NEXT STEP

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NEXT

Never have I lived such a sedentary life,

Hour upon hour contemplating,

navel-gazing, aimlessly vacillating,

Between world and unworldly,

Arcane or basely visceral…

I have no momentum…

Inertia has rendered the body immoveable.

 

Literally immoveable.

Back has seized up like a gate spring.

Frozen in time and space and velocity,

How to move on?

There are no locks in real space,

Just in my mind.

 

All carnality, or thoughts there of,

Are acts of betrayal…

But who am I betraying?

The promise dies with the person promised?

I just don’t have the theological maturity to know.

I’m like a child left to their own devices…

With the admonishing words of lost parents

ringing in their ears…

Do you continue to hold to their social norms?

I cannot hear her voice in my ear,

only in my heart.

always in my heart!


unfettered ramblings of a lost boy.

Dale ‘M’

SHADOWLAND

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SHADOWLAND

AS THE VEIL COMES CLOSER,

THE VOICES BEYOND ARE ALMOST AUDIBLE,

LIKE THE SOUND OF A BUZZING AUDIENCE,

JUST BEFORE THE LIGHTS GO DOWN,

A CACOPHONY WITHOUT FOCUS.

 

SOMETIMES I CAN SMELL THEIR PRESENCE,

FEEL THEIR FORM JUST BEFORE,

THEY ENTER THE CONVERSATION…

THE SOLID FOLK WILL SAY, REMEMBER …

(ADD  THE NAME YOU FIRST THINK OF)

AND I WILL FEEL THEM COME TO ATTENTION,

PLEASED TO BE CALLED BACK,

FROM THEIR SHADOWLAND.

 

THE BEAUTY OF LONGEVITY,

IS YOU BECOME SO FAMILIAR,

WITH THE THRONG BEYOND THE THRALL,

MORE OUT OF THIS WORLD THAN IN IT,

THAT ALL THE PLAYERS IN YOUR DRAMA,

HAVE TAKEN THEIR CURTAIN CALL…

AND YOU ARE LEFT CENTRE STAGE

IN A SINGLE SPOT, EYES ALL UPON YOU,

FERVENTLY SEARCHING FOR THE NEXT LINE.

 

ITS NOT THE TERROR OF DRYING…

BUT THAT WHEN THE LIGHTS GO UP,

THE AUDITORIUM WILL BE EMPTY,

AND YOUR WHISPERED WORDS OF WANTON WISDOM,

WILL FALL ON DEATH EARS.

 

DALE ‘M’

WORDS TO THE MADDENING THRONG BEYOND.

 

 

 

 

PROMISE

Candle

 

PROMISE

A promise never broken,

on pain of departure,

for the fear of your leaving…

and yet you left anyway.

And I’m angry

that you left anyway…

without a bye or leave,

but it wasn’t by choice,

as my famous conscience said,

You had no choice!

And I’ve turned and turned over,

The same sense of rejection,

Like an orphaned child,

blames their dead parents…

For abandoning them!

So the anger of loss

is just nonsense…

but logic has no place

in the self-flagellation,

Of the torture of grief.

DALE ‘M’

JUST EXPLORING THE WAY IN WHICH YOUR MIND KEEPS GOING OVER THE SAME RIDICULOUS NOTIONS WHEN YOUR LOST IN GRIEF. IT’S LOGIC IS BANAL AND VENAL, BUT IT CANNOT BE THROWN OFF.

BEHIND CLOSED EYES

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BEHIND CLOSED EYES

 

FROM BEHIND CLOSED EYES,

I SAW YOU MARBLE BACK IN FRONT OF ME,

WITH YOUR BROAD SWIMMER’S SHOULDERS,

OR IF YOU PREFER THE PHYSIQUE OF A TOMBOY…

YES YOU WOULD PREFER THAT,

MY ARBOREAL ESCAPIST!

AND THEN DOWN THE ALABASTER SLIDE

TO YOUR PERFECT PEACHES

YOUR DOWNY DELIGHTS…

AND WITHOUT MOVING I PRESSED MY TORSO

AGAINST YOURS: A PERFECT ASYMMETRY,

PLUG AND SOCKET, SPOON TO SPOON…

SOUL-SHARED AND SAFE,

HELD TIGHT ACROSS BREASTS

AND HAND ON SHOULDER,

AND YOUR HAND CLASPED OVER MINE…

AND THE WORLD CAN END HERE,

BUT IT DIDN’T, AND I DIDN’T.

BUT YOU DID.

GOD HELP ME.

YOU DID.

 

DALE ONLY PERFECT WITH ‘M’

LOW

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LOW – DOWN

So many false dawns

you feel the sun is a lie

And it is a lie

A false God…

A phantasmagoria

A photon stream

Like a T.V. stream

No reality remains there

nothing is there…

But what of me?

