Standing still

So, where was it ordained
that I should stay and play
the waiting game in
harbours and terminals
where seasons are marked
and time creeps inexorably on.

Was it planned in this great
Cosmos of cosmopolitan chaos
where spires are only glimpsed,
as we begin the descent
landing without aplomb on the
all weather tarmac and fingernails
pressed into unyielding flesh.

Should I remain, the hollowed planes
of my mask, set into eternal grin,
my chin a pointed feature
slowly sinks as the setting sun.
Who said I should stay the same,
the fresh faced lover in markets
marking out the stalls she wishes
to benefit, selling trinkets and silver.

The liver spots of time, holding hands,
I cross the streets holding grimy paws,
wiping snot and tears, mopping up
the trails of snails on black blazers,
pulling up knee high socks and threading
garters so that they don't pinch the skin.
By the arbour in the garden, beneath
the flowering cherry with buzzing bees.

Where was it all ordained,
was it the all seeing eye or
the hiccup that turns into a sneeze,
tug boats on the canal,
passing through locks
stock still, will I ever find the key.







Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2012-12-30 at 11:33

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This is hugely evocative of something, something hard to explain, like the conjunction of passing time and the existence of this moment in time, that and pain. Beautiful writing.
2012-12-30