Motorway

A61, cars whizz by, flanks flashing in the sun

Here, a glimpse then gone. Glimmering, one

Flies by, engine revving as it ebbs into the past

An image, found then lost so fast: passed.

A face appears, a ghost as worlds collide,

An instant, the tide rips and the gap's too wide

She merges, on the brink of inexistence.

Gone, memory tearing into the distance

Hanging by a single thread, over the abyss

Of ignorance, and “ignorance is bliss”

What could have been does not cut so deep

For if I knew, what passed me by, I’d weep.

Happy stupidity, foolish glee, I drive by

Watching, eyes blank of joy, stare at the sky.

Dodge the pains, those empty “what if’s”

Car speeds up and away, away she drifts.

I rejoin the flood; her face flows in my blood.

Baker

Silk thighs, her bright, sly, slanted eyes

Stare, unabashed yet shy; a love to work and ply

As the baker kneads dough so must I

That pale un-tanned skin: snow

Soft, pure and cold (shivers). Rises in throes

Her curves, mountain peaks that froze

My gaze, cheeks red, set ablaze, sight a haze.


This sweet girl, with beauty for bait, I’m hooked

Like a fish dragged to surface to be cooked.

Turned over and over, a slow burner

Still, I love again, I'm a slow learner.

I gasp for air, she continues to stare,

As though to say “You wouldn’t dare”.

I lean forward to steal one last breath

I live still, but my heart brushed death.

Chess

As the shadows loom from mighty rooks,

The pawns are glancing furtive looks.

The board is set, white’s turn to move

Nervous, the horses stamp their hooves.


Black and white, a little world, few rules

Dark and light, pieces chucked away like tools

Into the fray, we play some deadly game

Unequal, unjust, pieces not worth the same.


Black and white, the old fight, think of the knight

Who leaves some lover, lonely in her plight.

To sit at her window, tears mingling in the wind

Bound to her lover, for fear of mortal sin.


The pawn a simple man, drawn from a simple life

Leaving behind a farm, his faithful wife

Sits all dressed in black, she lost her only right

The poor’s dowry, love and the bright rays of light

One’s gone the other seems dull, as pain ebbs

Now through empty fields, the lost widow treads.


This holy man, the bishop, following God’s call

Premonitions, hallucinations lead him to downfall

And the King above all, better than a pawn for he

Has learned the noble art of how to retreat

Avoid danger, see others sacrifice themselves but he

Will not go near any enemy if his safety is not guaranteed.

Titan (To my grandfather)

You, the old weary Titan who walk this hardened earth,

Each step a footprint, burst upon the surface, which shook in awe

Under the golden treasure which weighs in your mind’s purse

Deep thoughts in deeper heart were now upon bright crimson bore.

Most victorious red as hath been seen under moonlight sheen.

Decades past by, leaving grey shadows of wisdom flitting

And now “When you are old and grey and nodding by the fire”

Titan’s mind dreaming of times to be and times that have been.

Careful, weary you trudge through this cruel world

Through winds and monsoons which heaven hurled

Hateful destroyer that seeks to crush you O Titan, seeks to crush your will

Fills up your cup, it brims, frothing, bubbling about to spill.

Look over the edge, don’t jump Titan stay. Old anchor stay strong

Atlas… Titan, hold back the sky, live and right the wrong…

Dusk

Dusk, a cricket beats those lively legs of lust,

Echoed by the wind who coughs up dust;

Crimson drips from hills whose heavy hearts heave to hide Him.

Nature merges: turquoise; colours and contrast seem dim

See Night’s mourning gown as she buries the last of light

Trees wave; majestic masts sailing to the night.

Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, the world goes back to black…

Light spills through as the sky’s grey shell cracks.

In the first instants the world is no more,

But every closing night opens another door.

Melancholia

The wind sighs a hollow moan, as she whistles through the trees

Piercing the musky night, tortured laments are blowing in the breeze.

A thousand memories, shattered shards of glass, splinter my hands

As I reach out to grab, to seize, to hold: The keys to those lost lands.

What map could lead me back? What compass show me the way?

To the happy places of childhood, when all seemed good and gay…


In a time before, before… When all was new and beautiful to me

Now a whirlpool twists, pulls and binds me with lost joys. Free,

To do as she would please, I suffocate, breathing those memories

The wind sighs a hollow moan, as she whistles through the trees.

Melancholia, sits upon my doorstep, pale as a ghost of times passed

The times, those good times which came and went too fast…


Deep scars embedded in my skin, but deeper in my soul still.

Melancholia, watch the river of time as she turns that heavy mill.

Impressum

Texte: Typhen Brouillet-Lee
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 04.08.2012

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