Poem - jigsaw fifty-four

JIGSAW FIFTY-FOUR

Gets me a morbid dream
Plucked from the brows of death:
Nothing that is, but seems;
Nothing that truly breathes.
Empty of shape or soul;
Foreign, a landscape morphed.
Muffled, a slow drum-roll,
Drones a suspended fourth.

Magpie freefall,
Bagpipe cat-call:
Sensations sublime.

Jigsaw soundscape,
Back-door out-take –
Creation's no crime.

Distance, a twilight gauze,
Peppered with sequins teal,
Sunset exhales, withdraws,
Tempering cochineal.
Luminous clashing sparks
Etched on an inky screen:
Fragments of light and dark
Meshing electric sheen.

Haywire hardware,
Wildfire warfare ...
Confusion: That's life.

Knife-edge ... pin-point ...
Drumhead gin joint:
Solution - Let's jive!

(2007)

composite photo: Stephen Alsford

photo: Stephen Alsford

Created: November 17, 2014. Last modified: March 7, 2015