The Immutable Seasons
I. InsecurityWhat I might hope to find in this dejected old grey shed With its wood-rot windows muddied with slow time and sadness, Is that childhood mineshaft of cavernous great light and sun, Bursting from torches To find crystal depths on hand drawn maps. I’ll circle in a slurry of leaves and autumn sunshine, Battling boards and free-vines until I find a lock unlatched. I might join the fortune circus just to leap the trapeze And stare wantonly down upon moon luminous faces. On inferno summer lawns and in flaming canvas tents I’ll watch acrobats, exchange silver souls for strange freedom; And glimpse tight Ring Masters flush as I topple and fall Irresistibly in love with fraying my own dark ropes. I’ll show a documentary realism par excellence by staying up all night under Orion’s still white belt, I’ll wait making daisy-chains in sweet flowering spring air Watching for a nest Of poor rapport to fall, life and all; As the abstract wind cuts genius brushstrokes at new life, Threatening a bellbird’s plush breasted love and proud devotion. What I hope to lose in this snow-cut cold trench, is my heart, With its winter of skeleton trees and broken friendships, For I’d like to believe I’m not standing over crevasses Of lost memory waiting to entomb me in blue ice; But I’m clearing the drive because I can’t stand to fight you, Making war trenches in my very own blood plot called home. © Iain Sutherland, 2013
————————————————————————————————Credit: (Petrified Fish Eagle by Nick Brandt: CLICK HERE, for his website click HERE)
“The immutable Seasons” is a working title for this piece. If anyone has any ideas for a better title (after you’ve read all four parts) then let me know! Thanks!!!