Anthology 1 - The Velvet Glove and the Skewered Heart
Poetry by Neil Wood
A Dog of a Dream
The ribbon of road lay hugging the hillside of the lowly Spanish plain that flanked it.
Ahead and behind loneliness of an unimagined order
I drove, mind on pause, dead to the beauty, dead to the world around me senses suspended.
A figure with some vague familiarity walked clutching some thing to his chest with a glance I drove on but then on an impulse I swung the car around and pulled up alongside him.
He looked at me still clutching secretively tight into his chest, something.
Having no Spanish I nodded at his chest and opened my hands out wide.
He spat at my feet and glared boring me with his eyes.
I turned my hands up in surrender trying to smile.
He turned away and then walked on but within a few strides he stumbled struggled with his balance and fell heavily to the floor face down in the dirt.
I ran to him turned him over onto his back and there still cradled in his hands was his own still beating heart.
He opened his closed eyes for a moment and gasping for breath breathed his last. He reached out to me then but his failing arm fell lifeless to the ground
I got in my car and drove on.
Ignorance and Faith
N R Wood | July 07
Such wild and wet summer-days
In this blood bath turkey shoot world.
Kill the other, kill the other, Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill the other.
Annihilate their friends murder their children.
Incandescent rage should burn up
Such ignorance but it only feeds it.
Doctors blowing up airports ?
Prejudice and ignorance can dull the brightest mind
Wherefore such hatred?
Who is served when we seek such
Blind revenge?
One hurt cannot heal another
Only double it and on and on and on.
What bloody hands are these?
Mine and yours
And theirs and ours.
Choice
If I believe the world is of our shape,
A grasp within the hand of mortal man.
Then I would stand abridge the world agape And feel that life was well within my span.
But life and love against my will conspire
And beat and break my feeble human heart. And though I heap my soul upon the fire
Its glow does not begin to thaw the hurt,
Nor light the dark so I can find the way
Nor draw the world and likeness to my mind But rather holds me fixed and in it’s sway,
To blunder blindly, leave all fault behind.
To stay or move and shake the world as found Or lie as one found dead, wrapped in his shroud?
Ozymandias II
With apologies to P B Shelley
There is a step behind each step.
A silent footfall amongst the darkest of shadows.
An imperceptible sound. soft as a breathless whisper.
The bestirred air has the hovering
Sense of the impending fall.
A sense of the tick behind the ticking of the clock.
And the shifting moon
Beckons the silent voice that is shrieking in our ears
‘I am here’
I have come’
‘It is time’
And in that moment
Like Ozymandias King of Kings
All I have is laid bare
All I have known shrunk to a pin prick
Lost on those lone and level sands.
Dear Stranger
Dear Stranger;
If I seem quiet,
Don’t mistake my silence for ignorance.
If I look tired then find me a chair,
If I look joyous then take my hand and we’ll run!
If you like my suit, shake my hand,
If I’m talking, listen.
If I’m singing, listen.
If I’m shouting, listen.
If I’m crying, please listen.
Dear Stranger;
Find me a soft and quiet place,
Where I can find a warm embrace.
Feed me.
Fill me a bath.
Wrap me with your smiles.
Dear Stranger;
We are one you and I
One.
Autumn
The days of turmoil now begin to end,
Though all our bitter loves still weep and tear
And rip the soul to shreds. Some tortured blend
Of heartache hope and fear that we must bear.
We heap our strength beneath the vaulted skies
To win our spurs some greater glory sealed
Against the winning, though with might we strive.
Our battle scars and aching hearts revealed
To some vague notion of a greater power
Some salvation, a balm to earthly wounds
And though the time runs swiftly through the hour
And all our joys do blister and confound.
Yet still we rise and leap upon the feast
This vale of tears this turmoil’s dull surcease.
Sixties Child
2003
I remember the saw / sore point ,
crooked lines when his were so straight .
The steady rhythmic singing of the blade
that he took with a sigh from my hands .
But I could dig !
Oh yes .
