………..at a Summer Wedding Party
Red Door is a new painting from my Delirious series. They are all based on dreams.
We drive south into a ferrous wind.
The sky unclenches. Fingers of rust
stain the peaks of Morven and Scaraben,
old blood on a crumpled sheet.
The land trembles with yesterday’s news.
Barbed and shredded. Bales of hay sheathed
in pink stack the sweetness of last summer.
Sheep dot and dash the fields like broken
teeth spat into a steel bowl. Crofts cower,
trees twist into submission. Amputation
-dislocation. Strike a pose. Resistance
is futile. Across the border smoke rises,
thin entrails signalling your departure.
Small boys sell silver bullets
at the road side, for emergency
use only. In the Land of the Free
clockwork sheep graze sleepless fields.
Do they dream of a lambing
snow tumbling from neon skies?
Do they recall punch-drunk
poppies beyond the electric fence?
The mocking bird twitters
from his gilded tower. Syncopated
rhythms pump black gold. Blood
moons rise. Hunters summon the blue
-eyed to the door. She drives north
as a skein of geese flies the other way.
She drifted down Main Street,
shrunken and exposed
to the gaze of lacy twitchers.
She maintained a regal air,
head high, Liberty scarf fluttering.
Think panache, she thought.
Her expression was composed,
eyes cool as anthracite
and mouth dead as diamanté.
But sunbeams melted her frozen
cockles, dissolved her moody blues.
So why the tremor in her guts?
When she reached the Post Office
her feet puddled like jellyfish
and she slumped against the wall.
Her reflection in the window
was pale as January. Her face
had slipped to her waist.
With failing heart she understood.
The next day all that remained
was a dark stain and a scrap of Liberty.
“Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.”
Leonard Cohen, Anthem
And here’s the legendary voice of Cohen:-