Sunday, November 16, 2008

Autumn

come with us to fields that cry the winding blades to blister
Deciduous Man ~ Frank Picini

In the underpass Bob Dylan’s Spray-paint shadow mutters “Defy”
Beyond the autumn trees that press schizoid branches to the sky
Pregnant with the calling moon that lights the verdant grass to whisper
“come with us to fields that cry the winding blades to blister”

In the undercurrent Dylan Thomas’ stenciled silhouette whispers “Deny “
And the autumn trees use scaffold branches to support the sky
The give way signs with corroded edges give it all away
To scalene cars whose passing causes the hedges to decay

In the underground Thomas Pynchon’s portrait warns Oedipa to fly
the autumn trees whose branches hide the secrets of the sky
The agents cock their causes close and cross the dotted line
Cause wounded worlds to edify and clouds to concubine

And underlings in fabled frames do raise their eyes to borders
Send the autumn trees to catch this season’s personality disorders
The climbing thighs of wastrels walk the path to minds unstable
And contrails curse the crochet trim of afternoon sky table

Those loiterers at the rumored rim of cities in the sky
Inhale the smoke from cigarettes as they carefully deny
The spray-paint shadows and silhouettes that clock the rooms to rent
And send you home with ink to pen those letters never sent

So suck your cheeks and roll eyes there’s bigger fish to fry
And don’t allow your skittered thoughts to smear the autumn sky
With lurking clouds and stenciled birds heading for the sun
And don’t believe or self-deceive that you’re the chosen one



  • A stream of thoughts triggered by graffiti spotted on the wall of the underpass near Turnham Green: a stenciled Bob Dylan (black and white days) above the word ‘Defy’.
  • Oedipa Maas is the single-minded heroine of Thomas Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot 49

2 comments:

Crystal Jigsaw said...

Powerful. Have always desired to write poetry myself but never could.

CJ xx

Pisces Iscariot said...

Thanks crystal - I too could never write poetry until a few years ago when I realise that there are no rules about writing - if it feels right, that's good enough |>]