Details |
Steve Downes Poem
Poor little Moon King
trapped inside a gilded cage
within the marble prison walls
the cage is painted
and the marble held up with balsa wood
a fake fairy-tale façade
castles in the clouds
ladies in classical poses
battles never won
nor even fought
locked in frozen frescos
as trapped as the poor little Moon King
forever
insulated from the cruel sisters
modernity & society
having anything you want
except what you really need
the sisters cannot let you bare
flesh and soul
crying to sleep
in the silken cradle
an empty shell
an unnatural fondness forbidden
yet tasted behind the closed door
a self-deluded love lost among luxuries
Oh Ludwig how you wished so hard
the sun would shine
on your chivalric dreams
but
alone lamenting at the balustrade
you are the Moon King
forever in plaster and paint
cloud-covered
out shined
hag-ridden highness
hiding behind a pile of stones and pretty
colours
poor little Moon King
Copyright © Steve Downes | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Steve Downes Poem
I feel translucent
a man of marble skin
as if dreaming my motions
every step a tread in water
each reach of my hand
a ghost grip touches
but nothing holds and yet
I clutch these stones and
iron spear barricades
as a sea-snail would the bedrock
for this is my folly
to hug close the masonry of charity
I feel nothing
no remorse runs down my arms
to my useless wrists
no rage
twists my mouth into rabid snarl
no pleasure lifts my face
from the footfalls
of those celestial beings
bustling above
not even a soaked black wall
on which I am a shadow
penetrates my deadened hide
I feel grotesque
I am a gargoyle of flesh and bone
sown into the fabric of these
towers with closed doorways
that form broken arch homes
for broken things
but
no longer am I broken
I have embraced
the cold and hunger
of my mouth and my soul
I am free of this place
Yet
here I am still
here for you to see
if you can stomach
to see me
Copyright © Steve Downes | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Steve Downes Poem
Trainspotting
isn’t fun
not when she’s dead tired
arms of jelly
ears full of tears
baby wants
baby wants
pick the kids up
from school
strawberry jam
sandwiches uneaten
traffic jam
ma I’m hungry
baby wants
baby wants
make the dinner
bake the cake
bun in the oven
bending over
nightly shapes
the body pays the price
of new-born joy
headache
joyless
thankless
throb
9 to 5
paced out
on the kitchen floor
supermarket
chicken would be good
baby wants sweets
5 o’clock
tick tock
train halfway
baby straps
double check
throb
in at seven
should be six-thirty
commuter widow waits
for the daily rebirth
a partnership
what a day I’ve had love
he shallowly sits
TV
dinner
bed
make the shapes
if both are able
how did it come
to this
nearly dawn
where’s his tie
I used to be a woman
intelligent
bright
outgoing
he used to be a man
wide-eyed
unpredictable
caring
no time to care now
we used to be together
in this
this mess
baby just wants a hug
the question you didn’t answer
what’s left
?
when reality robs us of dreams
what do you see in me
lined
fatter
turning sour
at being cheated
and then depressed when
I realise I cheated myself
out of a better life
what’s left
over
?
what do you see
when you look at me
settlement
or
excitement
is it still there
is it still detectable
after all that has passed
baby wants
baby wants
baby wants a hug
Copyright © Steve Downes | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Steve Downes Poem
Weighty words wasted on the east wind
blowing down Dame Street
they don’t heed or even hear them
the footsore army of suits and students
the new Abraham or Jesus or Muhammad
cries out
but is ignored
shoulder pushed to the side as the bus pulls up
cries out
new truths
replace the old
faith has become comical and morally weak
Bus pulls away and the Saviour is alone
in the crowded city
Screams
as the police move in
no laughter or mocking
just snorts of disapproval and ‘tuts’ of annoyance
eyes back down to the pavement
count the sore steps home
the rosary of the church of the rat-race
must have its homage
He could be the One
One true Saviour – again!
but this world would crucify him
with apathy and loose change
FREE this week ‘URBANIA’ contemporary poetry collection
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FC4822C
Copyright © Steve Downes | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Steve Downes Poem
I feel translucent
a man of marble skin
as if dreaming my motions
every step a tread in water
each reach of my hand
a ghost grip touches
but nothing holds and yet
I clutch these stones and
iron spear barricades
as a sea-snail would the bedrock
for this is my folly
to hug close the masonry of charity
I feel nothing
no remorse runs down my arms
to my useless wrists
no rage
twists my mouth into rabid snarl
no pleasure lifts my face
from the footfalls
of those celestial beings
bustling above
not even a soaked black wall
on which I am a shadow
penetrates my deadened hide
I feel grotesque
I am a gargoyle of flesh and bone
sown into the fabric of these
towers with closed doorways
that form broken arch homes
for broken things
but
no longer am I broken
I have embraced
the cold and hunger
of my mouth and my soul
I am free of this place
Yet
here I am still
here for you to see
if you can stomach
to see me
From The Pagan Field (print 1996, eBook 2013) available FREE until 15 Nov. at
http://www.amazon.com/The-Pagan-Field-extended-E-ebook/dp/B00F395DAU
Copyright © Steve Downes | Year Posted 2013
|