Jonathan Beale

Poem 1

 

Wittgenstein in the garden of Babel

 

After Peter Porter

 

is as, the world is as: words lay

As heaped autumnal leaves.

Devoid of life now – having

Been sent through – a mind and mouth:

 

Out of a window – trees evolve

Too slowly to be seen, too quick

For time’s body. The picture is hung –

At An Angle to complete – to perceive.

 

Xeno’s shadow; lurks around.

Before Wittgenstein’s light and darkness

Cast his shadow of the vision

Of the scene: cold light breaks in Finland.

 

Given the razored edge

Of Natures abstruse abstract.

Cut by silence the brooding angry

  1. whose language is what it is.

 

 

Poem 2

 

Lights wonderment

 

Pisa, Eiffel, Blackpool, and The Sears –

The light, the draw, the raw, raw power

 

Always empty. The space awaiting

to be filled, as Einstein sleeps on

 

The moons brief puncture

Is as it cuts land open before their feet.

 

The aged anger lies not far below –

Alongside the shark and serpent.

 

Among the mathematical cosmos

Remain rusted together.

 

Seen through a lens or eye.

As the night and the night roll on

 

Something unspoken is: or given over

To pleasure or pleasure

 

 

Poem 3

 

The new art school

 

Say what you want coz this is the new art school. Art School the Jam Paul Weller

 

Here! There! Here! Awaiting the new applause

Originality, the underlying clause.

 

Here, in this new art school

Is where every charlatan and every fool.

 

Is made, forged, and broke

The cost of seriousness is no joke.

 

The caged beast bites and claws

Smashing, minds, and smashing doors.

 

Into other worlds: that can never

Really exist, no one is ever that clever.

 

The new art school makes and fails in one breath

Awaiting your fame ’fingers crossed’ before death.

 

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