Posts tagged ‘death’

11/11/2012

The Garden and the Grave

 

Descend again, subduct and sink.

Those final fingertips above:

An instant recalled and then let slip,

A moment more of autumn sun.

 

Then dragged beyond sensation’s grip

Through hollowed, lithospheric worlds –

A numbed and empty being lost –

Alone, chthonic, left to lust.

 

The deeper days have taken you.

Through shadowed halls of hanging trees

Your heart’s tectonics shift and drag.

You grow accustomed to your bed.

 

The crystals glint their soulless stars.

The Earth will give, the Earth will wait.

04/11/2012

The Garden

 

The garden stretched out in the dark,

To olive groves as old as air,

To pines in which the nightjars whirled,

And clapped their wings attracting mates.

 

The garden kept its boundaries vague:

It ended, but it never ceased.

The smell of earth and growth the same,

No matter how the planet turned.

 

The garden had an ancient name,

And older still its crumbling walls.

The nightingales could tell its tales,

Instead they chose to lure the moon.

 

The garden drew us back to muse

On how we’d lived, and how we’d tried.

31/10/2012

The Ritual of Autumn (How All Things End)

 

At last the autumn takes its toll:

The gaudy flush of leaves are down,

And weary frauds of summer burst.

We’re left to face the coming cold.

 

The monotone of honest skies,

Is dampening out all thoughts of growth.

The facts of death are plain and fair,

With brittle bark, revealed and bare,

 

The bed is warm, the fire is old.

What better place to turn away,

To run the thoughts that autumn brings,

Of things that mattered but are gone.

 

If change were worth the while we’d change,

But now we know how all things end.

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28/10/2012

Autumn

 

The air is rich with death and gold,

And webs of broken silk and dew.

The whispered flick of ancient storms

Are ebbing through the stubble straws.

 

Throughout the night the fungus spread,

Their fruiting bodies seeping spores,

And ripen new in curious forms

Amongst the foetid mulch of leaves.

 

And out of sight a rotting bird

Lies molding, feathers matted thick.

Its skull and beak like twisted shoots

Have burst from earth and reach for skies.

 

The writhing mass of Autumn wrings,

The gasping first and last of things.

26/10/2012

On Immanence

 

So who believes the sun and moon

Are spun as light and death combined,

Are melancholic twists of life,

Reflections cast and shadows shone?

 

And who can feel the planet’s pulse:

A universal burst and void,

A heart which beats as photon’s flow,

A home, a tomb, a silent space?

 

And who can see the distant spark:

One suffered, born and suffered on,

Through copper sunrise, opal dawn,

The spark which grew from star to speech?

 

Yet here in grass and flowers uncut,

I see the answer, smell belief.

21/07/2012

The Song of Ondine (Migration)

 

She flew alongside Sahel birds,

Migrating from their summer sedge.

She saw her ocean waves at work,

As autumn surges shaped the coast.

 

She saw the spread of lights at night,

And scars where scrubland disappeared.

The Sahel cuckoos held their calls.

They saw the marshlands drained and dried.

 

And further south the deserts spread

With sandstorms burning ever on.

She whirled in dust as dry as death.

Some birds pressed on while others fell.

 

The deserts scarified their tongues,

They looked to her to flow with song.

11/06/2012

Epitaph

 

Outside the time of human facts

The dead come calling from the swamps.

The birds and butterflies don’t change.

The rocks once cast and carved remain.

 

The fears and sorrows flow like springs,

All down the ages stay the same.

And yours and mine are never lost:

They’ve found their place and blow like dust.

 

And these emotions, streams and hills

Are flesh beneath our shifting skin,

Are sight behind our blinking lids,

Are answers lost to truths and gods.

 

The swamps are deep and thick with snakes,

It’s there – in peace – we lose our hopes.

11/06/2012

The Final Ritual

 

Before your long descent you bathe

In waters drawn from Acheron.

You feast and light the fires of death.

The shadows start to move and speak.

 

The first few steps into the dark

Will take you from the world you know.

These final minutes of your life

Will shred all sense of what is real.

 

The dampness of the walls and air

Has soaked your naked, puckered skin.

The deeper in the maze you move

The louder come the shadow’s taunts.

 

You stagger in your final room,

And here – where echoes cease – you see.

11/06/2012

On Crete He Dreamt

 

On Crete he dreamt of Epirus,

Of crossing through the stream of death,

Of drifting through the fields of hell,

Of casting off his monstrous form.

 

He dreamt one day the sword would thrust,

And free him from his prison walls,

Would let his eyeless soul see light,

Would kiss his throat and end the dark.

 

He ran his hands along the walls,

And felt the music of the stones.

The songs they sang of other worlds

Beyond this hateful measured place.

 

On Crete he dreamt of Epirus,

The mountain springs of Acheron.

29/05/2012

Mazes and Mines

 

They use the strongest men to cut,

The fleet to carve, the weak to smooth,

The dying breathe the dust and choke

On leaden lodes and metal veins.

 

They pile the spent in pits of lime,

Their bodies covered quick and deep.

The ones who make eternal works –

The slaves and workers – pay their tax.

 

The maze beneath the palace walls:

In marble, onyx, granite, bones.

The mines behind the Empire’s rise:

The tailings heaps which hide its graves.

 

They mark the cost of their success:

These kings and heroes, rich and blessed.

26/05/2012

Threads

 

To love the beauty of the world:

How such a beast as this could live.

The nightingales and orange groves:

Beneath them all the fear and loss.

 

To love the mystery and the space:

The measurement of prison walls.

The moorland tops where skylarks rise

Above economies of death.

 

To love the way we grasp at truth:

Its horns are sharp and black with blood.

The only day we have is this.

The gods have made these memories strong.

 

The sun will rise beneath the earth.

The daily horrors count our worth.

16/05/2012

Confession of a Minotaur

 

I am a minotaur: I stand.

I am a minotaur: I crouch.

I am a minotaur: I hide.

I am a minotaur: I stride.

 

They’ll find a way to cut me down.

They’ll work their magic through the cracks

And soon they’ll have me by the throat

And drag me out to face their fear.

 

I am a minotaur: I cry.

I am a minotaur: I shake.

I am a minotaur: I bleed.

I am a minotaur: I know.

 

I hear his creeping, sandaled feet,

This death the gods have planned for me.