Sanctuary

SANCTUARY

Witnessing a fresco
in the chapel of my mind -
I could not rest.

My past -
emblazoned on the walls,
of this my secret hermitage -

I wept.

All colours had gone,
and only words hung there,
empty and cold.

Quietly in the night
I saw eternity decay
and knew
my life must change.

I awoke -
you arrived -
my transient future.

Malcolm Evison

Aged Poet has done some more archive trawling

A (final) working draft of a poem from the Thatcher Era can be found on 'Archive Mined & Freshly Spun' (DOLE-FULL BLUES).

MOVING

Whilst putting books back on their shelves, following recent decorating activity, I noticed a few dated jottings on the end papers of some volumes. (I had a habit of scribbling on the most immediately accessible blank piece of paper in those days).

I'm slightly mystified by this one but, something appeals/haunts me as I try to understand my more youthful mind-set.

MOVING

Times climate false and reasoned

calls me out of the dawn

into the full of light; moving

with great deliberation

full of ideas

as they are full of me -

time is the length of me

but I am larger

undefiled; moving

beyond the impotence

escaping

the disciplined innocence

of values which weigh

no heavier

than my tears of joy.

Malcolm Evison

14 January 1969

(re-moulded 12 May 2008)