The Twilight Of My Life
I would like the twilight of my life
to be lingering shafts of blazons
the air slowly squeezing breath
through coloured colanders
the sky revealing a fashion parade
raised on a domed catwalk.
The day of my life has been nurturing
with rupturing weather changes
morning summer rain coming in
on quarrelling thunderclouds
like a crowd of boasting fans
dispersed in mumbled fireworks
down distant echoing alleys
the sun undimmed in its hegemony
making an afternoon of patient light
coddling the clouds.
And now this evening
I would like to see it giving encore
as it moves off the stage
behind the flats of the west
to exit beyond a chorus of remnant air
haloing mauves and pinks
like someone trying on different hats
before going out.
And as my twilight door is closing
I will watch it through the window
trail a cloak of colours
and follow it up to the hill of last glances,
to see the sombre adumbrated glow
just beyond the horizon
in the lonely lovely midnight.
That would be a good twilight to my life.
Two Tigers Meet
Only you and me.
How awful and exquisite
that proved to be.
Our passion sucked air
out of the world.
My tenderness for you amazed me.
I felt you as my heart.
I had no plan beyond the moment.
I followed the beating of my pulse
circulating my blood
like the wheels of the train
journeying to meet you again.
We went to where the air
diluted to a gossamer film;
a shroud of cloud so thin
it felt it would tear
the cloying luted music,
release our sealed up feeling.
Breaking the heat of autumn
that goose summer
I looked down on the busy streets
the eternal market places
moving along in measured paces
that took us on our separate flights.
Why is it you among the others
holds my memory tenderly;
the fingers of your gentle hands
sifting through my thoughts;
the way you stroked my skull
and ran your fingers through my hair.
Cedar Pods
Hardened seeds
On ancient cedars
towering above
the highest seas
solid in their pods
clutch broken branches
split by storms
the boughs
of browning foliage
bowing to the ground.
But still magnificent
in their altitude
and spread
each broken limb
like a scowling
Nebuchadnezzar
crawling back to Babylon
from a devastated Judah
with a thirst for revenge in its turn
the tides of history in reverse.
Muscular in their supine state
still reaching for the sun
their pods hang
like a threat from a thread
pressing to release their seeds
In an explosion
like a pomegranate grenade
into the flat and muddy straits
of oyster beds
to the delight of goddess Ishtar.
Paul Gerard Dalton was born in Scotland of an Irish immigrant family. He grew up in North Yorkshire and is now based in South West London, UK. His culture and interests reflect his roots and his view of the islands of Britain and Ireland as a Celtic Brittonic diaspora with a host of other cultures thrown in.
His first selection of poetry ‘Fielding Memories, Poems and Other Recalls’ was published in April 2024. He is a singer songwriter guitarist and has two solo music albums available on line at: paulgerarddalton.bandcamp.com.
Recently he has turned to spoken word accompanied by tunes he has composed and is preparing a third album of songs and poems for CD and online. In 2024 his poems have been published in The Cannon's Mouth and The Crank.
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I like your poems. I do have one suggestion that is positive. I suggest deleting the last line of "The Twilight of my Life." It's not needed. For the entire poem you have been showing, which is what good writing aspires to. The last line turns into telling, and there is no need, for the thematic whole of the poem developed the theme very well. No need to tell when you have shown.
ReplyDeleteHi Ralph, Thanks for taking the time to write your thoughts on my submissions. I really appreciate it. Regarding your suggestion, I think you’re probably right. It doesn’t need the last line. Nothing is lost without it and I am aware that I often over write and need to do more crossings out to keep my poems succinct. All the best to you. PGD.
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