No meaning where none intended

atumn2Having commenced this daily blog towards the end of July, and given the response of readers on a day-by-day basis, I have come to one conclusion, (there will be others), namely, that the poetry posts are far and away more popular than anything else, and certainly far more popular than the short stories. I believe that there is a very simple explanation for this. Readers respond to poetry because it touches them in a way that very little prose can match.

Prose tends to be rational, often following a clear thread or narrative and in some cases so much is signposted that the reader just has to sit back and absorb the story almost on automatic pilot. Poetry touches different strings, it intimates and invites the reader to participate actively in the event, and by that I mean participate in the moment at which the mind meets the emotions encapsulated in the text. Poetry stirs the soul as music does, and certain words in a poetic context have the power of big piano chords. Think of the simplicity of striking a low G on the piano, listen to it resonating: the energies of poetry can stimulate a similar effect, creating, with the listener’s or reader’s collaboration, a meaningful emotion. This is further evidenced, I believe, by the often perfect marriage of words and music in song. Emotion above meaning!


October

October comes wrapped
      in mellow dreams
and morning mists
      gulls coast on the horizon
gardens are stripped back
      to their essentials
and all human endeavours
      are humbled
by the force of nature
      The contrivances of love
will get us nowhere
      nor reckless ambition
Who would be
      the moon’s best lover
will soon enough
      know the taste of dust
as their lease on life expires
      Our flesh recalls
the schooled innocence
      of children who skip
their early days away
      the taut tango
of magpie and crow
      the scavenging of squirrel
and the aimless amble
      of foxes that parade
their shadows
      through our darkness
From each their fruits :
      we are conscripts
called to serve
      a higher law
we who were once
      a mound of undelivered life
must nurture the time
      of those around us
slay the dragons of need
      and abandonment
In the early hours
       I have touched
her flesh of moans
      heard the soft murmur
of breath on her lips
      the shapeless words
that struggle
      to rise up from sleep
folded her in the warm
      cocoon of my arms
shared seed and song
      and pierced her heart
beyond pain

John Lyons

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