CLASSICAL INSPIRATIONS

A small boy in black shorts and plimsolls,
shoots roots through a dusty
herring bone floor, and his tree
begins to grow, seeking out the sun.
Peaceful Venus plays a light breeze to
ruffle his leaves as he grows again,
a glorious oak swaying in the wind,
torso twisting with age.

His breast pushes out and hands flap,
fingers flutter, tiny wings hop from branch
to branch inside the large old oak,
the bird reaches the top and through
pursed lips, it chatters its message
to Mercury, and the forest below.

The needle lands on Mars,
two halves of an eggshell split,
the creature emerges, slowly
the dinosaur grows, its head
thrashes and jaws gnash, it prowls,
over lush green fields and waterholes,
he feels the tremors in the ground.

The old man is bent double,
shaking, his walking stick taps,
taking slow steps, out of breathe
he crumples like a dying petal,
and follows the light of his passing
caressed by the rings of Saturn.

The sorcerer commands
his wand and the elements dance,
spinning and weaving, large looping circles,
trailing comets across Uranus,
washing the night sky with colour,
each stroke grander than the one before.

Speakers crackle as the diamond returns to its post,
his breathless journey across the planets complete.
For the first time his mind is alive,
conscious of its own creativity,
and the wonders of imagination,
for the first time he sees inside the music.

 
Stoic
I march to the beat of my own drum
To my execution
For the everything that I have done