or that reflections now seem
more tangible of look than
he would ever feel again.
Invisible sackcloth mantled the bones,
he wore it well,
his future path paved ashes
to some place in the dark,
the equation lacked love.
So the dead can walk, he observed,
approximating signs of life;
and so well he knew the dead,
they whispered catechisms in his head,
for he only ever talked to himself.
Categories:
carbonised, introspection, life, sad, social,
Form: Blank verse