THE OLD MAN - illustrated poem

Maggie 18

Maggie

But I’m eighteen tomorrow

be nice to me

you’re being horrible –

I don’t really feel eighteen

so immature, naïve in many ways

isn’t it horrible to think

I’m eighteen tomorrow –

You must be nice to me

it’s my birthday

tomorrow

I’m eighteen.

Don’t be so nasty -

I’m strong you know

I took five boys on

one day –

I’ve got the bruises

But don’t be –

oh, Malcolm

you are horrible

being nasty when

it’s my birthday tomorrow.

Speaking with eyes

laughing and weeping –

dejected

trying to be happy –

Smiling sweetly

Informing me she’d cry

in a minute –

because

she’s eighteen tomorrow.

Malcolm Evison

1965 – rediscovered & slightly amended 220216

Consultation

Having just posted FRUSTRATIONS of a Medical and Medicinal Kind on 'The Word of Sinna Luvva' blog the resurrection of this poem seemed appropriate.

WORDS FAIL - (A Fell Revisited)

                                                 

                                                                                        WORDS FAIL

These words do not ring true,

cannot contain the tread

of rubber sole upon the beaten track,

the slide of stone beneath the feet,

the rustling of leaves

among the tangled roots.

These words cannot ring true;

as roots erode the step

whose shelf they form –

my words fail to express

the stressful joy, fail to commune

with nature. These words

do not permit the real footfall.

The fell remains

Unconquered.

Malcolm Evison

09 January 2016

Revision of Apropos Kings How – May 1981

a flawed new poem

  a loss of kilter

sometimes it feels as if

the whole wide world

is out of sorts

at other times 

I know

that is the case

perfection

 was never the intent

quite simply

my faltering goal

malcolm evison

                  041215                                 

The Old Man

 

They hang; a heavy weightlessness,
like long forgotten memories
seeking renewal. The man sits,
beside the window, looking
at the clouds. Remembering.


But nothing quite fits. If only
he could pass, at will, into
insanity. That would remove
the purgatory – desiring flames
to quench the smouldering remnants


of a life. He sits, beside the window,
watching the clouds. And waiting;


waiting for night-fall. Remembering.

Malcolm Evison

AWAKENING

AWAKENING [II]

Sat here and waiting; an emptiness is all.

Watching the candles cold-burning flame, mourning

the passing of time. Words, veiled

            in silence (silence and words are one)

I expect a dove to descend.

Outside the clouds, low clouds

a hanging freedom. Still and free

as a knowing mind –

“but night will drown you

and your sky. No witnesses.”

I pick up a book, and read it

slowly. All this is far away, and still

it is. All time is my time and I feel

the pull of it. The word; these words –

the word and world of it.

I too am written, writing you my life.

My life I am writing, and being written by.

The street is silent.

But then the train. The train

chokes on its own echo

as it crosses the bridge. The wheels

make conversation with the broken air –

the sky replies

releasing the dove.

Malcolm Evison

This poem has also been posted on "Archive Mined"

MISSION BETRAYED - Richard of York

In light of the re-interment of Richard III the time seemed opportune to retrieve / republish this poem of mine!

MISSION BETRAYED

[Redemore 22 August 1485]

Misjudged by many of my peers,

betrayed by those in whom

I placed my trust. Today

I sift through memory,

acknowledge scheming in my blood -

the unquenched thirst

of generations. Betrayal

led me to accept defeat

out of the very jaws

of victory. I clung

to pride.

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

A Judas multiplied

was on my side,

in faith, I thought them

little Christs. Their company

made for me

a lonely ride.

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

The wetlands bogged me down,

Canuted by the rapid-turning tide.

Today I made myself

a pawn

for Tudors grasping hand -

Today I died a King,

upheld the remnants

of my dignity.

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

My crown was no more theft

than fate contrives

to thrust on monarchy itself -

Today I have my pride.

                       Malcolm Evison

CHILLED SILVER & WONDERMENT

               CHILLED SILVER

chilled silver light defines

the garden's boundary

it shines

outlines

the laurelled shrubbery

reflects the sun's

last gasp - it's daily fall

the hedgerow chatters

many birds good nights

before the darkness

blankets my domain

Malcolm Evison

February 2015

WONDERMENT (Twitter verse)

not wandering

but wondering

about the universe

awesome and awful

all at once

Malcolm Evison

February 2015

 

these poems also appear on Archive Mined

ConDemNation

This poem was written on 7th November 2010

 as a response to certain policies

 of the recently (May 2010) formed ConDem coalition (Conservatives & Liberal Democrats) goverment.

The Yo-Yo Man

THE YO-YO MAN

Whirling, it made the day

seem shorter than

all other days had been.

It sang and leapt

at his fine-tuned command;

his finger tingled,

as the loop pulled tight.

He winced a smile. For now,

he'd thrown his cares away;

next time, perhaps,

he'd really let them go.

            

Malcolm Evison

Rough draft dated 13 April 2006 revivified 31 January 2015

restless night - a poem

RESTLESS NIGHT       #ME

each tentative turn
plays prelude
to a scream

toes stroked
by contact
with the sheet

shriek
at the burn
they feel



malcolm evison
2014