Poetry Corner: ‘All Strong In A Silent Plain’

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Driftwood (2012) by Nicholas Peart

 

 

Lion channels low under solemn crow glides

the real beast crashing too hard

I saw marks all over the parish floor

the uniform conformed emotion

risks like snake bites

an area of fear untouched

perhaps locked for eternity

as ever I see death in countless eyes

 

I muster all physical and mental strength to pray

and on top in the most tender of ways

spiritual inter-cosmic multitasking

until my brain collapses and candles surround me

an unusual death to dwell on

where grains have no meaning and screams are forever muted

love vanishing to the naked eye

but to the third eye only so much one can stand

it cannot be but walking on air with his breath the key

all signals unfurl and unleash the dreams of golden days

but journeys back can rock the core too much

even if all risks must stain and fear be embraced.

 

Arms to fruitless mother milk

with four white pristine horses ready to glow a shade of bright blinding white

an eclipse purity

my loving sometimes got in the way

and my chains were my companions in disguise

my dangerous impulses not so strong anymore

purple skies appear when they want

but every phenomenon is a more profound gift

my new responsibility is to sharpen my listening

my most cherished love

I am here and I won’t bolt

by my bedside my heart and refreshed brain wait

I have nothing but time

 

To read our lines

our back spaces

these holy chests most people bury

mine are in the public domain

don’t be scared and don’t try

after all

everybody makes tunnel love

but many make war light-bright

private love

public war

a duality of insanity

a unity of nothing

I shut my eyes and roll to the next day

every meaningful marble with me always

tall lightweight pendulum rocks

each swing a new interval

but my mind is a landscape the same as it ever was

I don’t leave the hill

I feign no emotion

like a statue still

only the pouring acid rain can shift me

yet electric minds can fix and propel me

all the while pouring out the hole

old laws applied to obtuse staccato barrel drones

no motion

for the fuel to rise above the needle of colour-sound

the brakes are off

multiple claw-ladders await and before I ask the first top-sphere question

I become part of the full uni-vertigo trip

top bop-trad-time-forte

meta-moves (a web of new coordinates)

all strong in a silent plain

 

by Nicholas Peart

17th January 2016

 

(All rights reserved)

 

 

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