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To(mb) The Lighthouse
Hypnotic push-me pull-me
Of twilight versed tide,
Rocks us, finally,
To delirious slumber.
We stood on the stretch of beach
Where wave does never reach,
Sometimes,
Fog placed Old Rust in her pocket
So we drew the ghost instead.
Crayon misted keeper of light
Shuffled, trilby and tweed,
Drowned sailors saluted him.
I tell myself:
The lighthouse has waited for my return,
But merely home for tired sea birds
& nesting long forgotten memories.
\\ perceive all that was me \\
In tributaries of rivered sonnets
Somehow lost oceans of me.
Vacancy on cliff shelf
Where my words once rested.
In the days of before,
Words grew on sunflower stalk
And the arms of every stranger
I ever passed, pointed upwards.
It was the sea which lured me back
Opening her rip-tide as temptress
Slouched in doorway of saloon bar.
On the platform, electric cables sizzled,
Touch the rails, and
Touch neurosis of edgy city.
The train heaved back Up North
Not a home-coming, but becoming
Unto tapestry of sun drenched fields.
Perceive all that is me
On rail-skirts of Cymru.
The ghost waved buoyantly
A Ticker- tape celebration,
But the spectre was speck
Of spectacle dust,
Torn train tickets to nowhere
And shredded global maps.
\\ perceive all that is us \\
You have returned
Amber to the house.
Light to all dark.
#12 ERUGLCT
Pic. Point of Ayr Lighthouse. North Wales. Defunct 1860s. Many a child hour around here. Ghost story has been documented - depends on whether you believe in ghouls etc?
Of twilight versed tide,
Rocks us, finally,
To delirious slumber.
We stood on the stretch of beach
Where wave does never reach,
Sometimes,
Fog placed Old Rust in her pocket
So we drew the ghost instead.
Crayon misted keeper of light
Shuffled, trilby and tweed,
Drowned sailors saluted him.
I tell myself:
The lighthouse has waited for my return,
But merely home for tired sea birds
& nesting long forgotten memories.
\\ perceive all that was me \\
In tributaries of rivered sonnets
Somehow lost oceans of me.
Vacancy on cliff shelf
Where my words once rested.
In the days of before,
Words grew on sunflower stalk
And the arms of every stranger
I ever passed, pointed upwards.
It was the sea which lured me back
Opening her rip-tide as temptress
Slouched in doorway of saloon bar.
On the platform, electric cables sizzled,
Touch the rails, and
Touch neurosis of edgy city.
The train heaved back Up North
Not a home-coming, but becoming
Unto tapestry of sun drenched fields.
Perceive all that is me
On rail-skirts of Cymru.
The ghost waved buoyantly
A Ticker- tape celebration,
But the spectre was speck
Of spectacle dust,
Torn train tickets to nowhere
And shredded global maps.
\\ perceive all that is us \\
You have returned
Amber to the house.
Light to all dark.
#12 ERUGLCT
Pic. Point of Ayr Lighthouse. North Wales. Defunct 1860s. Many a child hour around here. Ghost story has been documented - depends on whether you believe in ghouls etc?
Published 13th Apr 2020
Author's Note
#12. RobUmanoid. The pictured lighthouse played significant part in my childhood. Always been metaphor of something and nothing. ALL PLEASE STAY SAFE.
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always dig the sync in our works & all.. that fall in line all by themselves.. the original #12 of my wip in draft is about childhood nostslgia of a particular fragrance in all the plays..n here i see the lighthouse as is the symbol of such.. also sees the 'tributaries' as one specific word in the viz to be posted as #12 instead of original draft . Though the wholesome sync is 'love' in all essence... excuse my blabberations, as i ev do;) loved the vignette of versed imagery drawing me inner so deep in our holding together.. with those ultimate stanza of amberine & light peaking all.. Soulful Gratitudes fr this daily ERULGCT poetics of our love.. that is not so easy esp. in these testing times of Corona. Light & Love ev xx
14th Apr 2020 8:08pm
14th Apr 2020 5:26am
There is something quite lonesome about a dark lighthouses sentinel on its grey shore. Eerily so.
It's call once beckoning now filled with shadows and silence
But still the waters reach for it...
Your metaphor of movement...life in transmit towards love. Sensations and effect
Of light returning and words growing like a plant that ris3s ever towards it.
The amber lit room where love is.
So utterly put.....
So apt in illustration
It's call once beckoning now filled with shadows and silence
But still the waters reach for it...
Your metaphor of movement...life in transmit towards love. Sensations and effect
Of light returning and words growing like a plant that ris3s ever towards it.
The amber lit room where love is.
So utterly put.....
So apt in illustration
15th Apr 2020 9:39pm
The metaphors are alive with nuances of feeling that move from you, to screen, to me, like spirit. That must be true inspiration. This seems divine melancholy to me, with a ghost of nostalgia in its flavors. Epic write.
