Filtered through a listening,
welter of impossible memories
resolves, recedes.
Out on the street, footsteps
chase each other, echoing.
......................
Ah, Matisse,
I could walk with you into hell
and you would still dance innocent there.
The stained glass of your chapel eyes, melts
into a cup; fish flakes float sunlight
on the walls of a room
in memoriam
folded deep
within the colours of a feeling chord,
though love lies sunk like an insect
in amber resin.
...............................
All my conceits must end here
at the lane top, the green vein
transfusing me -
thoughts too quick to thistle
a chamomile air.
...............
YOU ARE READING
Tapestries
PoetryPoems from 1978 onwards. These poems are in a different style from the later MajorSeventh, the earlier ones often with more of an Eastern-influenced cadence. Later, they vary a lot in form and style.
