Ecstatic eye of night
thoughts tangled tangent
tint of orange moon
slivers were just hazy
incipient learned launch
as the querulous quirk
indented ingress idly
still desperate to capture
though less likely
lavishness connoting mood
human forest focal point
I dream in dribbles soppy
though never flagged yet
as futile aspiration amid
hues strictly night bound
might benefit wistfully
when strident slumber
indigenous to townscape
has its muted rippled
riddle not tactfully
resolved due to blind
daylight tinctured template
aroused by the clangour
of mint medley lure of
Arcadia circus dangle
of inchoate promise known
as crystal carrot jewellery
box whose flecks fly a riot
before the milling cluster
who wantonly wonder
at collapsing fortress inside
whilst rugged resilience
that tower block of prime
revitalised endeavour bent
on a fantasy forage with
disposition a pointless block
though underbody wobbles
if left without the widest
custodial watch of the self
one might be elated finally
Categories:
townscape, beautiful, beauty, celebration, color,
Form: Imagism
The value of books
Late afternoon, the sun has left the terrace and is in the back throwing up dust before reluctantly slinking west and sinking
into the sea beyond the seas.
The townscape is charming red-roofed dwellings among the many trees that are deep green this time of the year.
Near the sea are two big edifices, One has luxury flats on top for the people called the “jet-set” It is where scrawny women live
on lettuce a day and Valium.
Next to that house, a white elephant, a skeletal hotel that
was abandoned when the would-be owner went broke.
In the calm bay two small cargo ships of uncertain age riding
the anchorage waiting for the morning, it baffles me how these old ship makes money, two bags of rice here and a barrel of wine there; perhaps they fish and live healthily
but I do hope they have books, if not the lacuna of empty time must be heavy on the mind.
When I was a seaman, I read hundreds of books to pass the time
some rubbed off so the time became useful, like automatic learning.
Categories:
townscape, anti bullying, best friend,
Form: Blitz
The smile
The wall between the road and houses
had graffiti and slogans on its grey, sodden flanks
as guarding the systematic deficiency of need.
The townscape of bleakness is like an endless
a funeral march in rain, substituting for tears anyone
had, for those who willfully die of hunger.
By the wall, on the narrow pavement, a lone figure
walks fast as not sensing the drizzle
he appears to be smiling.
Perhaps his wife had given birth to a son, or he
had won the lottery.
The wheel of a truck explodes, hits and pins him
to the wall, and we shall never know why he smiled
Categories:
townscape, courage, feelings,
Form: Sonnet
The Carpet Seller and Dali Lama
The carpet seller in Cascais is tall wears kaftan and his ebony
face looks as a relief of an Egyptian Farao…. Carries his carpets
on his forearm (like an offering) and show to tourists who sit
drinking cold beer at pavement cafes. When they ask how much
he quotes a price impossible high for his worn rugs, to be sure
no one buys because he doesn´t want to sell them. He just like to
walk around, it is his ways, when tired he sits on a bench folds
the rugs on his lap dreamily stroke them and smiles.
Where he goes when it rains I don´t know, perhaps he has got
a room somewhere, a bed, a book shelf and a postcard from
Senegal pinned on the wall. I noticed he wears solid boots as
Dali Lama does when flying around the world meeting famous
people, giggles and says simple things about life and freedom.
The carpet seller is not going home he has become a colourful
part of the townscape, and Dali Lama will not see Tibet again
Categories:
townscape, dedication,
Form: Blank verse
Encompassed my unconsciousness aware and so alone
To look within and gaze without, for possibilities unknown
Through unfamiliar townscape, walk more familiar men
They thrust and stare between lowered eyes, and do seem
Not bent on gain,and yet their driver knows them well
(Although they’ll never guess) a proffered altruism
Whispers! And silence shouts, let not the truth confess!
Oh! Human needs oh! human thoughts are obstacles
Indeed! for as we stand before our pitfalls and talk of the
Greater good, to the scent of deep confusion,
Din & greed & want in this life!
Are we on the way to heaven?
Or just a compromised demise?
© Joe Maverick 29-09-2010
Categories:
townscape, allegory
Form: Prose Poetry