Closer to Ecstasy

There’s a dark, deep powerful thread

Running around us now, these

Fifty wild, unloaded ghost-white mustangs,

Manes streaming like tense autumn lightnings

As they stretch their necks and head-down charge

Up the scree-walled slopes to the place

Where the beautiful god-of-all-storms

Presses spells into the lavender-bruise sky

With an axe and a battle-hearted melody.

And I’m full of electric jolts and sparkle,

Riding a box-car built of grey-knot timber and phantom iron,

Sharing the line with a rock-heavy locomotive

That follows a hole drilled in the solid wall of blackness

By the Cyclops-eyed lantern strung from the cow-catcher sweep.

With a heavy, chain muscled hand the fire-box silhouetted driver

Pulls the cord that will set the moon’s-hell bells ringing:

Darkness is coming and I couldn’t be closer to ecstasy.

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A Dark Grail

Playful, wilfully strong winds

That recently raked the long-dead, cold ash seas

Of January’s long-dark moon of passion

Snap open, draw out a banner I

Have only seen in dreamscapes:

A dark grail framed by shooting stars;

Now lift a jackdaw effortlessly

And fling it across the arcs

Of playground world and

New-opened, wide blue envelope.

There’s a harsh, savage-code joy scream

Torn from the bird’s bandit throat;

“You ain’t going to be born again,

Turn away from your second-chances illusion

And be all of the selves you need to be

Before your bright rainbow burns only

Slow, old gold-treasure memories.

Find the garden in the desert,

The music in the river,

The time beyond the clock.”

 

We Share …

We share a long road, a loud stage:

The snake, the soldier, the lord and I,

Learning from each other that bad,

In some circumstances,

Can be quite the opposite

But that wrong is always wrong.

We feel the earth move –

In  a good way –

Around us, feel the warmth,

The support

As well as the cold.

Let’s Not Forget …

“I believe,” she whispered –

Turning, smiling, naked as love

And saints-be-tempted desirable –

“That we are all free to believe

What we want to believe,”

The words of an earlier wiser fool.

Her voice is filled with

November-smoke warmth,

Saved-summer-honey sweetness.

“But we both know, don’t we,

That when the delight-filled education-explorations

Of seduction-seduction seductions

Have passed;

When consummation’s  firework-glorious games

Are familiar as history,

That the road between winters

Will still be there – beyond the curtains and doors

We thought were finally closed –

Waiting patiently for us … so,

Just sayin’, let’s not forget

Where we left our boots eh?”

 

Twenty Fifteen?

When we cross the line –

One that clearly was never there –

A new Adam awaits:

Smartly dressed – en vogue –

Smooth moves,

Voice as stunning clear

As dawn-mountain dew.

Wisdoms, like queens, kings and shadows

Move gracefully on,

Long skies,

Sometimes holding the sounds of bells

Or furious chemical-coloured works-of-fire,

Roll by without sentence.