Sonnet
The End of the Tether [sonnet]
I have lost everyone and everything.
Every precious thing — every meaning one.
I watched all those to whom I once did cling
just vanish in the night and they were gone.
Perhaps that’s as it should be in my world
for windowless I orbit distant stars;
long longing for a view I sunless curled
through galaxies and countless grey memoirs.
And then some voice said there is always hope.
I’ve heard those empty words before (I winced)
shaped like a neat and tidy noosely rope
so by that thought I cannot be convinced.
When tether’s end has finally been reached
the heart of all that sings has been impeached.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
Inklings [sonnet]
I chased you down through barren tracts of time
although your name I no more could recall.
Some strange fragmented memories sublime
were mingled full with passion’s rise and fall.
If there is truth in inklings vaguely known
that parted were we by some tragic fate
while in another world where we had flown
then we must not revisit that estate.
For though we meet on history’s heavy wings
which waft with air so thick with ancient pains
another chance our present meeting brings
so we may now break free from astral chains.
If we to this our hearts can wholly give
then we will soar to heights superlative.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
Love Should Be [poem/sonnet]
Love
[I mean the full real thing
not some bland and pale
embellishment
with little mutual
relishment or one
wherein there is no heat
or where blood runs
through cold blue veins
or where unequal
treatment reigns
or where somehow
with clanking chains
such fetters mean that
passion wanes or where
there is deceit and guile
so naïve hearts are
crudely wiled away
like wood is whittled
knifely deeply down
to pieces on the floor
so separately they lay
togetherness no more]
Love I say
should
be
1
l
o
n
g
orgasm
of
everything
[by which I mean that there can be no trace
of compromise in any words or deeds;
no turncoat treason acts of ‘about face’ —
its garden sown with flowers (pluck out the weeds).
Full truth transparent is my battlecry
against all dull concession trade-off pacts
with all the forces massed to sell the lie
which from our fervent destiny distracts.
For how can heights which we profess to know
become a less-than-blissful dream fulfilled?
To go to higher peaks will mean to grow
if on our frail foundation we will build.
I will not have my love served up lukewarm:
To ecstasy alone will I conform!
© 2011, Alan Morrison
That Sacred Day [sonnet]
When in those haunted corridors you hide
wherein you try to make another plane
the quest for truth can glibly be denied
and only fantasy and guile then reign.
You cast around to hear approving sounds
while compliments are lavished on your name
and fawning strains from courtiers abound —
just slivers from your broken mirror’s frame.
But, darling, let me whisper in your ear:
You need not confirmation’s bogus show;
for all the love to fast remove your fear
is right here in this starstruck Romeo.
I wait with patience till that sacred day
when all pretence dissolves and fades away.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
Arcadian Streams [sonnet]
Will waterfalls of swell soon give me rest?
Or must I ever sink in lakes and streams
which run like blood that never coalesced
and flow from my red eyes’ Arcadian streams.
A swimmer’s arms I had — or so I thought —
until that deadly current washed my flesh;
and all my loving energies did thwart
when I was in its siren weeds enmeshed.
If only reaching hands would pull me clear
I’d fling myself up to those arms with fire.
We’d then be hurled into the stratosphere
evaporating seas with strong desire.
Although I yearn to drown in salty deeps
a dim and glimly hope from Lethe me keeps.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
Tornness [sonnet]
Being apart is what tears us apart
and torn apart we spill ourselves to earth.
Kicking below on the ground broken hearts;
forgotten is the price that true love’s worth.
As ripped and shredded clothing flew around
disguises then emerged among the rags;
while masquerades which camouflage rebound
and in our hands were posies and white flags.
But even though that desolation reigned
for such brief time as our fool flesh allowed
continuance was never foreordained —
to tear us more we quickly disavowed.
If we will now abandon all our fears
the tornness of our love will heal through tears.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
Outsider [sonnet]
Some people are destined to be alone.
Like it or not they wander through the earth
as flotsam at sea — kings without a throne.
Naked they stay as on their day of birth.
Preordained as pilgrims of the planet;
gathering wisdom from wounds which won’t heal.
Writing their runes on great slabs of granite;
secrets of heart to the world they reveal.
Yet even though they walk a rough-hewn road
and have no shelter from life’s raging storms
a dignity of sorts will be bestowed
to comfort them to live outside all norms.
On mountaintops (despite their scene remote)
they keep their equilibrium afloat.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
When Ladyes Lie [sonnet]
Those twisted words they fit not in your mouth
(those lips which I have kissed a thousand times).
It matters not if winds blow from the south —
when ladyes lie then nothing truly rhymes.
I held your hand and led you through the dark
and showed you vista visions wildly real.
We touched a vast divine and piercing spark
though something else that beauty did conceal.
For truth was trampled tritely in the dirt
as silver cords between us snapped in two.
I see its traces on my bloodstained shirt
and wonder what I’ll do with me and you.
I sit here in this strange grey morning light.
Could that, too, be, in truth, the dead of night?
© 2011, Alan Morrison
Our Learning Curve [sonnet]
You told me that you learn your lessons well;
on that hangs every hoped-for dream I crave.
For loving you with every pining cell
ensures those lessons will our trothness save.
I never wish to be a source of pain
or torture you with love’s untender rack.
At most I seek to drench you in the rain
which, falling hard, may melt old cul-de-sacs.
But you are not the only student heart
for by this marriage my stiff stones are turned;
as piece by piece my folly falls apart:
To fall for you means lessons must be learned.
Such all-consuming earthquake love as ours
despite the falling rocks) is strewn with flowers.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
My Greatest Enemy [sonnet]
My loving heart seeks only peaceful means
to make its way through every troubled world;
while bombs and guns blow souls to smithereens
and bullets at small children’s heads are hurled.
I make my trenches deep in flow’ry fields —
those graveyard dreams where only poppies grow;
while all my opiated suff’ring yields
a lifelong minus conflict afterglow.
Yet though from foes my heart is always free
(for even when I’m hated I’ll not spite)
I have to — if I’m honest — disagree
as there is one opponent whom I blight.
Despite the fact that from all war I flee
the greatest enemy I have is me.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
The Naked Troubadour 