Half Way Between the Grave and Paradise.
I’m here..beside the River ..
Burning... bruising ..a graze along my face
Clutching clinging... like the dying
To every rapture whimper whisper
Of the living bird and frog.
Beside the whir of swimming trout
Within the tangle wild of weeds
Bringing the season in
Close to my mortal force
Far from the pencil trees of Tuscany
The grapes of Burgundy,,,the Peaks of Lucca ..
Far from dark Dijon
I’m drawn into an ancient map
I’m swallowed up ..wild roses warming me
The bees are numberless
Far from the castle wall
And dungeons under stone
Dull life...I throw you to the wind
Dull farce..your door has been unlocked
Genteel...you are unmasked
Unmasked genteel cruel spirit
I kick that stain
I’ll laugh and laugh again
Into a limestone poem...
After hot noon the sun crawls down the slope.
The slumbering heat of dusk turns disappearing cool
The passion drains into the land
Around my chilling body
Beneath the sway of bough leaves blow away.. .
I hear my footsteps stray
Home from the river where I hid
The smell of mud and lilies on my skin
A rough cheek scorched
Grass in my hair..
I close the door behind me for a long dark night.
Lit up by dawn I’ll know....
Those who keep on walking get their sweet returns.
Between the Grave and Paradise
kristine Byrne 18th Nov 2012