ADAM
This man, this image is the scheme
of things. This pure delight
he finds as he touches
the flesh of a woman. Man-made
this gift of God, the rib that grew
and blossomed to preserve
the blossoming. The man seeks entrance, strives
to heal the wound. Who can unite
these themes; this earth, these images,
his dreams - deeper than knowledge?
This man, this image is
the scheme of things -
within it and beyond.
Malcolm Evison
EVE
There and unknown; unknowing. This one
this moment is. There
and she does not know it. She is.
The man moves from his loneliness
toward her. She looks ahead,
her gaze, steady and confident. Her eyes
affirm the day. He cannot share it, sensing
that her lips betray, this confidence.
He reaches out to touch
her face, her lips tremblingly apart;
a silent fear disturbs
and beautifies. There are no words.
(She, he, wait for the mystery
to reveal itself).
The touch. Words drop their silent veil.
“Amen”, she says, discovering the word.
“Thank-you”, he says, discovering their power.
Together theirs is praise: separate and one.
Malcolm Evison
Displaying Not Disclosing
low cloud diffuses light
yet draws my sight
beyond it's own opacity
this grey tinged sky
defies all understanding
sun bathed it strives
to shield my eyes
from the radiance
that lies beyond its curtain
A Glass So Deeply Stained
sun bleached
low veiling cloud
denies all access
to the light beyond
my faith
is shrouded
when I fail
to share its light -
I pray
others may find
a breach in my opacity
4 February 2008
ROAD TO
memory. A faded
photograph, poised
on the pavements edge.
I pick it up and ask
“who’s smiling now”.
The smoke of distant chimneys, hangs
like a solemn vow.
A bird glides down
and strikes
the shrouded sky.
The feathered-flesh
made word,
it screams “defy”.
(Now elevate the moment
separate
the power of darkness
from your restless mind.)
A sudden beam of light
destroys the shroud.
Malcolm Evison
September 1971
OLD COMRADES
Wearing the anguish
of old age
like some military honour,
he follows the cortege.
He remembers the
and how his thoughts
had turned to the mill-girl
two doors down.
Sometimes the dream looms
larger than his life.
A smile emerges, creasing
His well-worn mask –
his sorrow smothered
by her freely-imaged warmth.
Flossie her name was,
now she’s gone –
his death was living,
hers is snugly wrapped in wood.
He wears his grief with pride;
alone, misunderstood.
Malcolm Evison
FLOCKS AND CONGREGATIONS
A darkly brooding
Congregation
Of cumuli glowers
Overhead
Threatens to destroy
Our horizon
A neighbouring flock
Glows brightly
Caressed by the sun
We ignore the gloom
And drive
Towards the light
Malcolm Evison
7 September 2007
