Limited Edition [poem]
A myriad vermillion stripey smears
smash into skyly overdriven bluefulness
while the drooping setting sun apologises
quietly on a bleak horizon narrowed by
the rueful season’s finely bitter triumph
the barely silhouetted trees bow slightly
in all stillness while a light unliquid tear
which we euphemistically style as Venus
slides enwryly up the face of bluedom’s
metamorphic mask and I am shining
you must not look at the sun say voices
of the shallows and my bold defiant stare
at countless animated pinhole flares and
firmamental depth beguiles my eyes and
I am sanctified by speculation’s smile
why captured here am I predestined not
to fly but only hammer on imaginary
doors and dance on polished wooden
floors and gated stairs and impolitely stare
at prison walls with poet’s clumsy scrawl
perhaps our mortal span if left unlimited
by metal bars would never leave that
deep and necessary yearning scar a bleak
and stark reminder of the wounds we are
our legacy to soar and kiss the endless sky
and fondly whisper wonder with our words
© Alan Morrison, 2014
[The photo is one I took from my window of a magical sunset when I lived in Skåne, Sweden, looking towards the hamlet and church of Ingelstorp]
The Naked Troubadour 