I seek but find no key

It’s a dream within a dream

within a sequence

without sequins

The sparkle has gone

What remains is tawdry,

And the real

Is the most unreal

after all.

copyright Dale Beck 2018.

NOT HERE

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NOT HERE

I’M A DISCARDED BOTTLE,

AWASH ON THE SHORE,

PICTURESQUE BUT VACUOUS…

 

WITH NO LID, I’M FLAT,

THE EFFERVESCENCE DISSOLVED,

MY HEARTS NOT IN IT.

 

AND I WANDER THE BATTLEMENTS,

LIKE HAMLET’S DEAD FATHER,

PLAYING OUT THE SAME SCENES.

 

I WISH FOR A NEW STORY,

TO HAVE AN AWAKENING…

BUT DON’T BELIEVE.

 

HOW DO YOU KICKSTART YOUR LIFE?

WHEN YOUR ENGINES GONE…

YOU ARE JUST SCRAP!

 

YOU CAN TELL ME TO MOVE ON,

BUT WITHOUT MY SOUL…

I HAVE NOTHING…

NOTHING AT ALL.

 

DALE ‘M’

 

 

THE GOLDEN PATH

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THE GOLDEN PATH

For  a decade we trod the Golden Path,

hand in hand, arm in arm,

We crossed the treacherous roads,

following a singular route,

Guided by light and love and care,

Sharing a vision of Nirvana,

Sharing a soul full of joy,

We etched a track across the mires,

The trickster could not find us,

We lost him at the fork…

 

But in the dark a trap was set,

No light could enter,

No light could fall…

And you were lost my angel…

And I am left to trace the Golden Path alone.

Follow softly my lover, follow…

Shine your love down on me,

So that my feet do not falter,

And I will meet you there.

Yes I will meet you there.

 

DALE ‘M’

DIMINISHED

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DIMINISHED

I wear your name like a talisman,

A soft sibilant sorrow, sweet saccharin ,

A rune across my chest, hidden in plain sight,

A sacred language sworn forever more,

Beloved soul mate Maria,

Lost but never leaving,

Diminished only in life,

but immortal  in death.

 

You will always be warm in my heart .

DALE BELOVED OF ‘M’

INSPIRATION

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I had a great idea yesterday, a vision of a series of paintings, specifically designed to suit the people I love… Not just a iconic image of rock or film stars, but something a little different, which I can’t exactly lay out here, but a kernel of a great idea. It was something which would have made great christmas presents for all my family. Each individually specific, it was quite simple. Then the idea began to morph, change from individual paintings to a massive painting which brought all the individual elements in to a single concept which was more about me.

This is the difference between normal people and artists. Normal people, who have the ability to paint as a craft, will have an initial idea and then do it competently, where as an artist, will have the initial  idea and then build it, develop it, ruminate on it further, and possibly completely lose it because they have over thought it.

I did this once with a play I wrote, called ‘POLEMIC’, which was very nearly put on by a Manchester Theatre Company (thank goodness it wasn’t), The original idea was an examination of how people become locked in their own ideology and then cannot have a dialogue with anyone who doesn’t accept their point of view. It was a fairly simple idea, but with some great visuals. Then, I decided to play around with it… It was the nineties, when post-modernism was all the rage, so I added another layer of complexity, by having the actors come out of character, and pretend to be actors discussing the play’s concept…

As I say, it came very close to being put on, but it didn’t, because one of the producers came to their senses. It was AWFUL. Pretentious Shite. I was young…er, and with a head full of my own importance, I thought it was earth-shattering. I thought it was Great Art.

My point? The Artist will risk a great idea because of how their brains work. A germ will become a contagion, because they have the ability to conflate one thing with another and then chase it down a blind alley.

Of course this can make amazing art, think of Dali, or Basquiat… but it is a dangerous strategy.

So, nowadays, I’m not so taken with the conflation, I’m thinking why not go with the initial idea? It was simple, it was personal to the person I wanted to paint it for, so why not just do that ? Do I need to add the extra layer of complication?

Well yes… because in the end, the big piece is about me, the artist, and not just a craft exercise.

Dale ‘m’

EVERY DAY

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EVERY DAY

EVERY DAY I TRY TO FIX YOU IN MY MIND’S EYE,

I KISS YOUR PICTURES AND SAY I LOVE YOU,

JUST AS I SAID I LOVE YOU EVERY SINGLE DAY,

WE WERE TOGETHER,

JUST AS YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME…

EVERY SINGLE DAY.

 

AND WITH EVERY ACTION AND EVERY THOUGHT,

OUR LOVE WAS APPARENT,

SO ALONE I CARRY THE TORCH,

AND ALONE I’M NOT EVEN HALF THE MAN…

YOU MADE ME.

I SCUTTLE FROM DAY TO DAY,

LIKE A SPIDER SCUTTLING FROM CORNER TO WEB…

WITHOUT A FUCKING CLUE!

 

THERE’S A THOUGHT?

DALE ‘M’