Posts tagged ‘Minotaur’

28/07/2013

Ariadne’s Ritual (video)

 

 

 

 

a short film for the poem Ariadne’s Ritual, which can be found in this collection.

27/07/2013

Minotaur on the Moortops

 

He tries to sink back through the earth,

Through iridescent slips of schist,

To where the rock can douse his eyes,

Quench fire of sight, dull iris light.

 

The space – which counts the stars as months,

And judges time by shadow falls –

where lives can howl and show their age.

Each tick of sun and moon: a death

 

Up here, where echoes never start,

He lays down low and feels through peat

The rocks beneath, the subtle heat,

The walls where blood is merged with night.

 

Unfreed, unbound, and lost beyond:

The air is thin and spiked with sound.

 

 

27/07/2013

The Minotaur’s Freedom (video)

 

 

 

A short video for my poem “The Minotaur’s Freedom” (which can be read further down this collection).

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.

11/06/2012

The Minotaur Waits

 

The mystery ends when life ends

When eyes can see beyond this light

When fields are mountains, seas and skies:

A labyrinth of passing states.

 

The limestone springs which burst from cliffs,

The hawks and snakes which flow like streams,

The towns which grow and crumble back,

And through them all the binding thread.

 

Beneath a slope of sage in bloom

The monster licks his face and stares

Into the darkness of his lair.

He waits to take another life.

 

As all the other creatures here

He ties the strands of many fears.

28/05/2012

The Minotaur Roamed

 

The Minotaur, he roamed the land,

And time again he saw his hand:

The empty fields and measured tracts,

The creeping maze of polished stone,

 

A beast with eyes as bright as stars,

And countless monsters bursting life.

He saw the cages rising high,

And Minotaurs that feasted well.

 

He overheard some words of death,

And tasted rancid, reeking air.

He saw the grabbing creatures fall,

He saw how he had turned them all.

 

And from the freedom of the moors,

At last he’d found his prison walls.

 

 

28/05/2012

The Minotaur at the Ocean

 

He thought the moor would never end.

He ran until his feet were raw,

Until he left a trail of blood

Congealing, black as caves at night.

 

This freedom broke just like his heart:

It severed joy and shattered veins.

He ran until the hurting ceased,

Until he had no more to give.

 

And there just where the bleeding stopped

The moorland track had turned to grass,

And reached the edge of high sea cliffs.

He stopped and stared into the waves.

 

The ocean heaved and rolled its dead,

The waters grey and thick with lead.

28/05/2012

Minotaur Running

 

He runs the moor on gritstone paths,

The heather pollen thick in eyes

Unused to sun and distant skies.

He fears his shadow on the quartz.

 

He’d built an image of the breeze,

But now, at last, he feels her touch.

He looks about but cannot see

The fingers running through his mane.

 

He tastes the blood upon his tongue.

His heart is bursting through his throat.

The moorland paths run on and on,

Across a world un-walled, unknown.

 

Below the earth he stood up proud,

But here – so small – his head is bowed.

24/05/2012

These Minotaurs

 

These Minotaurs: the lost and sad,

The broken bodied, buried, burnt.

These fragments of the tales and fears

Are scattered over ancients’ seas.

 

These Minotaurs: so full of pride,

Of lust, of frail and short-lived reign.

These horrors spawned which rise and hate

And tear the spirit from the heart.

 

These Minotaurs: the innocent

Chthonic children, bursting free.

The gods of tunnels, formed and planned.

The gods of monsters yet to be.

 

These Minotaurs which question us.

These Minotaurs betrayed by us.

 

21/05/2012

Grassington Minotaur III

 

From off the moors I’ve heard your moans,

And seen the blood stains on the stones,

The howl of fearful winter storms:

Above the doors I’ve seen the charms.

 

But were you ever any more

Than breath exhaled in voiceless awe?

A thought which lingered on too long,

And left the anguish clinging on?

 

And did you taste the cavern’s air:

The dampness, rock and trapped despair?

Your monstrous counting of the space:

The skeletal wrecks through which you pace.

 

And did the living curse your name,

And weep as lovers fed your shame?

20/05/2012

Ariadne’s Ritual

 

The moon sits by her dancing maze

And spins her thread like spider’s silk.

She speaks of heroes, dreams of death,

And shows the dancers where to tread.

 

The planets one by one step up

And take the thread and dance the maze.

