My Crumpled Coat [poem]
When on that hill, I hurled my worn-out body, broken,
to the floor, I heard a hollow sound of absent love
which mimicked curlews singing mournful over
moorland as they soared above me
tangentially jaggéd to my gaze
and I — alone as always
in my crumpled coat
(a strangled regent
dangling by a wire
wrapped around
my throat) —
will always smile,
break out my joy, for I have had those scars
since I was just a boy (and am still now,
today, though now with stubble on my face I chase
the dreams I harboured then) and wonder when
that curlew sound will cease (I long for peace).
When in that hole, I dragged my drowning heart along
the ground & heard the startled sound of absent truth
which imitated plastic lightning rods placed there
along the skyline underneath my feet
inconsequentially primed 2 fail
and I — alone as always
in my mangled root
(a hindered knight
upon a tightrope
swathed around
my foot) —
will always laugh,
perceive the joke, the maddening chaos
since I first awoke (and am still now,
this day, though here there is no comfort zone or
home in which my soul can play). I ask myself
how long before I fly (longing to die).
When love and truth are silenced by a banished sun,
that star will rise and shoot its load (it’s long begun)
© Alan Morrison, 2016
The Naked Troubadour 