"inclemency" poems
The curtain of night descend upon the sky. It is aphonic, psychotic and dark.
Perpetually calling for daylight, but it is hours before the sun can, if, reply.
Those remote, desolate hours are intolerable, hurtful.
They bring the piercing screams of silence and poignancy.
My wasteland is inhabited with moribund trees in the middle of spring.
This world knows regrets and disingtegrating logic.
Although the constant clouds conceal my world, no sign of rain befalls the thirsty earth.
The trees curved to the scorched ground, seeking mercy, weary and restless of this static infertility.
The throats of the passing birds have dried, no song can brighten the sky.
Insipid and dimlit, not even the sun can filter through the clouds or the thickness of the fog.
Somewhere in this world my body awaits demise.
This decaying rationality bringing peril and incoherence, not a breeze or a murmur of rain,
to quench the aching and consuming thirst.
I beg in silence, but the words seem to hang confined in this inclemency, alone 'till my waking hour.
The curtain has not risen, the night still falls in place.
How long before I can succumb to oblivion and quiesce this raging, tormentig thoughts?
There is no answer to follow the question because I am this world's, this hell's, this limbo, wretched creator.
And so with cracked lips, with ragged breath and stinging chest I remain in the inside of this deserted, and cracked state of mind.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
*harvest hearth softly glowing
stone cold beneath weary feet
to winter between drafty walls
to recall what it is to feel
diminished window of light
door shut against inclemency
to slumber and dream without
to lose and find self within
time is ripe for apparitions
so unexpectedly haunting
cloaked in familiarity
heartflutteringly intrusive
daydreams are her elixir
scent of tea, turf, baked porter
dusted in peat ash patina
awakening dormant senses
...an invitation to a nice, soft night*
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 7:27 PM UTC
The land was veiled
and silence exultant -
p e r m e a t e d only by
sporadic
bird
calls
resonating from deep within the frozen forest
where life had retreated,
aghast by the glacial wind.
Cowering together,
dwellings shivered
ephemeral oak structures
bowed beneath
the freshly shorn lamb’s wool that enveloped all,
hastening,
the shearer continued.
You left this night,
without a whisper
of regret
across the interminable,
n u a i g furrows
u d l t n
that ridicule your lifeless,
even features - pitiless,
your sodden soles penetrated the ****** snow.
Impervious to such inclemency
I traipse deep into the thicket,
reminded of how earlier
I collected from this q u i v e r i n g coppice,
no more, no less
than my meagre allowance dictates.
Your stride is familiar,
for it was once mine
with metronomic ease I trace you,
further
further
further
traversing a promontory, I see you,
stood on a limestone plinth
overlooking
shimmering pasture below.
You turn; we face,
unwavering symmetry|
as stained crystals fall red with affliction
caressing the firmament I lace your name with my finger
indomitable,
no more.
©Thomas Gabriel
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 10:54 PM UTC
Happiness is a bird, spreading its wings and letting us fly a little before we fall.
The liberation of the fall, the cool of the burn, the apathy within the pain.
We are free within our losing, moving, moving, swinging, swinging, always winning.
Our souls let go with the slightest inclemency, our kindest killing.
I am happy, oh so happy, letting go.
You've truly saved my soul, wishing, wishing me goodbye.
No one ties, no more shackles, my heart, my soul, I'm free,
Because now? Its just me.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 7:54 PM UTC
A witness to Epochs
sired in miniature
Arabias, listening to the drawn-out
gasp of God, our
sleepy master rising from their
daybreak chamber
Future fatherhood adorned/Sunkissed mirage of
Irises doubting, adrift &
hazel/Adulthood is an aching spectacle
between selves/pinewood casts salivating for
devotion
I willfully lend to the wild Palace of my mind,
affixing gargoyles
and Memento Mori,
dispose of playthings & grieving Tulpas
with great inclemency,
marking dates to see the gold spring from my
Hiraeth Valley
I dream of shadow music
and the Sea, Oyamel trees quiver
at an approach, here-
Another turning
May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 2:36 AM UTC
There is a stiffness in my thumb
That stops me dead on feet
When I bend it, snap,
I clench my teeth
Cars hiss, splashing tires
The rain soothes my bones
Outside my grimy pane,
Dolorous bells—
Telephones
Do thumbs really ache
In inclemency?
All this time the rain
Has acidified, melting my marrows,
Or perhaps I had only fallen
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 4:42 PM UTC