Thursday 4 June 2015

"Red Star"

What laid such ice in our veins?
Wherefore ignition?
For those who chose to live in the wastes little remains,
Vagabond, thief, the outlaw scents prey,
Sounds the silence......

A mortal wound betrayed atop the brickwork, splashed deep crimson like a tide;

"Is it just the spring?"

A breath of wind, a touch and blown dust roars into the face of the deep but fails once unsuspended, underfoot....

Only a man will be reborn,
Romulus and Remus in the fasces' state caressed by shadow;
"As a factor of Maat the desert is cold at night"
"How cold?"
"Ours will be red one day"
("Yes ours will be red!")

We shall go west as if our futures lie still in mourning,
Prey, none shall find us,
One will decides, not quick or slow, absent,
Companionable corpse on the shoreline the sea stretches and reaches to reclaim (better in the arms of Mother Mari than the famine)

"Habeas Corpus Christi!"
Prima facie there is no evidence that our dust will endure any longer than yours,

Poison seeps through the cracks unseen, grasping at the visage to feed, not infecting non-flesh, too raw, too "fester".... G.Hales


  1. Eliot of-course said that Keat's; "Beauty is truth and truth beauty" was a mistake!

  2. "Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

    A penny for the Old Guy

    We are the hollow men
    We are the stuffed men
    Leaning together
    Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
    Our dried voices, when
    We whisper together
    Are quiet and meaningless
    As wind in dry grass
    Or rats' feet over broken glass
    In our dry cellar

    Shape without form, shade without colour,
    Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

    Those who have crossed
    With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
    Remember us—if at all—not as lost
    Violent souls, but only
    As the hollow men
    The stuffed men.

    Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
    In death's dream kingdom
    These do not appear:
    There, the eyes are
    Sunlight on a broken column
    There, is a tree swinging
    And voices are
    In the wind's singing
    More distant and more solemn
    Than a fading star.

    Let me be no nearer
    In death's dream kingdom
    Let me also wear
    Such deliberate disguises
    Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
    In a field
    Behaving as the wind behaves
    No nearer—

    Not that final meeting
    In the twilight kingdom

    This is the dead land
    This is cactus land
    Here the stone images
    Are raised, here they receive
    The supplication of a dead man's hand
    Under the twinkle of a fading star.

    Is it like this
    In death's other kingdom
    Waking alone
    At the hour when we are
    Trembling with tenderness
    Lips that would kiss
    Form prayers to broken stone.

    The eyes are not here
    There are no eyes here
    In this valley of dying stars
    In this hollow valley
    This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

    In this last of meeting places
    We grope together
    And avoid speech
    Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

    Sightless, unless
    The eyes reappear
    As the perpetual star
    Multifoliate rose
    Of death's twilight kingdom
    The hope only
    Of empty men.

    Here we go round the prickly pear
    Prickly pear prickly pear
    Here we go round the prickly pear
    At five o'clock in the morning.

    Between the idea
    And the reality
    Between the motion
    And the act
    Falls the Shadow
    For Thine is the Kingdom

    Between the conception
    And the creation
    Between the emotion
    And the response
    Falls the Shadow
    Life is very long

    Between the desire
    And the spasm
    Between the potency
    And the existence
    Between the essence
    And the descent
    Falls the Shadow
    For Thine is the Kingdom

    For Thine is
    Life is
    For Thine is the

    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    Not with a bang but a whimper." "The Hollow Men" T.S Eliot Go to: