Posts tagged ‘escape’

13/10/2013

Broken

 

He broke his journey on that day.

No reason why, no thought before,

He simply picked his bag and left,

Four stops before the usual place.

 

And still without a question raised

He left the station, walked into

The town whose name he’d always seen

But never thought a real place.

 

He wandered on without a goal,

Just looking at the streets and shops,

And people on their way to work,

And none of it made any sense.

 

He stopped and stared up at the sky.

Same sky, same day: different life.

 

This poem was written as a response to the photograph by artist Cheryl Garner. It is part of an on-going collaboration.

The photographs, with poems, can be found at:

www.thecheesewolf.co.uk/category/vicarious-journeys/

the work of Cheryl Garner can be found at:

http://cherylgarner.squarespace.com/

 

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23/06/2013

Oil and Water

 

From where to where the question spins.

A roar of throttle run aways.

Escape is energy enough,

Escape and mysteries in rain.

 

They split the emptiness of streets,

And leave their molten lines of tar.

Like Carver’s “Elephant” in flight,

The tyres barely touch the road.

 

Refractions in a thinning slick:

The life before has slipped and bloomed,

And through its rainbows run the tales.

They leave behind their drying tracks.

 

The stories we can only guess,

Or write our own escapes instead.

 

Inspired by the photograph of the same title, which can (and should) be seen here:

http://stgpla.wordpress.com/2013/06/23/oil-water/

 

10/02/2013

The Night I Saw “Babette’s Feast”

 

On Brighton beach I watched the birds

Form dark aurora round the pier.

The sunset burned their patterned swirls

As afterglow across my mind.

 

I watched them as they sucked the light,

And dragged it down beneath the waves,

And when the neon broke their spell,

A lonely soul, I left the sea.

 

I went to watch a late night film.

The cinema smelled old and cold.

I drifted through a dreamlike meal,

In darkness tasted beer and bread.

 

A solitary watcher blind:

A film as still as life and time.

 

 

response to the film Babette’s Feast, and to art house cinemas.

 

 

 

26/01/2013

Walking to Walter Benjamin’s Grave (Walk No. 8)

 

These fossilised, volcanic screams

They marked the very edge of life.

One side: the town with bullet holes.

The other: gravestones marble bleached.

 

And where the trains came rumbling through

The weight of Europe bowed the fence,

A force unseen which broke the necks

Of every dove that ever crossed.

 

And dancers lost their footing there,

And slumped into the waiting tombs,

And poets closed their pocket books,

And burnt their evidence of dreams.

 

The morphine killed the pain and fear,

But hope has ways to keep you here.

 

 

03/11/2012

The Man Who Knew Too Much

 

Withdrawn again into his words,

His empty casket carved with tales:

“The Legend of His Years at Sea”;

“The Mystery of His Broken Heart”.

 

The Golden Fleece he washed and shrank.

His deities were less than frank.

He knows there’s nowhere left to run,

Yet still his need to flee this place.

 

“An island paradise”, they said.

To him it stinks of rich men’s debts,

And saps like him who pick the tab,

Or pass it on to orphaned kids.

 

So off his little stylus runs.

In fourteen lines: a fake escape.