Tuesday, 18 August 2009

And with the turning of the earth within the
sparse grounds in which we trace,
or paths and dreams and thoughts.

And with the celebrating fields that blow in
and across the wind, forever and beneath her
yearning for more.

And with the sitting of minds in cafe seats
or on benches playing chess, within and where
introspection roams.

And with the escape of faces into liquid
and chemical and the neurotic;
a futile but pleasurable song.

And with the screaming of children in joy,
in pain, in the search for attention
we all want and adore.

And with the banality of housework
comfort can be found in the repetition
of routine, and relaxtion found.

We stretch. We sing. We cry. We scream.

1 comment:

  1. reminds me... TS Eliot

    At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshness, neither from nor towards, at the still point, there the dance is, but neither arrest nor movement.

    from Burnt Norton, no webiste will let me copy , but theres more and it's good. Reminded me cos the rotation in your poem happens in the restricted sparce grounds. People forget the world is turning, takes some awareness to notice the spinning on the axis. the axis is also the second vertebrae of the the spin on which the first verebrae, the altas sits.

    In Greek Mythology, Altas was tricked into carrying the Heavens* on his back by Heracles, who initially asked him to help collect apples in the gardens Hesperides.

    (* in orginal myths there was no conception of Altas carrying the Earth)

    I never really feel like I have the world on my shoulders when I eat an apple. I'm gunna make a GM apple thats blue and green and looks like the earth