Month: May 2011
Does familiarity breed contempt?
Comparatively so, I have to fear.
Comme d’habitude will crumble dream cement
and with a film of blindness it will smear
fool’s eyes. How easily we lose our joy
at seeing something close before our face;
our sense of wonder it will soon destroy
and sink surprise’s seedlings without trace.
Look in the tree! “It’s only a sparrow”,
intoned a weary voice who’d seen it all
a thousand times — his reverence so narrow
(although before that splendour I must fall).
Too readily we close up beauty’s door
when frequency negates our sense of awe.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
I’ll tell you something straight
And I say it not in hate
I hope you’ll listen well to what I say
You’ll think it isn’t fair
But you need to be aware
Of something that may just get in the way
There’s no hard feelings meant
It isn’t heaven-sent
The message that you need to understand
Please do not be offended
There’s no offence intended
If you can’t take my words or hold my hand
there’s a fire in the attic
there’s a furnace in the hall
and the restless heart within you
is a stone’s throw from the wall
there’s a hailstorm in the window,
there’s a torrent in your soul
and the fat cats in the corridor
are looking for the hole
there’s thunder in the chimney
there’s a desert in the bed
and all the strength has drained from you
through something that you said
there’s a typhoon in the windmill
and an iceflow in the bay
with a plot to tie your laces up
and take your toys away
I played the game of love and then I lost
I knew not that it was a game at first
But now I paid the price at such a cost
All future close liaisons will be cursed
I loved a girl; she said that she loved me
She told me that she thought I was The One
But nothing in this game of love comes free
Especially living near the midnight sun
When within you my inner landscape bursts
I am both giving all of me to you
and lavishly loving the way you birth
me in reverse (your cardinal virtue).
All of you. All of me. Floating and free
as through your labyrinthine temple doors
a fleshly part of me pampers your needs
while all my hearting hugeness heaves and soars.
And yet I hardly have your full depths plumbed:
Even the ecstasy deeper things masks.
Something vast and largely untouched then comes
to pass, eclipsing my post-coital gasps.
If only I could keep this fleeting bliss
in heaven wrapped up with an angel’s kiss.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
The other day you asked me what I meant
when (distinctly feeling somewhat spent)
I said that we could never be as one
because — to put it bluntly —
you have some thing running through your soul
right across the longtitude and latitude
(the breadth of our derisory domain)
which flies into the fleeting fading face of me:
your Attitude, to coin its proper name