Halcyon and other poems – Daniel Crockett
January 28th, 2009 | Published in Volume III: Cautionary Tales
Halcyon
When the vessels of the day break
and the scent of night pervades the dusk
we’ll gather in the glade and dance
amongst the shade, the stones, the musk
Dark’s soft blanket, in spreading we will greet
the march of time with onslaught swift
make shadows thick, the flower to dust
and in joy comes glory; an embrace, replete
Dawn’s arrival reveals fragile, silent grace
dark dismissed again to rest awhile
in briar-strewn thickets, a smile
like light itself, plays wild upon your face
We go gently back, through valleys of the morn
dual footfalls in the dust we tread
amidst chords of chaos, a single thread
unbeckoned swiftly, forward, born
Austral Symphony
What gauche sounds they make,
This reptilian flock
A crescendo, part cheese-grater sharp
Part mellifluous
They knock, drone on my supine head
Caving lesions in
And challenging
The notion of sweet birdsong
For now, do dada
Becomes a harsh caw-caw
and the boundary
between tone and raking claw
eroded, splits
Roadsong
Under cliffs rejoiced and ducked
Spanish lips and Catalan fists
Black eyes, black eyes and backlit eyes
Scrambled dells and spat bad Basque
Walked across fire and slipped into
Forgotten villages with uncommon vistas
Danced on street corners and squares
Ate squid once, tiptoed, smoked
Got scraped by Noah’s leathery hide
And bounced on rocks, sand and grass
Lightning lit Cane toad faces up-turned
Crushed by velvet tyres in the night
Smelled roadside sugarcane fires
Held hands with glory, fate, chance
Whilst Wallaby eyes glittered, ageless
In palaces lost hours and spent
Brain cells on exquisite Mexicans
Chewed Betel-nut miles from home
Made friends with gabba fans and
Dodged dumped asylum patients
Left to die in the hazy light
Whilst outside iguanas were stoned
By less than rational thoughts
Met heroes and realised zeroes
Crested miles in laden Mercedes
Laughed with Scottish farmers
Drunk tequila with German schoolgirls
Fanned phosphorescence in Mandalas
Kicking splendid ripples on the stroke
Composed polemic verses and discarded
Dreams again and again and again
Smelled the west and its direction
Got lost, got lost, got lost again
Saw car-long catfish drying in sunlight
Dwarfen bears and wolves in cages
Wiped myself with the pages of novels
Became Soviet water-child
Staggering beauty alongside danger
And trusted vagabond peasants with
Mouths of blackened gold
Conjured peace and otters at St. Farnans
Heard shrikes and ptarmigans call
Propped up Soho bars and paced
Streets in the morning, whilst suit-
Wearing men went about their chores
Ate Borges, Hesse and James
Spoke at length with unshaven prophets
Forecasting doom and spattered blood
Onto porcelain tiles in dancing heels
Swore at the future, swore at the past
Streaked across serene plateaus
Clutch head in hands for days on end
Dilated pupils in Bristol squats
Realised the futility of chemical love
Bought temple balls in Nepali alleys
Saw burning flesh on funeral pyres
Voted liberal in a crumbling church
Silenced by stained glass sculptures
Mirth on the faces of poets and preachers
Forged connections in moonlit water
Got lost, got lost, got found again
Road sung, back on the march
Light of various senses
The shades of the day snapped
Belted by simple
Star-gazing, and meandered
Allowing
Thoughts to match up and intertwine,
to unravel
I stole a glimpse at us
As we approached
A parked car
Gave thanks
For the fires we started,
The embers
Caught in my dusty throat
We proceeded to Paris, France
In convoy
Me watching you watching me
You spent a lot, I did too
Because it seemed that time was running out,
And it was the one thing
We could do
In an alleyway of cobblestones and
Artistic sensibility
At a fine establishment
Somewhere between caffeine and a glance
We met a madman, who,
amid lifts of his crutch said:
“Ever read F.K. in the morning?”
Later in that endless journey
In a roadside café
I came across graffiti
“I love Kafka”
Someone had scrawled
Then in black marker, superseding it:
“But Sex is Better”