A Longer Age

 

The bare bones of winter
Fanned to the Heavens,
Tethered to the soul of the Earth.

Scored when held
The marks of age
And of wisdom.

To breathe is natural,
To see with eyeless circles
Natural still.

Appendages shed,
To nestle the cold
And wait for lofty sun.

A lone auburn
Lonely russet
Solitary silence at its simplest.

To listen, takes an age,
To learn, even longer,
For this, they stand and wait.

Burst to new existence,
At the break of Warm Day
With more life, fanned to the Heavens

Look now with no mystery
But nothing is learned
And to nothing listened.

The solitary solitude
Ripe with gleaming colour
Fulfilling sustainment.

In return we fan the flames.
Starve the famine.
Callously neglect.

They know the soul of the Earth
So why the need
For needless unheeding?

Will it simply take a Longer Age?
To this we do not know.
But look to empty Pandora’s Jar.

 

 

Originally submitted to Copper Staple

Revealing Simplicity

A brandished cobalt,
Honeyed centre,
Glistening with sky tears
Saturated, tender.

Streaks coloured darkly,
Held in reaching,
Confident and smiling
Charming, beseeching.

A tiny creature
Sat sublimely,
Lavishing and grasping
Captivating, timely.

Quick serenity,
Timeless silence,
Iris reveals
Vibrancy, guidance.

 

 

Image taken on my new camera… the wonderful Canon EOS 5D 12.8 with a 50mm EF Lens

The Now Sung Song

I took a photo of this pretty blue flower against the harsh rocks and hedge firstly (and most importantly) because I quite liked it, but also because it struck me that amidst the plain green and grey, a strong blue flower stood up. It might be a weed, but still for some reason, it helped to remind me that even in unsavoury circumstances we can all thrive.

I then remembered a poem I wrote and sent in to the Copper Staple, and felt on some level a correlation between the two…

The Now Sung Song

Tell me why, tell me why,
In this frightful delight,
Do you mutter and you stutter
At this wonderful sight?

She speaks, so she speaks,
‘Gainst the keeper of the key
With his circlet of gold
Of which he trapped she.

So before, so before,
Was it such a long chore,
Chip away, chip away
At her gorgeous demure.

But the eyes, but the eyes,
See how they’re alight?
Kindling a flame
Of such emerald green might.

Suppose you did not
And suppose she could not
Express the saintly storm;
Of the tide that had turned
Of your ship she had burned,
Then would there be reason to mourn?

Of course she did not
And of course she would not
Have reason, moral or fate,
To live for this life
And live in this life,
And burst the seams of hate.

How did she, how did she,
With dampening spirit,
Make such a triumph
From your ill-fated visit?

Do you know, do you know
It was you all along?
Depression and oppression
Lead to a new song.

Did you think, did you think,
With a sabre-like tongue,
You would cut her so deep
She could never have sung?

But sing for us all
With emblazoned glory,
For silence and then wrath
Make for such a good story.

Words and image Copyright © 2016 Alex Marlowe