After The Man With The Blue Guitar, by Jonathan Beale

After The Man With The Blue Guitar
by Jonathan Beale

What enters in, still enters in
The superfluous guitar of things exactly as they aren’t.

The mind, the eye, the psyche, the…
If we’re not author, then subject?

Sat there in blind reflection. The beginning
As Nebulous as the clouds, and as free

As you nail your thought across the door
As I learnt , briefly to touch once more

The mood – green?
Music exceeds – surpassed

Why everything is as it could
Under the spell of a serenade

The masses, the senses; the mass senses
As all those whose DNA this has permeated

Rebirth. New life. Another being
Yet plays things as me must.

Moments past in this eloquent game
Everything different, everything the same.

Just the last line remains the same
The thread is picked.

Leading on to green days
Where we and them – play the same tune.

Jonathan Beale has had his work published in over sixty journals including Danse Macabre, Bluepepper, Mad Swirl, Ygdrasil, Red Wolf Editions, Sheepshead Review, Poetry 24 et al. He is also published in two anthologies, Drowning and The Poet as Sociopath (Scar publications). And one to be published, Do not be afraid, a small anthology dedicated to Seamus Heaney. His first book of poetry The Destinations of Raxiera (Hammer and Anvil) in November 2015.

He lives in Surrey U.K.

Advertisements

After Nobody’s wife Chris Gollon, by Jonathan Beale

After Nobody’s wife Chris Gollon
by Jonathan Beale

There is a golden allure
gold allures all men of all creeds
Somehow passed her by.

There is glow of hope anticipation,
In her face – she is what she is
And still wants to be that half of something else.

In love with love?
Or just requiring the status? The role?
As she looks back at you.

Are you interested? Would you? Would you?
as she is seeking something.
Allow the window watchers in.

The people watchers – to muse for a moment
And find a seam of their desire
This is neither right nor wrong.

They lend, as do we, without reason
Without consent. The allure draws us
Still onward; still inward.

Peeling back the layers –
What is beneath? and who even cares,
Unraveling the destination.

I see her, on my wall, in a café;
Every time a different bell is rung
A different song is sung.

Optimized-Nobodys_Wife-1

Jonathan Beale has had his work published in over sixty journals including Danse Macabre, Bluepepper, Mad Swirl, Ygdrasil, Red Wolf Editions, Sheepshead Review, Poetry 24 et al. He is also published in two anthologies, Drowning and The Poet as Sociopath (Scar publications). And one to be published, Do not be afraid, a small anthology dedicated to Seamus Heaney. His first book of poetry The Destinations of Raxiera (Hammer and Anvil) in November 2015.

He lives in Surrey U.K.

Starry night over the Rhone, by Jonathan Beale

Starry night over the Rhone
by Jonathan Beale

The clock is now sleeping….
Time is absent here. That uninvited guest, is away.
Socrates sits in silence, on a distant bank
(Invisible to you and, I) unable to fathom.
What or why is going on.
his sophisticated words: now dumb.
He can reason not the need.
I paint in a joy from my window’s frame.
As they experience their human pleasure of
Touch, they feel each other mingled with the night.
The city distant city: blind and far enough away –
Those wedding guests who stay too long.
Encapsulating a beauty of its own (hopper never pasted this way)
As the light dances a demonic reel
The bluest blueness projects the mood
As only black can everywhere else.
The sodden waters edge’s
Handed over from the mornings
Silver woven tidal cloth
…of what, what are they doing, or have done.
A quiet dyad under the stars – becoming…something enchanting.
Momentarily awakening to this…
strange trinity of which I’m an invisible fraction.
the gentle ripple of the tide
cradling the delicate dinghies
time is absent there, but not here
a moment grabbed before, before, before…
they can feel, touch and be one, once more
can I capture that moment of joy?
time will awake again soon….

Starry_Night_Over_the_Rhone

By Vincent Van Gogh Sept 1st, 1888

Jonathan Beale is published in numerous journals around the globe he is most recently published in Bluepepper, mad swirl and ygrilsil. He has one volume of poetry the destinations of Raxiera published by Hammer and Anvil. He lives in Surrey U.K.

After Goya, by Jonathan Beale

After Goya
by Jonathan Beale

From still life: ‘Pieces of rib, loin, and a head of mutton.’
Francisco de Goya. Musée du Louvre.

The once learnt: now gone.
Deeds are done and form to dust –
That “when” – when youth is too young
Led easily by any anthems dream
Ringing out a hollow heartless tune.
Their always beating black hearts at work
They live between the lines.
Behind the actions dead weight:
Now this deadweight leaving life for the few –
Still steering freight for the butchers block.

They find this tripartite game
Impossible from field to abattoir to butcher
As the weighted cleavers chops the blood and bone –
The pure rain so easily washes this unholy mixture away.

still-life-of-sheeps-ribs-and-head-francisco-jose-de-goya-y-lucientes

Jonathan Beale is published in numerous journals around the globe he is most recently published in Bluepepper, mad swirl and ygrilsil. He has one volume of poetry the destinations of Raxiera published by Hammer and Anvil. He lives in Surrey U.K.