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B A Y O N E T T E
Night feels all
sleepless beneath
a dream kept company
womens voices soft
murmur in my head
the funeral and the
gathered
outside the cars gleamed
polished and waxed
a hearse waited large
as a horse team
full of chrome
half visions in the night
haze
wound with sorrows
bound with fears
those of yesteryear
brought back to life
unlike precious time
that jumped
stretched and existance
was questioned
weaving like vines
like the heat
and always
an itch on the soul
to be scratched by
the bayonette of
Now
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north ontario
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Comments
Nordic cloud
Sat, 2012-02-18 10:24
changing through the same mirrors.
Ow wow.
....."and always
an itch on the soul
to be scratched by
the bayonette of
Now"
Powerful image like the excaliber
as it plunged into the stone in the lake
but instead scratching like the cat
on the outside of the door
wanting to come in.
That was only the end of the poem,
the message clear in the rest,
half asleep and half awake,
the mind wavering between the past and the future,
then FIXED
on the present.
Like a pendulum,
that is what William Blake
used as a description of life,
not going round and round,
but swinging back and forth,
not developing but ever changing
through the same mirrors.
Ann.
"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.
Esker
Sat, 2012-02-18 12:47
Nailed it Ann!!
when I mixed cement and slung block for the wall
I had a bayonet on my hip in a scabbard
and It was a tool for everything
opening the cement bag the sealbond bag
etc breaking the plastic on the skids
those days you could kind of get away with
that kind of wear.. I loved my green army vest
with pockets and my then longer hair then now
Since aging I cant grow it past my collar
but Knights and their purpose Their tools
of the trade and mirrors
amazing how our poetic minds think No?
Love your words Ann
Thank You
author commentNordic cloud
Sun, 2012-02-19 06:11
Thank you Wolf with your mane
Thank you Wolf with your mane,
tossed through the vicissitudes of time
ironed, nailed, cemented into your thoughts
like oscillating water drops on oil,
love the army gear full of pockets
hidey holes for the strangest of things,
My mane is long but like yours, I think?
Thin, my sisters is a real thick mass,
but fine too so she says she has to perm it.
Uff mine is as it is just put together in Musefletter = Mouseplaits.(N)
We celebrate life through our words,
cheers to you with a glass of freedom Ann..
"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.