Jonathan Beale

The soul alone on the Island


The Stone shack – alone austere

Birth simply happens

An almost non-event

As too is death


Equilibrium is as it does

Moss silently listens

Men’s blood is black

The children – know


The air breathed is rock

Cementing each – and – every – action.

Nothing is valueless

Everything is indivisible


Walking along this horizon

To a backward infinity

A thousand slated rectangles

Mirroring the light –


Days are as ripe as seams

Ever-expanding –

The girls dream of strawberries

And Keats wanting Lawrence


Boys dream of Zanzibar

Fulfilling their fathers boots

Whisky whistles a merry tune

From dusk into timeless night


Dark tales shared across raucous  

Laughter, horror, fear, wit, and wantonness

Then tomorrows Tells

Remind the men like a wife reminding


These aurora borealis 

Mystical majesty

As they in their youths blood

Know their destiny but may not understand

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s