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Alex Crockett Aug 2014
Dear Watchman,
Without thy gaze into the far
Without the warning, danger,
Without thought or care
Lost, would we be

In a world dressed with smiles
Hiding the vicissitudes
The callous calls of fury
This citadel would fall
Without this Watchman

This land, this precious soil
It creeps with terror skulking in the dark
Your lighthouse looks for passage
And your gaze looks

Keep looking Watchman,
Keep eyes firm,
Stern or starboard clear
We set sail knowing
That your light will guide
Your eyes protect
Your wisdom dear.
Written to my father in law.
Alex Crockett Apr 2014
You said you’d have me in five years,
You knew how I young I was then
It’s been almost ten
That morning we lay there.. Perfectly honest
Perfectly naked
And we knew that that was the end
But those visions never ended
Those nights never stopped
In my thoughts we were tangled
Like lovers who knew no end
Sometimes All I remember are your stockings
Sometimes I remember You trying take a better position
To feel more stretched up against my chest
But, what I remember most is the light and the skin
The knowing before the night began
We knew what we were
Hoping that we might be more
Than the morning

Now I can only dream about you
You have become my lesson
The other world
Another place
Hope in a desperate time
The secret that life is cruel
And in its cruelty I am its fool

Last night I dreamt we lived together with my mother
I spurned you as we sat naked, your ******* perfects still
Your stomach relaxed as you sat on your knees
Half covered
In sheets
And to my mother you ran
Ignoring me
Avoiding me when, like in a ballet I followed you
Following my mistake
Desperate to correct
The mistake I made in those days of youth

The tragedy of reason
The foolish responsibilities we feel we have
To those other than ourselves
You were my lazy lover
A lover for whom and with whom I was too young
You flowed over me with your passion
My passion was yours to have
And I gave it to you like it was all I had
Now I have none
None for life but ornaments
Ornamnets who are the trophies of second place
Alex Crockett Sep 2009
The sun lays herself upon memory
Laying ground for unspoken imagery
And in this place of privacy
I rest my head.

Light from sky
And warmth from day
Protrude my eyes with the scent and haze
Of pollens strong
Inconspicuous way

And in comfort that time will start again,
And industry will take away
These moments of lustful and lazy play.

Until that moment,

when new forms
Of peace and want display
dusk becomes the romance and the pleasure
summer are the wealthiest of my leisure

And we will meet behind the dusty throw of light
orange red will be our candle
Till night looms
This – the aspect of our life
Our destiny and daydream this day
Alex Crockett Sep 2009
Breaking all the rules,

There they are like sanctions,

A double vision to a double end,

Secret lies for us to comprehend.

Freedom bore no place here,

It bears no meaning, nor no hope,

A shackle or a chain are all the same,

These are the courses we take.

And, with each days decisions,

Consequences of pain,

Life itself remains unconquered, you see it,

Amounting to all the same.

True to you is like the punishment recurring,

Yet untrue is immediate and cursed,

These very moments, weaken the weakness and weaker still,

The birds sing the songs I have heard them rehearse.

Light dawns on an early morning, twilight dawns and dawns a burden or a curse.

Another choice drifts nearer, the same set of choices that once were,

They have come with the sun to hurt us.

And hurt, they will, some more.

Conversations play like games of chess,

Tactics in words shifting their pieces with their meanings

Maybe poker, like a bluff or a guess,

Maybe imagination expands on less.

But, truth will out and games all end,

And all the cards will equal the deck,

That is the gamble, and the consequence,

That is life and imperfection.

When love is tangled in a knotted web,

For that moment where Sisyphus takes hubris for his glory,

To play to loose and crumble climb after climb,

He tried,

And  encumber justice of the gods despite the story

Tis man who loses less and less.

Light dawns brighter with shutters drawn,

Peaking in and bringing the truths closer to their place of rest

Distance reminds us of home

And it is further than sleep will allow the spirit to acquiesce.

Sleep or sleep and night of quiet,

Golum comes for his ring,

The key he holds in his desire,

To hide that brute and murderous liar.

Golum waits till slumber, to remind,

We are all souls in desire, and night brings the snake to us all

and the fire.

So daylight breaks, birds sing their song,

They mate and fly and dance along

But, for Job, for Judas and for Peter,

The single man, the breaking bread,

Shaking hands and hanging head

Sacrilege smiles as we wake to glib

And that is life and that is majesty,

It is in those fables we hang our heads.

We are without perfection but welcome are we in company,

And, don’t forget Bessie Smith,

Rich once and poor twice and human through and through,

We’ll cheer the champagne and forget all the evil do,

For we have treacle ****, cars and Andy Warhol to remind us,

There is no soul in art.

That is life, that is the pity of the profound.

A sorry lot if we cared, but, we don’t,

Like children born to be born again

We are here only, to roll around.
Alex Crockett Sep 2009
Take them away to a nights adventure.

Sometimes this feels like a hotel room,

It’s not mine, it’s yours,

You make that clear -

Clothes are yours,

and remenants of days gone by,

All strwen across the floor.

Watching you walk to the bathroom, half naked,

except for your underwear.

That homely feel of comfort in a foreign place

reminds me more and more

of hotal rooms,

As if each evening were a holiday,

a holiday at home,

But it’s your home and the climates warm,

Turn the light, shut the door,

And two books open

Side by side,

you’ve got your sleep to come,

I’ll stare out the window, thinking, life.

Your fan is the breeze of the medieranean, comfort,

Still dressed, rolled up sleeves,

It’s quiet I seek, not chatter,

Just enough hours to read

till the middle of the night frightens dawn awake

The next days light.

The shadows creep with comfort

round the light about the bed,

and honesty is rolled in thought.

That is silence, sitting,

Sitting between ease.

Slumber waits like docked ships waiting for sailors.
Alex Crockett Sep 2009
A turbulent two weeks, nothing happened - To us.

Not much done nor lived nor conquered,

The world closed

The sun sheltered from work.

And a reality hit like a Phobia,

A Fear of crowds or activity,

A fear of not.

We thought – answers never came.

In two hours the world will wake,

Anxious fatigue will dwell like ***** goggles on a clear view,

And in two rooms there is not enough air to breath.

Two hours till waking,

In bed we lie,

And like half a soldier

We conquer only what torments us,

Nothing at all

Only in our imaginations

We are lost.
Alex Crockett Sep 2009
Time is something that wonders by,

meaning nothing, but for our lives.

The great expanse,

the truth untold

It’s all eqations, so I’m told.

Time is someting I’d like to conquer,

in my body and mind,

I’d like to know what Einstein saw after Newton,

In Time.

I’d like to beat the fates at their game,

reveal Plato’s world of ever lasting.

Time came, it went and it’s coming,

it’s now and then and will be – but not forever, at least here.

it conquers death, and life.

Time after all is not  concerned.

So time,

in mystery and rarefied symbolism,

Are you real or just conjured?

Parmenides had you for nought,

Explain the passing moment from now till then,

The change from what is to what isn’t makes the sense your illusion,

maybe you’re static and we’re just pasing,

percptions’ lie and conscious deception.

But, if you really do have dimension,

let it be revealed,

let me turn your hand to my creation,

and make what I haven’t from past sensation.
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