by on

The next two poems in the Mutations series, in which I and Geoff Matthews take turns at mutating each others’ poems in a continuous sequence.

5      Taunt

There are miles of serene rotating shadows,

with crumbling mansions for beleaguered lords,

whose mausoleums house dry sprites of bone

When once I sought these receding dwellings,

setting aside the voices of others who warned:

‘Perils beset whomsoever attempts these withered lithic lands’

The servants of their carapaced masters issued forth

Splitting light into a myriad rays,

That swarmed as vile rubies against my approach,

Regret is a bitter pill of long-.

lost ways

A fixated end, slow and methodical was mine,

The breeze blew and I wept for a stony age.

(Graham  27 April 2022)

6        City twins

There are no steps from crossing to pavilion

from pavilion to massacre

and no distinction from cyber-attack and murder

Three people

we walk from tall tree

to other tall trees

My servants (our slaves) see great altars

and make great sacrifices of their bodies

naked in the darkness

If you are content don’t underestimate the language

and don’t go into the desert where the tone of voice

constantly changes and challenges your abilities

(Geoffrey Mark Matthews 9 May 2022)

by on

The previous one and its mutation in the Mutations poetry series:

4      Innate savants’ great valley

The calm smile of an umbrella stand is transient

and elephants returning home to dark energy

bury their words in a rich port of failure

Scent discovered effortlessly disappears quickly

ignored at first this content reduces concern

for capital delays in hard pronunciation

Apprentice beetles bowing to want dive into

the prison master’s sick pink features and

as a group rub their free hands in oil

Death has become unclear in limited speculations

all fixed by several old torture treatments that

freeze crematorium victims’ ashes forever

(Geoffrey Mark Matthews 16 April 2022)

5      Taunt

There are miles of serene rotating shadows,

with crumbling mansions for beleaguered lords,

whose mausoleums house dry sprites of bone

When once I sought these receding dwellings,

setting aside the voices of others who warned:

‘Perils beset whomsoever attempts these withered lithic lands’

The servants of their carapaced masters issued forth

Splitting light into a myriad rays,

That swarmed as vile rubies against my approach,

Regret is a bitter pill of long-.

lost ways

A fixated end, slow and methodical was mine,

The breeze blew and I wept for a stony age.

by on

A series of poems, each one a mutation (by any means) on the previous one.

A cobbler who made shoes for ants,

Wept at the enormity of his task,

And drained away in pale exhaustion,

Yet rose again in fluid form,

A resurrected cordwainer,

Thought fit for arthropic labour,

Long he hung on their sounds,

Gave heed to their chaotic babblings

And tried in vain to craft

Brogues fit for that endless marching,

Of sufficient wear and pluck,

And for some styles gavelled cleats,

Yet this now protean formed bootmaker,

Who once deemed his aqueous morphism,

A gift of salvation,

Came to reckon his new un-boundaried life,

As curse and not blessing, saying thus:

“Neither life nor liquid can shoe so many feet”

(Graham Freestone 13 April 2022)

4      Innate savants’ great valley

The calm smile of an umbrella stand is transient

and elephants returning home to dark energy

bury their words in a rich port of failure

Scent discovered effortlessly disappears quickly

ignored at first this content reduces concern

for capital delays in hard pronunciation

Apprentice beetles bowing to want dive into

the prison master’s sick pink features and

as a group rub their free hands in oil

Death has become unclear in limited speculations

all fixed by several old torture treatments that

freeze crematorium victims’ ashes forever

(Geoffrey Mark Matthews 16 April 2022)

by on

This follows on from Mutations 1-2. Each poem is a mutation of the previous one.

2  Arm wrestling

a cephalopod can dance

          burning bright on coral sands

          and turning white to die

a newly tattooed limb facing the

          written blast of sacrifice

          relaxes into resignation again

and the switching gear trips

          in the coolest convoluted

          lizard part of the brain

marching to a different conviction

          banner furled and leaking guilty

          memories of whipping sheets

into the deafening foam

          every frequency registers

          the presence of other minds

(Geoffrey Mark Matthews 6 April 2022)

3          Barn Dance

A cobbler who made shoes for ants,

Wept at the enormity of his task,

And drained away in pale exhaustion,

Yet rose again in fluid form,

A resurrected cordwainer,

Thought fit for arthropic labour,

Long he hung on their sounds,

Gave heed to their chaotic babblings

And tried in vain to craft

Brogues fit for that endless marching,

Of sufficient wear and pluck,

And for some styles gavelled cleats,

Yet this now protean formed bootmaker,

Who once deemed his aqueous morphism,

A gift of salvation,

Came to reckon his new un-boundaried life,

As curse and not blessing, saying thus:

“Neither life nor liquid can shoe so many feet”