"Irony is beyond a boy like mine. As is symbolism.Allegory. Metaphor, too. All is literal with himthough that doesn't rule out a wildebeest,the one he meets each morning in the fallow fieldbeyond our yard, the one who lies beside himeach night now in the dark......"
Title: Judah's Lion,
Author: Anne Caston
ISBN: 9780915380718Publisher: Toad Hall Press/2009Pages: 96
One of the best books of poetry I have come across. Anne Caston writes about pain. But with courage and compassion. Suffering and endurance both co-exist. Written with beautiful language, this collection of poetry has the power to uplift us in the sheer pleasure of reading it. The rawness touches us. Yet the beauty of poetry sustains us as nothing else can. This book is for keeps. Anne has dedicated this book to her autistic son. That in itself touches our soul.
Now my versified review:
I let the words engulf me
& fondle my mind
just then feelings kick in,
I feel so elated.
a veritable treat,
a sumptuous feast.
the cut in my gold banglereflects the sunlightwhile I watch the dust motesadmiring their movementsthe games they playrandomly settlingI wish to dislodgethat indescribable somethingwithin my heartdisplacing it with yoursthose flying dust motesmake it easier for me to decide"without losing any momentI let myself migrate into youand feel your life force in me"
I play with my pens again I read that letter I wrote to you in gothic scriptI know that you won't get it, the irony-
you only understand the obviousyet I give you benefit of doubtI get up, pick a book of poetryrandomly read a poemsomething hits me hardI sit down again to write another letternow in a normal tonethe poet in me guides meI don't talk of desire or loveI am more mundane-I send you my heartfelt thanksfor leaving meto face the untruththat is you. only you."I play with my pens"
sitting well after midnight I call you on the telephone trying to save you from yourself you are sick and do not answer the waste of my love hits me hard I have always wondered about the remnants in that vacuumed state my heart aches, and a drousy numbness pains my senses
I watch the red coals, burning,flashing and dying-sitting well after midnight ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"My heart aches, and a drousy numbness pains my senses" is the opening line of John Keats ‘Ode to a Nightingale’
carefully he circled it
the rope in his hands
a burden for him
that tree felt so like home
he chose the second lowest branch
flung the rope over it-
checked if it would hold
sat down to have a smoke
he had made neat packets
kissing each one tenderly
placed those under the treesave for one, which went back
into the pocket of his coat
having no second thoughts
he held that rope again
and tied a precise knot
a work of beauty-his last creative work,
and his last thoughts before
life was snucked from him
plethora of prickly,pompous peopleprevaricateprocastinationpsyches me outporous plasterpedantically pours overparallel linesI push the plate of peasplacing it primly on paperpurple nail paintprominantly displayedon pampered fingers
I put on the absurd flip-flipI am having to do thisthere is a ladder.hanging obscenelyI go down-.the oxygen immerses memy flip-flops cripple me,I crawl like an insect I am blacking out and yetI have to learn aloneto turn my body without forcein the deep element.the thing I came for:the ribs of the accidentcurving their assertionamong the loyal hunters.this is the place.and I am here,amongst the half-destroyed instrumentsthat once held to a coursethe water-eaten logthe fouled compassspeak of a lovewhich is now gone forever
on that endless highwayI stop at one of the food joints,sit on that plastic chairbiting at that giant burgerpeople look at my weird beardexamine my highland kiltyou in your elegant attiresqueeze my hand reassuringlyI look around the placescattered with wilted flowersnewspapers too flapin that mild windsI know I will have to die againand you will have to follow me soon
to be reborn in which century
or which place in the vast universe
"we know not where/why yet we both do know
some kind of oracle works for us-
death does us apart, it brings us back together"
so you sleep so peacefullyuncaring that I watch youthose eye lids moving alongwith your tremulous dreamsyour nose flaring a bitthe rise and fall of your chestI subtly put my ears to itpicking up your heart beatI sway to the rhythm of itI steady myself and my palms slide over youyour skin seeps ecstasyinto mine. closing my eyesI join you in your dreamsadding some of my own..
I pick out in the middleerrant threads from that sweater sleeveyou look back into that storywithout any endyou get lost in it, pulling at the seamselbow peeps out, dry and roughI hanker for the warmthand arbitarily look out for signalsthe sun warms your face"my face gets murkier"