A sense of power for the powerless child ,
liberated then by my physicality
that is now, so nearly spent .
A knife point balance between
what was
and what is
and what will surely be .
A knife point balance ,
shuddering on the edge ,
quivering still to be touched ,
sweet sweet caress to climax ,
at your hands
in your mouth .
This vision makes me giddy spins me so deeply deep
back to that sweet beep bop a lula life ,
That rock around the clock , matchbox , winkle picker
Wilson Picket time ,
standing in the doorway , sheltering from the rain
the emerging yet still enmeshed
sixties child.
The Brother Grim
11th Nov 07
The shabby room could not contain
My overwhelming grief.
The tawdry trite banality of
The poems, no relief
As the brother Grim loaded up his
Rifle and proceeded to relieve
Him of his bullets.
Poetry of the pointed finger
And the balled up fist.
All my vulnerabilities to the surface rose
To witness the Grim one
Shoot black bullets and compose,
His ugly world.
The cold unyielding pose
The utterly unforgiving rows of line
Upon line of bitterness and cynicism.
Poetry of the pointed finger
And the balled up fist.
He conjured a world of hate and blame
Of ugliness and shame
Of villainy and slimy selfishness
Of half truthed
mealy mouthed
political connivance.
So we could all say
‘Yeah man you tell it like it is!’
Such black and white simplicity
Naïve beyond belief.
Poetry of the pointed finger
And the balled up fist.
Blow Out
There on the tear-stained -coffee- stained- blood- soaked- carpet.
The body lay.
And the head from the shoulder was quite un-seamed.
And the horrid gash that had gushed so lustily
Was pornographically agape.
One soft hand cradled the sad grey head
The other? Was skewered to the carpet with a kitchen knife.
His patterned shirt did not cover
The multiple-stab-gashed-slashed-in a frenzy torso.
Wound upon horrid wound tore at my eyes
As I imagined blow after butchering blow
Fuelled by brim-filled rage and hatred of self and of other and of, life itself.
Was it bitterness he was trying to kill?
Not me...
No No! Not me?
But there I lay
And my feet, unused to dancing, had danced... I recall
Had danced furiously under the savage blows and in a desperate bid to escape.
And there I am.
And there I am not.
And I watched him as he left.
Watched him step by heavy step.
Watched his dead-eyed glance over the shoulder
As he closed the door.
My door.
That had been our door.
And he was gone and only the silence remained.
Empyrean Fields
16th Dec 08
The pulsing heart within the shielded breast,
Still bears a thousand stripes and wounds.
That thin gauze, no protection
Against the thorny, mean spirited,
Small mindedness,
of mentally enfeebled others.
Who from an anxiously envious position
Claw at the glory of their world.
And at mine. We are wrapped within the tiny
Confines of a mind folded prison
Of our own making.
We are trapped, constricted
and horribly knotted in an authoritarian
bind of diminishing returns.
Whose only light against all the tight shut doors
Is a hate scorched arrow
Searing the gloom.
Lighting but a brief glance of the
Empyrean fields beyond our grasp
The Clock Face
The hands of the clock face
Spin wildly back and forth.
Life and time on the run!
We are fixed upon Ixion's wheel and the
Blood rush and the whirling sky
And spinning stars bewilders as
We race to grab sensation
a desperate clutching at that which will
sustain us and fan the flames of our passion. But oh how it burns to such a thrilling heat,
Such a helter-skelter ride to... we know not what?
And yet we run headlong,
Catching at our heels,
Breathless as a choking dog,
Senseless as a child
Lost in the wonder of it all.
For Daniel
Each morning on waking the mind casts out
Across the dark chasm,
Hoping to catch the lost one.
Hoping, yearning for some snatch of breath
Or some snag of clothing that will catch
And hold fast.
But the line is enveloped in darkness
And the heart sinks and the silence
Is filled with the dull certainty
That the loved one is still lost
Hopelessly beyond recall.
Yet still the heart scurries amid the
Ruins of last deeds
For some reversing scrap of hope
Some tiny missed detail that will reverse it all.
