Sun hangs, white-gold in indigo,
to photochromic view,
delineating tangled twigs:-
gold/brown chiaroscuro.
Paint me out too in light and dark,
so intricately dressed,
transcendent pattern teased out
from a tangled mess.
These sleeping Illuminati,
breathing through twig stomata,
are blessed in their unconsciousness,
their vegetative coma;
while we, awake, ache at delight
and groan at our shadowed part;
two theater masks, a grin, a lour,
fed through the chambered heart.
But the afternoon world turns on,
and a blinding sun consumes
divisions of the surfaces,
Set* spears at our old wounds -
then close eyes on that quietus,
within a carmine screen;
breathe now as slowly as the trees;
dissolve in dream.
................
*Set rides in Ra's sun boat with a long spear for the dusk fights with Apep the snake.
It happens to be Ash Wednesday, but despite my upbringing, I dress out the time in the ancient Egyptian mythopoetic not the Christian one.
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Wintering
PoetryIt's yet another MajorSeventh. Hop on the big shoulders and look ... Lastest poems are always posted last in my collections. Winter. So, expect sparse gardens, late autumn and wintry countryside, wry philosophy and humour, tenderness towards litt...
