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The Water Carrier
“The twilight turns from amethyst
To deep and deeper blue..”
(James Joyce – Chamber Music – II)Upon my palm, sacred invisibility
Touched, brought forward by the sound of her
Mouth my words – my processions of fate.
Upon her tongue taste the heavy due of mourning
Made light, spray layered in the dawning
Of my song sung finally for another tear.
Upon her chest a treasure of rhyme
And music and heaving breath,
Spread lips of wet, taking every bit of me in –
Torrential pain, salt pools and body burdened
Breaks with love to receive me alone.
For you alone have been every woman,
Every woman I will ever know.@Sgt Pepper wrote:
The Water Carrier
“The twilight turns from amethyst
To deep and deeper blue..”
(James Joyce – Chamber Music – II)Upon my palm, sacred invisibility
Touched, brought forward by the sound of her
Mouth my words – my processions of fate.
Upon her tongue taste the heavy due of mourning
Made light, spray layered in the dawning
Of my song sung finally for another tear.
Upon her chest a treasure of rhyme
And music and heaving breath,
Spread lips of wet, taking every bit of me in –
Torrential pain, salt pools and body burdened
Breaks with love to receive me alone.
For you alone have been every woman,
Every woman I will ever know.Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your eyes;
I come to praise Pepper, not to bury him,
the evil that men do lives after them,
the good is oft interred with their bones,
Ne’er let it be with Pepper..The noble Esme
Hath told you Pepper was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a stunning perfection,
And stunningly hath Pepper answered it …Anti Dote
A word here and another there
The poison seeps like heavy fog
Through dense grey matter
That doesn’t.
Inherently foolish,
Candor a double edged sword.
For the true victim is
And will always be
The poisoner.Nice one Mims
Asthma
My throat goes tight,
strangling each breath.
my lungs feel like lead
as I dance so close to death.
wordless I scream inside my head.But nothing comes out
I’ve got nothing left to say
and even if I did
you wouldn’t listen anyway.SHETTLESTON ROAD
The wee beige-bummed mongrel
patters past the Pizza-Palace,
pauses to pee
on a polystyrene carton,
pauses to sniff
at his balls,
then barrels-off across the road
doggedly,
taking the corner with a frivolous flounce
of a furbelow tail.
Dissonant in the distance,
the jingle jangle jolly
of an ice-cream van
clamouring through concrete,
clattering past the cordon
of a row of flats,
cutting
like a cutlass,
like a klaxon,
like the curdling colic grizzle
of a crying child.Someone’s growing rhubarb in a garden,
a hooded boy takes pot-shots with a sling.
The textile shop has a half-price sale,
a carpenter splits his thumb on a nail
and the girl in the sauna
removes her wedding ring.The wee beige-bummed mongrel
pooters past the Peking Palace,
pauses to poke
at a pile of paper wrappings,
pauses to lick
at his ar se,
then skittles-off across the street
snappily,
skirting a skoda with a fabulous flick
of a palatine paw.
Dubious in the distance
the piercing palilalia
of an ambulance
sheering through the city,
sanguiferous, saccadic
on a hill of bones,
scything
as a sickle,
as a scalpel,
as the howling scarlatina
of a dying child.©
Graffiti gravitas
The writing is on the wall
It’s been there for a while
In figures ten miles wide
You’d have to be blind
Not to see.But you walked right on past
Every day
For weeks and weeks
With your eyes looking inward
Patiently focused on the past.
Instead of me.I could have jumped up and down
Naked, with a chicken on my head.
I could have sent helium balloons
Inscribed with Wake Up and
Here I am You W anker!
But I just let you be.I recognised you needed time
And I thought that I could wait
But the all the times I wasn’t there
Stacked up against the wall.
I tried to look deep into your soul but
All I saw was me.When horrors too many to count
Parade each day upon the news
To be so self obsessed mocks
The real pain and anguish others feel.
My heart no longer wants to go
To places yours has been.So the words are scratched upon the wall
And one day, when you waken
And look out upon a different world
You will notice them and read
But will you realise that I’ve gone?
I’ll have to wait and see.©
excellent Esme, that brought to mind Douglas Dunn.
Wow!.. And let me echo that!
Absolutely excellent Esme 8)
A pulsing poetic painting.. a symphony.. and beyond…
A truly outstanding work =D>Mims.. you know already that I’m a fan of your work 8)
This one brings to mind an interesting tragi-comedy reminiscent of Wendy Cope.
Loving it :)Pepper thank you :)
The standard here is so staggeringly good at times, I am almost embarrassed to post.But hey… if you don’t put it out there, you don’t have the impetus to do better .. or at least to try to.
*goes to look and see who Wendy Cope is* :)
Five great poems, I would say. The authors are like the lyrical equivalents of Friedrich, Fuseli, Géricault and Lowry.
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