And of course there is room at the table
Of course the door will remain open
And the heart cries out and the arms
Open hopelessly against the vastness
And certainty of death.
But wait a scent of hope as God's long reach
And joyous realm is beckoning.
Where light is eternal and love unbounding.
Where the heavenly host dance and play
In rapture at the thought
Of your coming to them and to us.
City Heat
The City, is a bitch on heat, a dirty dog
a snarling whore.
It's a rent boy's cry, the razor's edge,
a jagged wound
and a junkies last Amen.
The City is whip-lashed lights,
It's acid rain,
It's a knife slashed face,
a last embrace
from tired arms.
The city roars- shows its teeth,
revved up people- revved up streets
blind to the heated beat.
of the city.
Goose Down Pillows
Your hands are up to their elbows in blood and gore.
As were my own.
The entrails and viscera and stomach linings and
spits and gobs of the carcasses
of a thousand fleshy beings, is lain at your feet.
Each one of these beings with a family of its own.
Sucking at the teat
Meeting a glance with a loving glance.
Nestling snuggling nurturing. You are knee deep in the blooded flood
of death that feeds you.
The flesh that's torn? A jacket, a pair of shoes, a sofa!
Stuffed with the miracle that is a feather?
Goose Down pillows. How dare you! What a piece of work is man,
claiming to maim humanely.
Such sophistry.
Meat is murder
And that's the truth.
Heat and Fire After Mr Shakespeare
Time and tomorrow and tomorrow and time,
The beating drum of life is stilled.
No more the pounding of heart in blood
No more is passion roused.
And every aspiration turns to dust
No light in dark is found. And stress and strive us as we may
Our stories tall and bold.
The shadow eats and beats us
And heat and fire turn cold.
So not a shred is left behind.
Naught but empty air
And nothing, simply nothing.
But the silence of despair.
Two Crows
I saw two crows strutting in the park,
Poking for worms and preening.
Regally they surveyed the scene,
Striding with black beaks drilling the earth.
Those cold, glassy eyed predators
Of the park squawked,
As children squealed on swings and slides,
Monitored by the two dark ministers of carrion.
The sun shone, breaking the clouds,
Brightening the green
But the light could not penetrate
their dense black-presence.
Unchallenged and undaunted like kings they
Strode, unaware of my gaze
of my intrusion.
Some sense unknown to man, came to them
And they lifted themselves to the skies
Flapping blackly against the blue,
Their jagged wings knifing the air,
Swinging across the park over and beyond the children
Who played on,
ignorant of the cruel intent of their visitors.
I sold my golden youth to fools and brigands and the cold hard moon.
I sold my golden youth to fools and brigands and the
cold hard moon.
I sold my golden youth to fools and brigands.
To a weary world of tired ideas and cynicism.
I gave myself for free,
with no fee
at no cost
with no charge.
The price I paid was mine and mine alone.
I look back at the golden child I was,
Naïve and open like a book.
A blank page,
a clean slate,
an empty gun
waiting to be fired
both barrels, at the cold remote moon.
I sold the golden child I was for pence.
To someone else's tired world view
I gave without a thought
Of consequence,
or outcome
or the end result
both barrels of the heart
at the cold remote moon
I see it now, the cold, and brutal moon.
It's indifference a remote
and hard won lesson.
The world it despises whirling
Innocently below,
Striving, all earnest endeavour,
All heart and soul cast up upon
The shores with the tide of our lives.
Pulled so cruelly with invisible hands
By the moon.
Self Loathing
(For brother read sister)
The unyielding horror of war
Bites deep into the soul of man.
Nationhood Faith and greed all feed division,
And we duped into a mistrust and hatred of our brothers.
A Freudian projection of self-loathing and a hunger,
Fuelled by a delusion of separateness,
Fuelled by a notion of Us and Them,
Fuelled by the Haves and Have Nots
Fuelled by the nonsense of heroes and villains. We.
Are.
All.
One.
And the air we breathe and the Earth we inhabit
Joins us one to the other
Look to your brother, look into your heart
Where peace reigns and love abides
Join and do not divide. Put away the Flag
Put away the butchery of belief
Put away the horror of war
And the notion of Victory and Defeat.
Put away these things and not each other.
Whitley Bay
I went down to the crashing cold waters
On a wind wet day, drawn to the vastness
of the sea and to the sound...
Is it the wind or the waves that roar?
Sussuration of chill grey waves
Breaking into sand brown runnels,
softly roaring plumes into
whispering white foam.
The peerless seas, high towering now,
heaving wave upon crashing wave,
as the sea spray leaps
Smashing the buttressed walls,
leaping as wave rips wave,
Leaping as the cold moon pulls
Relentessly, with invisible hands, the lawless sea.
One Moment Three Steps
The rain was in the wind, light, like fairies feet
All pitter- patter in my face.
The wind was in my hair tugging
At its well-waxed sculpting.
My brain like my eyes was in my head as I strode
Against the blustering wind.
There was smile forming as I strode
Sure footed along familiar streets.
No knife blade here.
No terror threat.
I sensed only a silent heart beat,
The rushing of blood through vein and
The trees dancing in their tarmaced homes.
The ground was at my feet
The sky above my head
My head a-rush with thought
A seething bubble
A Universe of exploding atoms
Each one a cry
each one a leap in the eternal mind.
One moment-three steps.
Quick Now !
Dip your toe in the vertiginous pool of life,
Wiggle it, and tiggle it and dibble it to see
What may be stirred.
Sweetness may break the scudding-whirling-surface.
Honeyed, dew-dropped, dripping fronds of
Joyous colour, winking in the runnels of
The swirling ether may be seen.
Dancing light, refracted may bounce,
In sparkling tones, upon your retinal gaze.
Take in this swelling scene of night
Absorb the subtle shades and dying light
The ever changing hues and kiss
With delight the touch of the scented breeze of summer
As it caresses your face and swims
Exotically through your senses.
Glow glowingly as the sun eases you towards slumber
As it dips illuming the clouds with kaleidoscope rays of colour
Herald of the encroaching night
Lighting the swallows as they swoop and flit, tirelessly across the sky.
The shadows creep softly silently
And peace is trooped in drooping shades of grey
Deepening to soporific black as day draws in the night.
This day has spun right out of hand
Yet still may be reeled in strand by strand
Time, construct of mind is at your command
A mere toy to frame your short life's span.
Time and earth and space and sky
All matter formed tells one sweet lie
The cutting tide the ethers swell
Is one with all that we may tell
And glorious moments such as these
Point to one end this Summer's eve
'Quick' said the bird
'Quick! Now!'
The Stillness and the Blue
It was a heavy day, a heavy, heavy, heavy, heavy day.
The sky, cast iron grey,
was still.
So still.
Heavily grey and still...
And still not moving, motionless like time.
"What time is it?" you ask.
"What time do you have?" someone calls,
as if time could be possessed.
Time charts our stay amidst the stillness,
a stillness you cannot see or hear or touch,
it is a creature of the mind, balm against the stillness
that is and has always been.
The earth she moves exceeding slow,
pulled forth by God's invisible hands.
"What is blue Daddy?" You ask.
"Where's the blue today Daddy?"
I sigh and muss your hair.
"It's resting" I reply "Waiting for some smiles."
Firehills
(Pett Level Day)
Nov 07
I went walking to see the Fire hills
And the taut blue day
had been thrown across the sky.
I wore chocolate flavoured shoes
And a liquorice tie.
A cry for help amidst the blue.
The gold crest moon heaved up
A shimmering honeyed teardrop
Onto the golden shore below.
Sea waves crashing silently.
At the horizon point
the Turneresque sky blurred heaven and earth,
the vast blue dome
an empty echo of a forgotten dream,
something hovered,
substance insubstantial.
The melting shore, the creeping sea,
Curlew, Egret and Sandpiper.
My only companions.
The unravelled knot, hotly intestinal,
Gut wrenchingly alone, palpated.
The quiet clouds saw all
But said nothing.
