|
Farewell To The Shade
Prince Rupert
Rupert lies on a bed
In a chamber and watches the weeds
And
the feather headed grasses
That waver on the grey stone balcony
He sees the blood-stained silk white sky
Of another
dawn arise
But Rupert knows this crimson morn
Will turn to dusk and night will fall
Before the day...
' Oh, give
me this day'
Prince Rupert calls,
'Give me this day.'
Rupert hangs by a thread
On the wall above the cool
soft bed
And daylight comes in flashes
Like memories of lightning through his mind.
He sees the fleur-de-lis floor
shine
Gold and white as the sun climbs
And glints into his ruby ring
Slipping from his finger, pale and thin...
On
to the floor.
'Oh, give me this day',
Prince Rupert calls,
'Give me this day'.
Rupert lies on a bed
Where
the night bows her head,
Stars weave their dreams around him,
' Give me this day'
Prince Rupert calls.
Macbeth's Head
How beautiful
and unexpected it was
To wake and see the snow
Butterflying in through the open window,
Sand-dune drifting towards
his feet,
Blanketing his room
Covering his heirlooms
And scattered things, all smashed up and sad
He felt so glad
that they were gone
But still there beneath the snow.
With Macbeth's clay-red arm around his neck,
He said--
' remember...don't forget where you are...
you're with me-'
His clay-red arm like the muddy river
That rambles through
the reeking town
Reaching for the sea.
Macbeth's head
Full of clover and the town below
Unaware of the time and the silent
snow.
Macbeth's head
Full of barking dogs
The churls in rags, their cloaks
The heads of stags clashing antlers...
Their
cloaks billowing down
The silvery hills of sleep.
Macbeth's head
Blows a silver horn of dented stars
Across
the misty heath
But, 'come back' he couldn't say.
Macbeth's head
In the emerald eyes of dark women
Barefoot on
the wharf,
The north winds sing-song singing
Through the gorse.
Macbeth's head
Down in the streets below
Blissfully
unaware of the virgin snow
His purple tongue locked inside his mouth
Shouting drunken at the clouds
And a voice echoes
through the landslide town
Beneath the bracelet bridge...
Macbeth's arm tenses round his neck-
Don't forget, don't
forget.
Macbeth's head
Full of the smell of stone.
Macbeth's head
Falls from the satin sky
His closed eyes
His
eyelids open...
Macbeth's arm tenses round his neck-
...Don't forget.,
Don't forget.
And how beautiful and
unexpected it was
To wake and see the snow.
Belief In The Rose
The rose bows its head
From the hedge to the shade,
In
the whispering calm
Of the cool colonnade,
Unravelling dreams and deeds
As it unfurls the heavy scent
I tried
to reach,
Its poisonous dreams so clear,
Where death is death
And joy is joy so sweet.
And I forgot your tattered
head,
Your rain battered dress
And I forgot your dark caress...
I want your thorns to cut my flesh,
My sallow
flesh.
Your petals fall
But your thorns they remain,
Though seasons I wait
For your blood flower again;
And
wisdom and time they tried
To scorn your world
But in the rose I will believe,
Your pleasure, your pain, your dreams
Where
death is death
And joy is joy so sweet.
The Street Organ
The street organ plays
Its blithe tune through
the town,,
Winding down the alleys with the yellow
leaves
It meanders down bleak avenues where
The copper-green
monuments stare
At nothing...
It passes them by unheard,
Waltzes with the ribbons of distant winter air,
The messengers
of snow...
Moon-struck and gold.
It croons with the lullbabys that lull
The babies back to wombs,
Confuses time
with its merry sombre chiming,
calling back the old,
Conjures daughters, lovers, sons,
Fears, mothers, seasons,
minutes,
Lost and found, lost love, spring and nothing.
She sings like a bird that wakes up warm
And thinks the winter's
over.
The street organ's music is heard
For the first time here and the last time
there
And not at all.
Cathedral
quiet and narcotic seas
In a mind of tide-mark memories...
The strand of hair that falls in front of her face...
He
woke up and called out her name
But only the street organ answered.
The street organ plays down every road,
Moon-struck
and gold.
Lady D'Arbanville
My lady D'Arbanville
Why do you sleep so still?
