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Note found in a Baobab Tree
Left to it, I would not have climbed this tree
but, since it was here and so was the lion,
I was left with little option.
Not knowing if it was a man-eater or not
and disinclined to ask, I climbed
clear of the jaws, thankful
it was not a leopard.
It showed little interest and stalked off
but I remain, baobab housed,
part of it and uncertain what to do
with courage & rifle gone.
Here I am safe, yet I fear falling.
Still, these branches enfold,
hold me secure, so I leave this note.
Should you find it, remember this hunter
as one unknown. The buzzards wait -
they can have me, an outsider
soon to learn what it is to be
on the inside, no longer separate
but integral. Perhaps somewhere
it has always been so,
so think of me now and pass on.
Permanent Red
Permanent red will be the last colour
when the stars flare up and fade to dark
it will remain, stubborn to the end
like a bloody-minded socialist
not accepting the way things are
it will linger, a small ghost
of what once was
an attribute of summer days.
And long ago when time was then
it was there to dare the onlooker,
a scarlet flag to enrage, turn on,
spark resentment, revolution,
blood spilt in the shade of its banner,
it witnessed all and stood away.
So as the sky closes
in one last scene
red will remain
the final colour, defiant to the dark
and unrepentant.
Reckless
There was no stopping
this runaway train
ignoring warnings
all signals passed
at danger
red disregarded
taking the chance
all risks as nothing
not till the last time
(there has to be one)
not until then
like the wreck of the 95
MPH tanking -
the buffers awaiting
one cataclysmic embrace
before goodnight
and not until
all around the stars
flashed once
and blinked in surprise
before the dark
closed in forever
in a long scream
of amen and hiss
only then did he read
the message
(come too late)
& stop
Northern Beaches
Northern beaches cast long shadows
where deckchairs lounge, billowing defiant
colours echoing the Viking sails of tougher times.
Now people sit to view a cold grey sea.
Not here the flash and sparkle of more sunny climes
but a grim determination to see the day out;
eyes avoiding the lowering cloud that might
bring rain to clear the shore and send them scurrying
to the pub or car to wonder why they came.
But come they did to catch
a fickle summer sun that might not show;
an errand born of hope over expectation
while the bandstand man in a white suit plays the Hammond,
sheltered from impending rain before his audience
retreats, leaving him to play alone
to whirling papers and a dropped ice cream.
I have walked these windswept beaches, learned to love them.
Busy or deserted, I have sensed their moods,
picked up their shells and stars and long decided
that things should stay like this, a kind of treasure.
Alabaster
Pliant, it reflects
the artist's will to carve
the effigy of one not seen,
as if some spirit inhabited
the stone to give it life;
transform unfeeling mineral
to a semblance suggested
by the hand that guides the blade -
the spirit of creation drawn
from dream
to figurine -
a vision made flesh
by the guiding hand
that knows its power.
Resignation Rap
Tired of
the put-down, push-around cut-throat world
of fast buck get-it-on piss on all below you;
brow beating, scene stealing give me all the glory,
your money and your threats
and I quit.
My mind
is made up, backed up, fed up with your bullshit,
promises of paradise devoid of any meaning,
elsewhere, I don't care, I've simply had enough
of your bullying and lies
and I quit.
You can't
push me, scold me, sit on me, you succubus;
use me as your punch bag and beat my spirit senseless,
put me on the rough end of all your double dealing.
I've taken all I can
and I quit.
Note found in a Baobab Tree
Left to it, I would not have climbed this tree
but, since it was here and so was the lion,
I was left with little option.
Not knowing if it was a man-eater or not
and disinclined to ask, I climbed
clear of the jaws, thankful
it was not a leopard.
It showed little interest and stalked off
but I remain, baobab housed,
part of it and uncertain what to do
with courage & rifle gone.
Here I am safe, yet I fear falling.
Still, these branches enfold,
hold me secure, so I leave this note.
Should you find it, remember this hunter
as one unknown. The buzzards wait -
they can have me, an outsider
soon to learn what it is to be
on the inside, no longer separate
but integral. Perhaps somewhere
it has always been so,
so think of me now and pass on.
Permanent Red
Permanent red will be the last colour
when the stars flare up and fade to dark
it will remain, stubborn to the end
like a bloody-minded socialist
not accepting the way things are
it will linger, a small ghost
of what once was
an attribute of summer days.
And long ago when time was then
it was there to dare the onlooker,
a scarlet flag to enrage, turn on,
spark resentment, revolution,
blood spilt in the shade of its banner,
it witnessed all and stood away.
So as the sky closes
in one last scene
red will remain
the final colour, defiant to the dark
and unrepentant.
Reckless
There was no stopping
this runaway train
ignoring warnings
all signals passed
at danger
red disregarded
taking the chance
all risks as nothing
not till the last time
(there has to be one)
not until then
like the wreck of the 95
MPH tanking -
the buffers awaiting
one cataclysmic embrace
before goodnight
and not until
all around the stars
flashed once
and blinked in surprise
before the dark
closed in forever
in a long scream
of amen and hiss
only then did he read
the message
(come too late)
& stop
Northern Beaches
Northern beaches cast long shadows
where deckchairs lounge, billowing defiant
colours echoing the Viking sails of tougher times.
Now people sit to view a cold grey sea.
Not here the flash and sparkle of more sunny climes
but a grim determination to see the day out;
eyes avoiding the lowering cloud that might
bring rain to clear the shore and send them scurrying
to the pub or car to wonder why they came.
But come they did to catch
a fickle summer sun that might not show;
an errand born of hope over expectation
while the bandstand man in a white suit plays the Hammond,
sheltered from impending rain before his audience
retreats, leaving him to play alone
to whirling papers and a dropped ice cream.
I have walked these windswept beaches, learned to love them.
Busy or deserted, I have sensed their moods,
picked up their shells and stars and long decided
that things should stay like this, a kind of treasure.
Alabaster
Pliant, it reflects
the artist's will to carve
the effigy of one not seen,
as if some spirit inhabited
the stone to give it life;
transform unfeeling mineral
to a semblance suggested
by the hand that guides the blade -
the spirit of creation drawn
from dream
to figurine -
a vision made flesh
by the guiding hand
that knows its power.
Resignation Rap
Tired of
the put-down, push-around cut-throat world
of fast buck get-it-on piss on all below you;
brow beating, scene stealing give me all the glory,
your money and your threats
and I quit.
My mind
is made up, backed up, fed up with your bullshit,
promises of paradise devoid of any meaning,
elsewhere, I don't care, I've simply had enough
of your bullying and lies
and I quit.
You can't
push me, scold me, sit on me, you succubus;
use me as your punch bag and beat my spirit senseless,
put me on the rough end of all your double dealing.
I've taken all I can
and I quit.
Dickpoet |
Latest page update: made by Dickpoet
, Nov 17 2008, 12:02 PM EST
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Edited by Dickpoet
2 words added 1 word deleted view changes - complete history) |
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Later work
Richard J. N. Copeland
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