Steve GannThree Moments -- Three Memories of Devastation.
November 13th 2006 03:40
The Empty Room
Language cannot cope with the demands
Of the moment, of the visions which have invaded me.
I stand in the centre of the room
Confined by the clear ambiguity of the challenge
Trying to encompass
To define the shades
The defined extent of my feelings.
The future reaches out in frustration to engulf me
But I refuse to be moved
Until I have come
Until I grasp, am absorbed
In understanding of where I am and what I see.
In my mind a woman stands before me
Her arms drawn back gracefully above her head.
Her breasts are succulently thrust towards me
But I cannot decide whether in invitation or in a cheeky
Teasing, to elicit from me I don't know what.
The interior vision paints itself on the blankness of the walls.
Lips in half smile are surprising in their delineation.
I can't decide on the measure of her intent
Or even on the degree of her reality.
Perhaps it is nothing more that some passing
Fantasy, a minor obsession sparked
By some luminous succubus pulsing
With the sensuous secretive power
Of her interior being. I do not touch her.
She is inviolate and I cannot interfere
With the pristine clarity of her being.
I turn back to the room where the walls are naked
Nothing to adorn but shadows and a faint cobweb
Which a stealthy spinner builds in the afternoon.
The furniture, the framed prints, even the light fittings
Have been packed away, the car door slams
As if to remind me that time will only extend
To just so far as I turn once again
To recapture the past fragments
Emotions passing in pieces,
Passing through
Finding some discrete framework
To give an understanding pattern
That will begin to hang together
To make some kind of sense of it all.
A child runs through the hallway
An explorer in the corridors of time
Her hair streams behind gaily unrestrained
She is looking for something
But on this occasion it is not me
She gives a mischievous grin
Then is off again.
Dashing into infinity
I wish that she could have stayed
But it was not to be.
The mirror spins again and night descends
The table is weighed down with food and elbows
Sound explodes in all directions
Cakes and plates of sausages are festooned
With pieces of thoughts and memories
Paper hats and bonbons are enjoyed with abandon
Food is consumed, eyes flash
Drinks splash and gurgle
Candles are lit
There is a sparkle of anticipation
I am stretched inside
Within shards of remembrance.
I try to hide, to become one
But it cannot be
There is no escape from this tyranny.
The passion consumes us
The obsession engulfs us
Before we are squeezed out
Thrust beyond
The cage of perception
Lifting and pointing in the direction
Of a profusion of choices
The wave of the future
Carries me beyond the moment
Beyond the desperate
The devastation
Of some petulant acceptance.
That is a choice of sorts
But alien to me
I cannot go there
The wings of my existence
Would not allow it.
Instead I will wrestle with the imponderable.
Even if I lose
It is still preferable.
The favoured choice
That I can follow with acceptance.
A Stone
Sometimes I wonder
Is mood more than some imaginary beast?
Do we allow it to grow
Like the glint of an idea
The perception of a fragile dream
That drifts beneath the snow
Captured by some subtle shadow?
Her head lifts within my memory
And I am bereft.
Within my heart a pain
A loss -- the coldness
Of a stone.
Echo
I am haunted by the feeling you are near me
There is a mist covering from deep in the croft
To the faint tip of the spear that is the tree
I listen for your footstep on the green stepped grass
But only the silence is there – the echo of a distant past.
© John Hall
Language cannot cope with the demands
Of the moment, of the visions which have invaded me.
I stand in the centre of the room
Confined by the clear ambiguity of the challenge
Trying to encompass
To define the shades
The defined extent of my feelings.
The future reaches out in frustration to engulf me
But I refuse to be moved
Until I have come
Until I grasp, am absorbed
In understanding of where I am and what I see.
In my mind a woman stands before me
Her arms drawn back gracefully above her head.
But I cannot decide whether in invitation or in a cheeky
Teasing, to elicit from me I don't know what.
The interior vision paints itself on the blankness of the walls.
Lips in half smile are surprising in their delineation.
I can't decide on the measure of her intent
Or even on the degree of her reality.
Perhaps it is nothing more that some passing
Fantasy, a minor obsession sparked
By some luminous succubus pulsing
With the sensuous secretive power
Of her interior being. I do not touch her.
She is inviolate and I cannot interfere
With the pristine clarity of her being.
I turn back to the room where the walls are naked
Nothing to adorn but shadows and a faint cobweb
Which a stealthy spinner builds in the afternoon.
The furniture, the framed prints, even the light fittings
Have been packed away, the car door slams
As if to remind me that time will only extend
To just so far as I turn once again
To recapture the past fragments
Emotions passing in pieces,
Passing through
To give an understanding pattern
That will begin to hang together
To make some kind of sense of it all.
A child runs through the hallway
An explorer in the corridors of time
Her hair streams behind gaily unrestrained
She is looking for something
But on this occasion it is not me
She gives a mischievous grin
Then is off again.
Dashing into infinity
I wish that she could have stayed
But it was not to be.
The mirror spins again and night descends
The table is weighed down with food and elbows
Sound explodes in all directions
Cakes and plates of sausages are festooned
With pieces of thoughts and memories
Paper hats and bonbons are enjoyed with abandon
Food is consumed, eyes flash
Drinks splash and gurgle
Candles are lit
There is a sparkle of anticipation
I am stretched inside
Within shards of remembrance.
I try to hide, to become one
But it cannot be
There is no escape from this tyranny.
The passion consumes us
The obsession engulfs us
Before we are squeezed out
Thrust beyond
The cage of perception
Lifting and pointing in the direction
Of a profusion of choices
The wave of the future
Carries me beyond the moment
Beyond the desperate
The devastation
Of some petulant acceptance.
That is a choice of sorts
But alien to me
I cannot go there
The wings of my existence
Would not allow it.
Instead I will wrestle with the imponderable.
Even if I lose
It is still preferable.
The favoured choice
That I can follow with acceptance.
A Stone
Sometimes I wonder
Is mood more than some imaginary beast?
Do we allow it to grow
Like the glint of an idea
The perception of a fragile dream
That drifts beneath the snow
Captured by some subtle shadow?
Her head lifts within my memory
And I am bereft.
Within my heart a pain
A loss -- the coldness
Of a stone.
Echo
I am haunted by the feeling you are near me
There is a mist covering from deep in the croft
To the faint tip of the spear that is the tree
I listen for your footstep on the green stepped grass
But only the silence is there – the echo of a distant past.
© John Hall
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