antony glaser

antony glaser Apr 2012

I am neither cryptic nor a firestone,
not even immune from hurt.
I deem myself functional
from a dearth of sources.
Gardening being instinctive.
Enduring Agnes my first love
with her then fringed suede ideals,
temporarily blamed herself,
believing I could never be
the sum of her dreams.
Men are not clotheshorses
they don't need to kick clod.
Some would rather grew
Nicotiana Sylvestris and
the Sunflower "Moonwalker"
in their Midshires allotments
with Agnes's tending
their "Love lies bleeding".

Flowers are more than just the visual, they are metaphors too

antony glaser Apr 2012

Windows

A myriad of views from the window pane
sparks buried memories.
August has always been that Augural Month
the time of Achromatic colours,
painted as crumbling stone walls
from a bygone Age.
Ice wine drank from the rind of the gourd
ranked sour, a season's poor worth -
nature's tithe ?
The colour of the meandering smoke
discernible from my window,
will count for more promises
like a laden Kaleidoscope apart.

antony glaser Apr 2012

War's Descretion

If I were hanging recoiled on barbed wire
as part of some civil war
would my eyes shade to blue
or would the composite Brown anger you ?
and clearly if that offended you
would you be resolute
in not clipping the redoubt ?
Would you carte blanch
the injured with Morphine,
so they could fester politely
by the feat of decrepitation.

antony glaser Apr 2012

Black Branches

The black branches contradict the sky
they snag against its emerald cloth
The empty smithy nigh high
in squalid water
casts its furtive shadow.
The boy with steeped brow
rubs his pale eyes,
pallid under the dazed night
he is drunk with lament
a counternance with foretold death

antony glaser Apr 2012

Blinded Crackles

The fireside crackles at Lobster Inn
then retreats as the Solar tides wanes,
Embers of truth reappear
as craggy indifference,
silhouettes blind fingers
polished for clandestine tables,
whose singed confessions are
as stricken as bleached midnights.
We befit those restless
from this augural evermore.
Elsewhere it is Raining.

antony glaser Apr 2012

Bluebells

When I wander among the swathes of  Bluebells
I am minded of a  nascent  variety
creeping in amongst our beloved ones,
Spanish shifts of hue
in the Weald of traditional  Kent.
I swear some sad maid
riding on a basket bicycle
scattering new seed
how unpatriotic !

antony glaser Apr 2012

Obeying the Rules

Their interpretations are out
in the public domain,
either derivation serves.
Long drawn Ethmolgy
often over reaches,
Random pretentiousness increases,
until Lexicons are suppliant
causing loopholes to lessen.
trying to excogitate meaning !