MAL's FACTORY - Poetry & Prose Poems
A companion to THE WORD OF SINNA LUVVA blog. An Outlet for new poems, drafts of poems and even rediscovered or reworked ones! For more poetry by Malcolm Evison see the Related Sites listing.
Wednesday, January 03, 2024
Wednesday, November 03, 2021
Monday, April 26, 2021
in the wee small hours
This poem is a reworking of a poem from 2011 - modified today 21 April 2021 -
poem & background image by Malcolm Evison
Thursday, June 11, 2020
Word
Word
The pain of not to know
a words true meaning -
(a heartfelt paradox
so tautologically
entwined)
brain travels inscapes
of the mind
the universe declaims
I AM - the exocentric
altar. Delving
through layers of time
exploring a fresh terrain
-
we dream of worlds
where words were not yet
known. We fail to
understand.
Seeking our solace
in links with primal man -
we feel the air vibrate
with all our fears,
and through the storm
we hear the voice that
tears
at our discretion.
All is, and nought eludes
our sense, each particle
is new, and each the
wholeness.
Then vision fades.
Unable to untie
our deepest fears,
from realms of theory,
we seek salvation
in vacuity -
unable to unite
the reasons for this life
with joy in living
we yearn for sunlight
to dissipate the gloom -
at each encounter
ache for renewed creation.
The phase explodes -
gone is all sense
and reason yields
to circumstance.
Our reminiscence magnifies
the mis-spent days -
heroic sacrifice
now reeks of self-abuse.
Our word-linked knowledge
looks to primal man -
speaking of worlds
where words were not yet
known -
no matter how we squirm
we fail to understand
that words
are still the master
of the man.
Malcolm Evison
rediscovered fragment - weft and warp
Weft
and warp the winding river
Weaves
a sky-glass mirror wide
Where
broken reeds in woeful frolic dance
And
all of nature is a song field
Happy
singing softly low
Hush
waves sift across the shallows
Humming
pebbles flow
In
my mind I know no resting
See
the country torment side
Burdened
down with woeful pity
Watching
sorrow crease their smiles
In
the heaving night I lie awake
I
lie awake and think of green of day
When
I with you through fields will wander
Our
love we must not squander away
Away
dull cares and lift the heavy shield
That
guards my ears and eyes
I
want to live, to breathe, to love
Far
from my captive sighs
Malcolm
Evison
(a
rediscovered fragment of a poem I was working on circa 1966 – no
prize for guessing the poet to whom it was indebted)
Saturday, January 25, 2020
Monday, December 16, 2019
Squirrel in the Rain - repost
Having watched the acrobatic antics of a squirrel, in various parts of our garden, this morning, I thought it was maybe time to repost this poem!
Squirrel InThe Rain
He perches, in sparkling eyed contemplation
of the goal. Like some celebrated stylite,
he squats on his post, oblivious
to the hostile elements. My stare
intrudes upon his gaze; defiance
resonates across the intervening space. And then
the sudden leap,
a precarious landing on the ridge; teeth bared
he nuzzles the meshwork tower,
seeking nutrition.
Losing his grip,
he hastily takes flight, back
to the stepping stone beam -
the garden fence’s parapet.
A sudden sure footed spring onto the post;
I stare at him, he glowers back at me,
brush-tail twitching. I sense
a mood of defiance; he leaps once more
to the bird tables roof.
A turbulent manoeuvre finds
a covered plateau. A sense
of instability
takes charge. He beats
a hasty retreat.
Post squatted,
he focusses once more.
He steels himself,
then springs.
The glistening plastic proves
more than a match; he takes
a floundering fall
into the sodden undergrowth.
Bedraggled, he climbs the austere fence,
tail discomfortedly curled,
shakes vigorously. The watery beads
propel themselves from body into air.
Straight tailed, disconsolate,
he beats retreat
along the wooden parapet.
Malcolm Evison
22 May 2006
Thursday, November 14, 2019
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