Night's Torments - a hasty first draft - an instant response

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 


             

A Noble Silence - illustrated poem - Re-post

Two Poems dis-interred as a result of the High Court trampling on (the same) workers rights

Today the High Court found an excuse to prevent the CWU from taking strike action in spite of the ballot receiving 97% support for their action! 

The two poems below date from October 2017 when the Tory High Court previously ruled against these workers rights.

As If The Worlds Woe - draft IV

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