posted on May 16, 2016 at 12:10 am

when evenings skin becomes brittle and breaks open

revealing a terrible night with all its hands

and the trees full of birds and a discordant song

across the fields a murmur begins

oh savage beautiful women here i stand

with a spearful of fish and my dagger of wands

i am the cripple dance man with my luggage missing in utopia

hey i am waltzing through your open gates

where a fountains spray has cooled my burning ardour

where my tumescent ambition has ripened into sweet actions

and the eyes may graze for a moment upon yonder hills

in the candle light all the lamps and buttercup runneth over

the liquid milk of midsummer midnight now long spilt

when i was once your barrow boy and rode home to my school

when i was your fletcher and arrows filled our day

when i was your little dog boy and you taught me how to jump

then your castles were only in the sand now wonderful queen

and you overlooked a battlement of haze and blue blurred horizon

no ordinary child you held future between fingers

i have returned then from my exile

in burnished silks i rode henceforth through the creaking leagues

the hymns immolated by gods true presence

of course i knelt…who wouldn’t?

i am purified on the slag heap of decades

i am exonerated by the same crocodile judges

who sent me down

i have come back now in my tosca gretel slim tone

i have come back upon coins and postage stamps

i have come back as a whisper down a long cold line

this is all nonsense why who reads such stuff as this…?

bless my martinet blanket wear you lay disrobed during your shoot

blessed the imprint of musk you made upon my faintest door

in a window you now seem to be captured upon the pane

i cherish the ash where my room burnt away letting in the sea

in a green rush we were laughing as a ship we are swallowed

in the long life of a sparrow the worm is still to appear

by that i mean europe is elsewhere now take these claws away

it seems i have been sitting on the swings forever and ever

now I’m so dizzy as the world whirls round

i clutch at the maple and myrtle and elm

i am the photo of antiquity taken by aristophanes

splinters of the one true cross i bear rivers to cross

among the tribes and cults i bring disco music trapped in a skull

unreleased from my sins i travel light the globe in my mystery suit

i spit out poetry to hounds and mynah birds

but i digress in this garden of your loveliness

with your tawny feeling thorn of softest morning

i am the dawn of an empire briefly flourished in a mirror

archived in the memory of a flash

translated into the words of the wind

the flowers that uncurl to the darknesses fingers

a sickness that preys on a pale child who walks away

a miserable dark spirit who keeps coming back again in new shapes

a malevolent shadow that lingers on even in the brightest sun

with winter shudders i approach thee now

stupid as i am i have found my way to these dreaming gardens

oh so heavy my burden of slurs

dented in an accident they beat my panels

in flannels and wool the dissolving pull of my lamb

the scramble for light that begins in a tunnel

by your lily pad ponds no doubt out grown and over fond

see me as the salmon rising for the wriggling nymph on the surface of your brook

the cold mouth river where i swam against the dam wall in the fall of man

think of me as the immediate distant taste when we kissed in my dream

the creamy edge of the land that crumbles into sand

you held me in your hand

and

 

 

 

 

19 Responses to “A Trespasser in the Garden of Love”

  1. kevinbreton
    kevinbreton | 16 May 2016 at 5:03 am #

    Astounding! I’ve been on those swings too. As many people as I’ve asked to join me. No one showed up but I’ve left that twilight fever. Now I’m normally drunk and if I drink I become sober. I don’t think people find artistic inspiration. The art finds them and it’s often painful like a rose has this jagged thorn attached to it why I dunno. “It doesn’t change”. Beautiful artwork!!! Looks like the constant in opal video. Sheer beauty in this one. This should be in a museum!! The Kilbey Exhibit

  2. etta
    etta | 16 May 2016 at 6:29 am #

    May your ard not be dour

  3. avatar
    Chris | 16 May 2016 at 9:36 am #

    exotic intoxicating….paradise lost

  4. avatar
    Cath | 16 May 2016 at 10:55 am #

    sublime

  5. Pictish
    Pictish | 16 May 2016 at 6:58 pm #

    Wow!

  6. kevinbreton
    kevinbreton | 17 May 2016 at 12:47 am #

    Yea this one is something else!! I love that part about how you brought disco to the tribes and stuff. That was hilarious. And I just mean woah. This poem is really filled with some great nuggets. Geez….

  7. avatar
    kell | 19 May 2016 at 3:41 pm #

    Oh

  8. avatar
    venus in rags | 20 May 2016 at 8:15 pm #

    Amazing…..Etheric….Shakespearean
    Pale Brilliance
    Love immortal & eternal
    Pain love
    Passion
    J’adore
    Paradise found
    I agree with kevin breton
    Belongs in a poetry book
    That is image from Constant in Opal
    Incredible poem… & ..image
    Wow !! Patti Smith would just love this!!!
    I keep re-reading every line.
    images, smells, feelings, all collide
    white doves….crimson tears
    Your best, Steve
    Thanks for creating such a masterpiece
    and sharing it!!!

  9. etta
    etta | 21 May 2016 at 11:56 pm #

    Hope you’re enjoying the warm spell sk. Not every day can be like saturday and not every saturday night like the bowie concert at the house. I feel bowie would’ve been muchly chuffed with diamond dogs, station to station and changes and the rest of the high grade stuff. I know we were. 🙂 So happy I could go to this 🙂 Thank you!!

  10. etta
    etta | 21 May 2016 at 11:56 pm #

    Hope you’re enjoying the warm spell sk. Not every day can be like saturday and not every saturday night like the bowie concert at the house. I feel bowie would’ve been muchly chuffed with diamond dogs, station to station and changes and the rest of the high grade stuff. I know we were. 🙂 So happy I could go to this 🙂 Thank you!!


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