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Tuesday, 24 November 2009

The Possessed Winter Dusk


Sonnenuntergang in Ricadi: photo by Manfred Morgner, 2005

Possessed by phantom touch

I am tuned to your power station

Soprano sax sounds float in the cold blue dusk

Over East Bay hills’ heavy green shoulders

Drawn by dark earth rising plants

Like some buffalo soldier on an Indian pony

I hold on to the night’s dark mane

In the hollow bowl of the drum of your body


Udu (African drum): computer generated image by Melligem, 2005


TC said...

Acknowledgment of sorts: 'twas the kind encouragement of SarahA that prompted the posting of this poem, which was privileged to have its first online *dance* among her gentle Babies at Dancing with the Waves of the Sea.

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Anonymous said...

The reason being Thomas....because I don't think enough people read you.But did you really have to tell your 'crazies' where my Babies hide? Oh my!

I enjoy reading your words written, because when I do I can always read them in several ways. Like literally and metaphorically.I don't know if that is your intention (when you write)or whether it is my crazy/mad brain but I am thinking, it is all good *dance*

TC said...

Should any untoward visitor come along, the Babies will be able to hear the thick boots clomping in the wet sand, and conceal themselves demurely mid the rocks and grottos.

Yes, of course, several ways of reading is the aim. The more ways the better. Within limits. Perhaps. Though at the moment (too late for old guys to be attempting to keep their eyes open) I can't recall what the limits are.

The madder the brain, therefore, the better the understanding.

The *dance* part, though, is always the challenge, the madness that passeth understanding, or however that saying goes.

(And oh, that new illustration, wherever can you have found it, it definitely adds something to the all-goodness of it all!)

Harlequin said...

I love this idea of riding night like a horse... beautiful and powerful.