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"tableclothed" poems
The writer sits and ponders, filled with empty silent dread, ‘Sorry, this word cannot be found’ the smug spellchecker says. Weary of petty complications he drifts, searching for inspiration, soaring through the African sky with glorious, lofty liberation. The yellow plains stretch far below herds of buffalo, running free the lions hide amongst the grass dotted around sandarac trees. He soars now, over snow-capped peaks tableclothed in angry cloud, by eagles, gliding with their young their talons stretched in readiness silhouetted in the fiery sun. He conjures now, Fijian sand, lazy swaying palms crashing frothy, roaring waves; silky banana *** A sparkling ocean glittering, caked with yellow icing, just a mirror for the setting sun. But then wings of grace are stripped and he plummets towards uncertainty, falling back to swivel chair, staring at desk lamps, coffee, burgundy. The rain drizzles down outside, the heating pours through well-placed vents as Chinese Communism awaits: confronting, mocking, dense.
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Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
dj-goodwin-1
Dreamscape
The writer sits and ponders, filled with empty silent dread, ‘Sorry, this word cannot be found’ the smug spellchecker says. Weary of petty complications he drifts, searching for inspiration, soaring through the African sky with glorious, lofty liberation. The yellow plains stretch far below herds of buffalo, running free the lions hide amongst the grass dotted around sandarac trees. He soars now, over snow-capped peaks tableclothed in angry cloud, by eagles, gliding with their young their talons stretched in readiness silhouetted in the fiery sun. He conjures now, Fijian sand, lazy swaying palms crashing frothy, roaring waves; silky banana *** A sparkling ocean glittering, caked with yellow icing, just a mirror for the setting sun. But then wings of grace are stripped and he plummets towards uncertainty, falling back to swivel chair, staring at desk lamps, coffee, burgundy. The rain drizzles down outside, the heating pours through well-placed vents as Chinese Communism awaits: confronting, mocking, dense.
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While the world is trying to reach us We abandon shallow spectres of time And scratch each other’s itches Salaciously. We sink into these magic hours, ****** under coverlets of dreams. While outside thunders leaden showers, No water leaks in through the seams Surrounded like a snake By suffocators of reality We shed each other’s skins Coiled in twists of content. Angels dance from her fingertips, Twirling in nascent currents. The world outside is dissolute It wails and spatters. It sneers in through silver panes It wants none of what we have, the miscreant; It wants only to breathe its grimy breath. But we are resolute. In fact we are ebullient. The haze of incense, the heat of bodies, Our world is infinitesimal. We cavort under our big top; our tipi; Our tableclothed Elysium. We dance through each other’s minds Twirling golden ribbons Behind us like shooting stars. We soar through subconscious clouds And smile at forbidden sunlight Splashed across our faces. And we sink back slowly Listening to the fading showers We sink back slowly Into these magic hours.
0
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
dj-goodwin-1
Magic Hours
While the world is trying to reach us We abandon shallow spectres of time And scratch each other’s itches Salaciously. We sink into these magic hours, ****** under coverlets of dreams. While outside thunders leaden showers, No water leaks in through the seams Surrounded like a snake By suffocators of reality We shed each other’s skins Coiled in twists of content. Angels dance from her fingertips, Twirling in nascent currents. The world outside is dissolute It wails and spatters. It sneers in through silver panes It wants none of what we have, the miscreant; It wants only to breathe its grimy breath. But we are resolute. In fact we are ebullient. The haze of incense, the heat of bodies, Our world is infinitesimal. We cavort under our big top; our tipi; Our tableclothed Elysium. We dance through each other’s minds Twirling golden ribbons Behind us like shooting stars. We soar through subconscious clouds And smile at forbidden sunlight Splashed across our faces. And we sink back slowly Listening to the fading showers We sink back slowly Into these magic hours.
Continue reading...
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