October - without the 'toad of irony'

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Dear Monty,



Grayson Perry as quoted in the Guardian magazine yesterday said that; 'Britain has the toad of irony sitting on it '

Making things that represent actual places or people are no longer valid in this 'contemporary' world.
But October clears the air.

Leaves crisply fall
The light thins to a watery silver-gilt
Blue eyes like crystal shine in it

I must live on the other side of the valley
The consuming passion consumed
Leaving entrails in the wood

The chainsaw rasps of dirt bikes
And the whiff of petrol fumes
Hang in the thin air

Reds russets golds and yellows
Trees reveal their shape
Branches are lopped to reveal views

The mountain turns gold
I heed the rules
The guide was consumed by them
Before devouring my disobedience

He swallows it down whole
And creates a rest deeper than the roots of this mountain
Deeper than any coal black hell




-----------------------------


Here I sit with Ted Hughes and Shelley
And the tin watercolour box of the prophetess
She delivers the word of God into the heart like softly falling leaves
They fall into your soul
The beauty of dying speaks

I have met many prophets
Some do not know that they speak
They are spiritual people linked to the colours of this life
The ever changing light
Sometimes gilded
Sometimes dark
Sometimes so beautiful you can only weep

I have heard them
The land sings with them - even in death
Rest in light
Be subsumed by it.




Paul.

post script - just read this part of ' The Invitation' by Shelley ;


Radiant Sister of the Day,
Awake! arise! and come away !
To the wild woods and the plains,
And the pools where winter rains
Image all their roof of leaves,
Where the pine its garland weaves
Of sapless green and ivy dun
Round stems that never kiss the sun;
Where lawns and pastures be,
And the sand-hills of the sea; - .....

Comments

  1. Anne Wareham5 October 2014 at 16:22

    You AND Shelly. And a poem elsewhere to a wandering poet - a good day for Paul lovers. XXx

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Paul Steer5 October 2014 at 16:41

      I was a poet once - only in my own fantasy world you understand. x

      Delete

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