I
will wake you tomorrow
And you will be my fill
Yes you will be my fill
My lady D'Arbanville
Why does it grieve
me so?.
But your heart seems so silent
Why do you breathe so low?
Why do you breathe so low?
My lady D'Arbanville
Why
do you sleep so still?
I will wake you tomorrow
And you will be my fill
Yes you will be my fill
My lady D'Arbanville
You
look so cold this night,
Your lips feel like winter
Your skin has turned to white
Your skin has turned to white
I
loved you my lady
Though in your grave you lie
I'll always be with you
This rose will never die
This rose will
never die
I loved you my lady
Though in your grave you lie
I'll always be with you
This rose will never die
This
rose will never die
Misfortunes
I would chase the moons cold eye
Into the bitterest
day
And I would watch the sun-dial
And in its shadow stay-.
So don't let me be afraid.
I would hear misfortune
cry
Out of its virtuous face
As I would watch the sun-dial
And through its darkness race.
The silver star
of morning
Blinks down a tear from the sky,
The sun has now arisen
The night closed its watchful eye
So don't
let me be afraid
I would chase its ancient time
Into the perilons wastes
And I would watch the sun-dial
So
don't let me be afraid
I would hear misfortunes cry
Pay to i's warning no heed
As I would watch the sun-dial
My
darkest thoughts are freed.
The silver star of morning
Blinks down a tear from the sky,
The sun has now arisen
The
night closed its watchful eye
So don't let me be afraid
Don't let me be afraid
The Pear Tree
She hung her gown from the pear tree
And watched
it swing,
Above the daisies ox-eyes
Like the flapping of wings
Through the blue marbled sky,
From her chest...
And
the trickling of sweat.
The midday sun slants down
Around her through the leaves,
Like a loosening embrace
The
colours fade,
And the branches creak.
The hanging gown in the pear tree
Flutters its limbs
Turns with her breath
to autumns-
Burning sky a-beckoning
With the song of the lark
She could sing
To the summer but it left.
The
evening sun falls down
Around her through the leaves,
Like a loosening embrace
The summer wanes,
And the branches
creak.
The hanging gown in the pear tree
Above her swings,
Like earths abandoned angel
Loosely flapping its
wings
With the regular rise and fall of her chest.
Ill Omen
It's June and I see the woods,
The quiet pools,
The
glades and blue hollows...
I saw the woods were wound with sorrow
So don't stop, clatter on,
But it says 'come on...come
on'
As doors swing open into lazy gardens,
'Come on...come on
This is love, don't go on.'
And I see the perfect
wife,
I can almost smell her apple breath
And her milky dress...
She says 'come on...come on
This is love, don't
go on.'
I swoon past the pearly rooms
In staggered roofs...
He waits for tomorrow,
I saw his lips were mouthing
'follow,
This is love, don't go on.'
But I scream-come on...come on
My iron horse, my train, my ghost companion
Come
on...come on my iron horse clatter on.
And I feel its heart unwind
And pull me to its gleaming breast,
Its black
flesh...
It says come on...come on,
Never stop clatter on.
The iron horse pumps its steam screaming
whistle.
The Horse Fair
To where...to where
I come to you like an arrow through
the night
To where...to where
To the horse fair
Cutting through the breeze
To where...to where
ITh see the
ribbons in her hair
To where...to where
To the horse fair
Through the spring air
And the ribbons in her hair
To
the perfect life of a distant mind
To where...to where
these picture-book scenes
And wild seas
To where...to where
To
nowhere
To the horse fair
And the ribbons in her hair
From nowhere
Through blissful black nothing
Like no one
to nowhere
To where...to where
A steel slow note
slow changing low string
To where...to where
to the horse fair
The ribbons in her hair
But I am the black arrow
That
flies through the night.
Anchor Yard
She stands beneath the arch in anchor yard
And
pulls her shawl around her back.
Her bandaged hands remember-
Hooks of iron hanging from the walls,
Fish guts on
the blue-bricks
And the rain with the autumn falls
Around her shoulders like the night...
The strange songs they
sang will always
Go round the moss walls
Where the hot sun crawls.
So come back mackerel days
Sing with me
to the waves...
We were the knives and we were the hands,
we are the salt and we are the sand.
We are the song
of anchor yard.
|
