Posts tagged ‘creativity’

07/07/2013

Melencholia I (Dürer’s Angel)

 

The comet tail has sliced the sky,

And rainbows with it sink the sun

Beneath a springing autumn tide:

A will which never will become.

 

The dust of spirits coat the walls

And count from numbered square to square.

Their flightless wings, which trick the skies,

Dissolve her memories into time.

 

And all around there lays the wreck

Of love and art, which break apart,

And carve their sorry tales away,

Into the pointlessness of life.

 

With watered crown and weighted wings,

She leans her heavy bones on bone.

 

25/11/2012

Death and the Alder Grove

 

In hollow times I cease to be,

And seek the caves of others’ thoughts.

I cease to write and cease to speak,

I close my mind and haul within.

 

And there their echoes fill my mouth.

And there their doubts cascade around

In empty soothings, empty charms,

In shallow, whirling myths and lies.

 

So further into death I climb,

Until at last I find my peace

In ancient groves of alder trees,

In silence deep as pain is long.

 

Where mysteries breathe and lives are sought:

Where self has ended, selves are caught.

20/11/2012

In the Garden of the Melancholic Angels

 

Despite the joys and birth of days

It’s in the shadows lives are formed.

And emptiness has taken grip

With hollow hold and weighted wings.

 

In dreamless sleeps and deathlike states

These creatures, raised in setting suns,

Have soaked my life’s imperfect truths

With bile as bleak as printer’s ink.

 

Their tools of resurrection rust

Beneath the darkening Autumn skies.

I’ll wear their wreath of drowning hopes,

No matter how the lights might spark.

 

As comets trail their dust of tears,

My hopeless questions cling to fears.

25/05/2012

In the Pit

 

In every pit there waits a beast

To break your will and snap your back,

To feast on every fear you bring:

And fears you’ll bring, and feast it will.

 

Just take the rope and lower away

And go in search of horns and snout,

And breath the stench of mustard gas,

And primal stew of sacrifice.

 

You need that beast to drag you on,

To shake you from the placid ways.

Its monstrous and divided lusts

Compel you to prepare for life.

 

For round the next uncertain bend

It just might be that this will end.