Poetry (p.1) - (attempts from 'the muse')

"CANTO-UPENDED" (Pt.1)
Copyright (c) 1992 Maljam
 

i - stop-wait-run

"stop"

all the long day-long
i sat and waited
for the rain to stop

i want to stop.
my mind will
stop, please,
stop.

help
me
up,
will you?

i am standing.

i haven't stood upright
in nearly fifteen
years.

i must stop.
stop. please
stop.

"wait"

I never knew.

If I had
thought
to look,
I may have
known.

It is not here.

Waiting.

Silent.

Wai-
ting for
some-
thing
to hap-
pen...

"run"

I stare at
a blank
screen that
laughs at
my hopeless
art;

I am
alone
still.

(c) Maljam September 1992

ii - I Dreamt I Was Awake

As it dawned upon the bleakness,
Inherited by those uninvited -
Look out upon azure day, veins of despair
Running from our tired arrogance that lays
within the walls of our sorrow;
Once upon opening, like the radient glow-worm in
Cavities of loathing, hide from the
Presence - incapable of escape, from
All entwining fingers of clutching warmth.
Embedded within walls of subconscious
Lay the fears of self-realization;
Attacking crude parables with
'Concepts' of the meaning of meaning
(Which list upon endlessness).

Like the new days that warms these
Tendons of the finger-spun soul
Rising listlessly from their woven graves;
So to open an observation, a
Life begins among the fallen despondent.

(c) Maljam October 1990

iii - but to Dream

"Who heard me cry in my sleep,"
Alone in the landscape, resigned
Adventure, this my dreaming;
(Has it been hours...??)
Unconsciousness overcoming heavy drowsiness
Before the night come light.

Impending middle age -
("Tho this is danger in itself") -
Inactive limbs detract from these
Impassioned moments that
weep silent tears;
Swamped with a mis-understanding
Of what is not likely to be forgotten.
Unlike the shadows of the nights' memory,
It fades like the dawning of day,
And is lost to thought...

(c) Maljam October 1991

iv - illness

Illness has taken away my will to write.
I am tired of feeling so insecure;
As I sit, I will not be able to sleep
this night in ease.

Where is my beloved?
Surely she will know the way to
Treat the wounds of our sickening love;
Another dawn breaks with no rest gained,

She is not here.
I do not understand;

Where is the discourse of another
Restless night? (As if all
were not enough).
She's willing to comfort, smother
my inner discord, that bores

inside the wasted miles
of my weakened self.
Your youthful smile,
and love of a lifetime;

Surely she will know a remedy.
She pours easily, not unlike an
Anointing oil, sweetly perfumed, giddy
concern is her attention.

I lay awake, trying to feel her breath;
it is useless.
My own body-heat has plummeted,
I think I chill her soul as well.

We lay embraced, locked in our
huddle of love.
The futhermost thing in our
knowledge - rain spotting the

sills of the hearth, timeless,
far removed,
unwelcome in the stillness
of our healing embrace.

I want to get well.

Our embrace is all we require
to keep our weakened hearts on fire.

(c) Maljam June 1992

v - The Nightmare

'I thought that dying would be
lonliness;
for those left behind to mourn.
The lonliness is but only fragmentary -
not the wholeness of eternal -
withdrawl.

The nightmare is being left
alone with no-one; to slowly
watch yourself go crazy -
REALLY crazy -
and not being able to come home to bed
to sleep it off..."

(c) Maljam January 1989

vi - Joy (- an incomplete sketch)

Adulthood blankets the slim grasp that
I have left on my innocence.
Childish ways: to play in storming drains;
When the biggest hastle was starting school -
the end of beggining,
Lost before it ever laid root too certainly
(tho forever 'my roots').
When the biggest battle was winning,
the end of begging.

To look vaguely back;
to distant 'wooden gun battles on a cold-steel cement.
Adventures of lifetimes, cast in sand,
lost forever succeeding the next cloud-burst.
(Our cars always kept their plastic-wrapped shenn).

Millions of people - time distorts clarity -
throng under a pool cover, its yellowness
faded like my parents authority.
Only to be crumpled as my kin
drove his inexperience into their side...

I still taste the mental freshness
(for it was really only yesterday)
Of not knowing the puny strength to
Rip a door off its hinges (in play!);
Unaware of parental anguish.
Too carefree; only the sweetest joy.

Further back - ashen memoirs
that only the past will remember;
("The utter foolishness of having your head
stuck in the neighbour's front gate,
at 6 in the morning -
whilst riding atop a skateboard
inside a grotty cardboard box.")
Tho the memory is one of unbridled joy,
like sharing a private joke within playmates.

Not even my closest friend - my own wife -
will ever envisage the snap-shots I carry in the
Child of my heart's dreaming:
They belong to me. And description is not, in
essence, reliving the moment,
but a sketch from a faded past;
Only the author, now an older man,
rests his reality.

(c) Maljam May 1992

vii - Grasping at Straws

"Who wants to be acknowledged for their
Own fear of their private, personal hell anyway?
Look at them...
Crouched down unobtrusively
trying to be
cool and calm,
whilst hidden angst of their mown uncertainties
Compels their tranquilizing inaction.

Or what is it that I hide?
Stolen away in my darkened corner,
(...sittin' in a backroom all by myself...)
Observing somebody else's public anxieties.
It's amazing how clear the mind becomes -
Swept clean by the rush;
Blowing out stale, stubborn woven cobwebs of my
Own insecurity.
The 'women' are half my age...

A pony-tail plays tantalized within the
Sphere of a candle fitting,
Insulated by the friendliness of its
Warm hospitable glow.
Does anyone realize why they are here -
Here, I mean?

Some stand off, aloff and impenetrable -
(their dreaming is incomprehensible, anyway).
Why are there so many silent, subdude 'singles'?
All too young to be my flesh and blood;
Who am I trying to impress, and
Who is trying to hide the
illusion of yothfulness?"

(c) Maljam August 1990

viii - Night-Fall

"Reality is the blight of a lifetime;
Insanity is the curse in the dream."
These weights lift off like broken relics;
At last I can breathe.
This is one role I'll not reherse
not to leave unopened and gasping in pain.
Untamed wildlife feeds upon a loosened apron -
Skirts abound - my own insignificant
Insecure indifference belays
Deep silent waters misting past in ebbing
Majesty of strengthened sojourn.
Where does the answer lay,
Surrounded by these crushed doubts,
Beset by fools locked in the
Desert inferiors of their own minds?

Maljam (c) 1990

ix - (Wars &) Romours of Wars

Chaos, all I see is chaos
I open my eyes
to feel
nothing but pain.
Lies, all I hear are lies
to turn my head
to ease the domain;
There must be something,
One thing that can
come from this.
(A losing battle,
Hunting a life
thruout the twists).

Pain. All there is,
is pain.
Wretched hearts
Crying in the desecrated streets;
Fear, all around is the fear
with scorned hearts
Longing for the peace to come...

What peace?
When all around us is war?
Why all the world adore
Destruction?
To watch themselves
Faltar and die;
all is foolishness.
What price??
What price to scourge ourselves?
To perish
(for no reason)
And watch ourselves...

founder?

Maljam (c) 1988