They face the sky and vault him high:

His horns are sharp and stained with blood.

 

The dancers keep a pounding beat,

They feel the earth beneath them groan.

The sky demands his sacrifice:

He tastes the pulse within them flow.

 

The golden crown of Thetis glints.

The moon will weep to feel its weight.

20/05/2012

Four Ages of the Minotaur

 

Around the corner deep within,

Where rocks and flames are drawn to life,

With flint and bone the beast was raised.

In words and fear its lust was craved.

 

In metal times its cave was shame.

Above its world the shields and swords

Could glint and glitter in the sun.

Down there its monstrous form was shunned.

 

Below the glories forged from trade

Its pit became a lead-mill floor.

The monster’s greed stretched out for more:

More lead, more coal, more steam, more blood.

 

And now beneath our nothing age

Its abstract grip grows stronger still.

17/05/2012

The Minotaur’s Truths

 

It’s just the same wherever cast,

The skeletal remains of beasts,

The broken doors, and backs, and will,

And eyes which shine at thoughts of death.

 

The innocent will take the blame.

The ones without will give it all:

The miners, herders, old folk, kids.

The shoeless walk the hardest path.

 

And deep below the brutal horns

Are gouging at another throat,

And taking yet another life,

And making yet another pound.

 

The creature knows the way of things,

It counts its truths and deems them fair.

17/05/2012

Theseus and the Beast

 

To gods we are forgotten beasts

Whose only sacrifice is time.

We play, we suffer, pointlessly:

We know that look of weary rage.

 

If we were older, you and I,

A fight like this would seem absurd.

We’d sit together, spin our yarns,

And cling to deeds that once meant all.

 

I see the scars about your face,

The way you sway and hesitate.

You seem too heavy on your feet.

You don’t react, you hardly move.

 

No questions, cries or final words.

No mercy begged, no mercy shown.

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.

15/05/2012

The Minotaur Ritual

 

Up from the sickly flowers of lead –

Whose blueish petals pale and drooped

Are soaked in black and matted blood –

The horns of consecration rise.

 

A liminal state of recompense

For ancient slights in sacrifice:

A creature born to neither form

Is left to wander through the dark.

 

Galena glints and burns within.

The furnace tipped towards the south,

And molten metal flows through time:

The monster slips between two states.

 

The flowers are gathered up and crushed.

Amongst the mines a new bull reigns.

12/05/2012

The Lies of Heroes

 

His jacket, buttoned tight and neat,

A face of honour, proud and true,

An air of quiet dignity:

A man for all that they might say.

 

He stands to face the hero’s sword.

He offers up his throat quite calm.

His death was written long before.

His life was made to take that thrust.

 

As Erskine Childers said “shoot true”.

He knew the world would judge him well –

Might even call this martyrdom.

He stares the man right in the eyes.

 

The monster’s death was not the end:

They severed his head, then spun their lies.

12/05/2012

The Minotaur’s Image

 

His blank façade was made for tales:

Where nothing lives the world exists

And meanings flood to fill the space.

Where monsters lurk we build our homes.

 

The venerated beast and man:

A test to all who leapt and prayed.

Then later he was hid away:

His appetites too close, too true.

 

And in that inhumed form was left

The residue of lust and death,

The tales of innocents sacrificed,

The tales of writers, tales of pride.

 

Our monstrous elements abide

However many times we’re slain.

08/05/2012

The Empire of the Minotaur

 

They built the halls and weighing rooms

Of millstone grit and avarice.

They birthed the monster, fed its spite,

Then hid it deep beneath the moors

 

The maze they dug stretched out for miles,

To Yorkshire mills and cotton fields,

To sugar cane and gold and slaves,

Through merchant men and ship-o-line.

 

And soon there lurked beneath it all

The monster’s barely human form:

The towns and cities bent in smoke,

The fenced and drained, the turned and choked.

 

Beneath the art the bullets forged,

Beneath the war the moneyed hoard.

02/05/2012

Sacrifice to the Minotaur

 

The linnets gather on the ling

And watch the knitting party pass.

Another morning thick with dust,

The men and women click and cough.

 

The ponies start their circling trudge.

A pipit rises then is lost.

The children gather at the pit:

One spits his blood into the sedge.

 

And from within the moaning starts,

A roar so deep the slagheap shifts.

The children by the ladder shake.

The knitting party help them down.

 

Their sacrifice will never still

The Minotaur’s half-human lust.