PULLED TO BITS

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PULLED TO BITS

FORGOTTEN MOMENTS OF PURE BLISS,

A SNOWY SATURDAY MORNING…

WAITING FOR A ROOM TO BE FREE.

WE SAT IN A CAFE, CHOCOLATE AND CAKE,

LOOKING OUT ACROSS THE BIG FLAKES FALLING…

KNOWING THAT THIS MOMENT WOULD COST,

WEEKS APART, INTERMINABLE LONGING.

 

AND THOSE FEW SPARE HOURS,

A JEWEL IN THE DESERT,

AFTER SO MANY STOLEN KISSES…

LIKE TWO TEENAGERS AGAIN,

THIS THE FIRST IN A BED.

WE GAVE GIFTS AND CALLED IT CHRISTMAS,

BUT KNEW THE PAUCITY OF THE HOLIDAY.

 

AND AFTER YOU DROPPED ME OFF,

TWO STREETS AWAY…

AND MY HEART SANK TO MY BOOTS,

AND MY HEAD FLIPPED, A TICK CONSTANT,

LIKE A SPASM, A TOURETTE’S TIC…

I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE!

 

NINE YEARS AGO TODAY,

AND THE OUTCOME WAS PERFECT,

ALL YOUR FUTURE LIFE WAS SHARED,

BATHED IN MY LOVE…

AND I BATHED IN YOU,

UNTIL THAT NIGHT…

THAT PULLED ME TO BITS.

DALE ‘M’

UNDER THE SUN

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UNDER THE SUN

HOW MANY SOULS CONNECTED HAVE FLED?

DRUNK ON YOUTH AND INNOCENCE

NEVER TO LET GO, NEVER TO LOSE…

BUT LOST LIKE LOTUS LEAVES

IN THE SUMMER MISTRAL.

 

IMMORTAL IMAGES OF ILLUSORY PERMANENCY ,

THIS MERRY THRALL OF ANGELIC UPSTARTS,

LIFE-LONG FELLOW TRAVELLERS,

AND YET LOST ON THE JOURNEY,

LEFT TO SING SIREN SONGS DOWN MEMORY LANE.

 

HALF-REMEMBERED CARVINGS OF CRAVEN DESIRE,

A LANDSCAPE OF LOVELY CURVES AND CREVICES,

TURNED TO DUST BY THE HARSH MISTRESS OF TIME,

YOUR LULLABY OF LILITH LOST TO BANSHEE WAIL,

AS I CALL YOUR ROSTER BY ANCIENT NAME AND RUNE.

DALE ‘M’

ARTHUR RIMBAUD – L’ETERNITE

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L’Eternité

Elle est retrouvée.
Quoi? – L’Éternité.
C’est la mer allée
Avec le soleil.Âme sentinelle,
Murmurons l’aveu
De la nuit si nulle
Et du jour en feu.

Des humains suffrages,
Des communs élans
Là tu te dégages
Et voles selon.

Puisque de vous seules,
Braises de satin,
Le Devoir s’exhale
Sans qu’on dise : enfin.

Là pas d’espérance,
Nul orietur.
Science avec patience,
Le supplice est sûr.

Elle est retrouvée.
Quoi ? – L’Éternité.
C’est la mer allée
Avec le soleil

 

 

Eternity

It has been rediscovered.
What? Eternity.
It is the sea fled
With the sun.

Sentinel soul,
We whisper confession
Of the empty night
And the fiery day.

From human prayers,
From common spirits
You free yourself
And thus you fly.

Since from you alone,
Satin embers,
Duty breathes
No one says: at last.

No hope here,
No emergence.
Knowledge with patience,
Torment is certain.

It has been rediscovered.
What? Eternity.
It is the sea fled
with the sun.


PUT A LITTLE RIMBAUD IN YOUR SUNDAY.

DALE ‘M’

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’