Forest Dale
The sweep of leaves beneath the wooded pine
Fringes the absolute stillness of the forest.
The vast and utterly desolate stillness
Sits heavily amidst the trees. From some secret place some sighing voice calls us.
Some ancient heart beats,
Some pulse throbs beyond our senses
Some distant reckoning cogitates and whirs
Beyond the mighty silence. Our tiny human ears and enfeebled senses
Are numbed as if in dread of what awaits
Some sense of Heavens crest?
A paradise lost?
Forest Park Hotel Brockenhurst
Forest Park HotelBrockenhurstThe sweep of leaves beneath the wooded pine
Fringes the absolute stillness
Of the forest.
The vast and utterly absolute stillness
Sits heavily amidst the trees.
And
From some secret place,
Some sibilantly-sighing voice
Calls us.
"Rest.
Be at peace.
Come here... to me".
Some ancient heart beats,
Some pulse beyond our senses.
Some distant reckoning
Cogitates and whirs beyond
The mighty silence.
We strain our tiny human ears
And our enfeebled senses
Are numbed as if in
Mighty dread of what awaits.
Some sense of heavens crest
A paradise lost.
On the Edge at Kinver
On the Edge at Kinver.
A crisp, bright, autumnal blue sky,
Peeked through Pine and Oak and Fir.
The rich tapestry of trees dappled the light,
Which danced on their tireless limbs,
bouncing off the delicate leaves of the Silver Birch
delighting my eyes.
We walked under that cathedral canopy,
talking in whispers, our soft reverential footsteps
barely stirring the sweet pine-needled earth.
Then some soft murmuring paused me.
I turned as the sea sound swelled and watched as it
weaved its magic path through the trees.
The tall Pines waved their swan -like necks,
as the invisibly dancing sound swirled
cascading light and leaves, twirling as they fell at my feet.
First here and then there, the breeze tugged capriciously
at the trees and at my senses.
Then the sound fell to silence
and a heavy stillness settled.
Our bright visitor had gone.
Left me hanging, senses stretched.
And then most magically of all,
feeling I'm sure my sadness,
it returned to ruffle my hair,
sweeping like a soft caress around my face,
before melting back into the empty air.
How like the sea
How like the sea we are, how like the moon,
the sussuration of the tidal heartbeat,
the drawing in of breath,
alveoli stir as it surges through lung, vein and tissue,
pulsing bore like, carrying a cresting wave of energy and light,
to our hearts core.
Salt water tears we cry, for the oceanic silence that is lost.
Embryonic sounds- an echo of the sea-still calls us.
But we can no longer hear.
We gaze from the car window.
We hear bird-song, digitally re-mastered.
We lie awake drowning in celluloid,
unconscious of the heart beat,
deaf to the sound of the softly soporific waves
falling on some distant, dimly remembered shore.
Our hearts home calls us.
Can you hear?
The Sullen Earth
High Brede Woods
Nov 07
Such a breathless stillness.
A heart stopping silence,
That is almost palpable.
What is it that I almost hear?
The humbling trees; our faithful protectors,
Despite our desperate mutilations
And callous slaughter, still await us.
Our Teflon coated souls immune and
Inured by false Gods to their silent pleading.
Autumnal colours ablaze
as summer sheds her clothes.
Squirrals scurry chattering protectively
Birds cry hauntingly.
The sun's great eye illumines all
The shadows of the trees
A tapestry of light and shade
Stretched across the forest floor.
The sullen Earth speaks in a
Tongue we do not know
And cannot hear.
Shall We Go Down to the Sea ?
Shall we go down to the sea,
the sea
Shall we go down to the sea?
To the gulls' cry and their wheeling flight.
Shall we go down to the sea?
Shall we go down to the sea my friend?
Shall we? Shall we?
To the rolling, crashing waves and the sky,
for the heart's ease
to the soul's home
Shall we go down to the sea?
Shall we go down to the sea and sky,
to the world's edge
to the crimson blue
to the roaring wind
to the surging sea
to the sea to the sea to the sea!