Some Frenzied God

Closing The Deal

I just stumbled upon some scribbled random lines & words I'd hastily drafted in March 2017 and elsewhere a few scribbled random lines from April 2017. This afternoon I played around with the two separate entities before realising that they really belonged together, hence the following:
.

Closing The Deal

once having flown

too close to a werewolf moon

he struggled to provide

a blueprint for his own

corrupted furrow –

his joy

was rarely ever real –

but cynicism

worn as self-defence

though jocular

was more

like the true deal-

he dreamt of heroes

but all too soon became

a doleful clown

Malcolm Evison

-         20 August 2019

The Candle (one poem - two versions)

by hirsutemal

Although most of the drafts for these two versions of the same poem were written in January 1991 (during phase two of the First Gulf War), subsequently modified in 2005, I am still unable to decide which is the final version. Each version has its merits and no doubt their flaws too.

THE CANDLE (Version I)

Waiting to break

this happy equilibrium

the flames shaft

laps the glowing air.

Today the bombs

fall on Baghdad –

I watch the candle burn.

A patterned globe

of wax emits

a subtle fragrance –

no flesh is burning

here in my room.

Is this the flame

that purifies –

surgically pue?

An opening of the door –

a minor turbulence,

the flame now licks

the candles side.

The meltdown of the globe

begins so casually.

Malcolm Evison

*************************

THE CANDLE (Version II)

A patterned globe

of wax emits

a subtle fragrance.

The flames shaft

laps the glowing air

waiting to break

this happy equilibrium.

Is this the flame

that purifies

whilst commentators whine

of surgical strikes.

Open the door, create

a minor turbulence –

the flame now licks

the candles side –

the meltdown of the globe

began precisely

with the strike

of that first match.

Today the bombs

rain down; a patterned globe

emits the stench

of burning flesh.

          

   Malcolm Evison

Continue-uMM

                        

              Continue-uMM (second draft)

                               time alone knows

what it is

it passages through life

but as for all the rest -

quite unaware

of what makes it tick

we struggle on -

but are we fixed

in an imaginary

continuum

                              Malcolm Evison

@ what I choose to call

30 June 2019 / 01 July 2019

On The Road To The Isles - repost

ON THE ROAD TO THE ISLES

Numbed by this alien terrain,

where truth spells a montony

of rain, we ride entombed

towards our Shangri-La.

Each fresh horizon

taunts the tired eye,

echoes the fretful sense

of hours gone by.

A weariness pervades

this no-man's land.

*****

Go West young man!

We make our final fling -

turning to be embraced

by fire. The mist resorbed,

light's pan-theophany

revives a blighted mind.

Rainbows and thunderfall engrave

their echoes on the boundary

of our wonderment, refresh

a dormant sense.

The sky line seethes -

sun sanctified.

*****

White, searing, the unseen sun

burns from the core

of mountains, transforms

a shroud of haze

into a panoply of light.

Rocks swallowed by, still seize

upon this shimmering -

a spectral residue

of more torrential times.

Malcolm Evison

Magic & High Court ruling

I've just unearthed this (poetic tirade) amongst a pile of rough drafts - I still rage against the same governing party .....

Listening to Archie Shepp 'The Magic of Ju-Ju'

( a response after hearing news of Tory High Court clampdown

on CWU right to strike}

the rage and fury bursts

straight through my anger

diverts my impotent rage

grants a directional force

the struggle continues

as more is stolen

from the poorest

their power and pride

screams out

malcolm evison

12 October 2017

My draft poem’Towards an Autocratic State’ was also a response to the same court ruling:

See: http://malsfactory.blogspot.com/2017/10/towards-autocratic-state-poem-impromptu.html

Lines whilst listening to "New Thing at Newport" (1965

Lines whilst listening to “New Thing at Newport” (1965)

[Draft 4]

the reeds stray

from strident to mellifluous  

Soaring and flailing through the air

dance and sing their way

                           

                        around and over percussive beats

release me from despondency

assure me that at least

                         I can still feel

                           Malcolm Evison

                            27 March 2018

Mounds Mystery - #illustratedPoem

not waiting but sounding

We don’t wait, we wonder

if now is the time

for songs to flow –

strive to illuminate

the process of the mind.

We don’t write, we struggle

with unresolved dilemmas

from a troubled time.

Snatching the fevered line

out of a verbal stream.

We capture sprats from our

sense saturated scheme

of things, our thoughts

inscribed by rumours

of some impenetrable theme.

Our words may seldom praise, although

their aim is affirmation –

our images may never raise

the hopes of those who know

and share our fears.

Often we take the bait

our tamed imagination feeds us –

swallowing dreams, regurgitating

woes. We seldom wait, we wander

out into the unknown.

                       Malcolm Evison

MUSINGS

MUSINGS

Be more precise, sustain

these frequent lapses into sanity –

pronounce your arguments

with pure audacity. Explain

the cause of your temerity,

Bring me a fantasy which bares

a greater quotient of reality.

I yield, although I should not,

You wield

the greater power, but would not

always share. Tear me

away from light, remind me

of that lurking fear

of demons in the night.

Malcolm Evison

Mounds Mystery

Mounds Mystery

Each tussock casts a spell

It holds the hound in thrall

To some deep primitive allure

His nostrils flare

Then slap the fragranced air

As they snap back

Swallow the scent

Of other marking creatures

Or maybe deeper still

Beneath the tufted mound

Some timid smaller prey

Seeks sanctuary

Malcolm Evison

13 – 18 February 2019

Words Fail - A Fell Revisited