Autumn Blues

autumnblues12

My blood thinned by foghorns.

Chilled rain instead of cold beer

on the puddled patio.

Night reflections shimmering

on downtown streets

enter me with a shivering,

stuttering neon.

 

My skin, stretched by winds of change,

tightens into geometries

of angled cold and weak light.

My eyes struggle against sleep.

The season moves

with the languorous throb and angst

of autumn blues.

 

Are these the fallen glories

of the winded wings of trees?

or the ragged motley

of a jester at a wake?

I jump in leaves

and bury myself in their smell

as we enter dark.

 

 

painting and poem by Clinock (edited redux – 2014)

fāz/the Jester and her Jester

A jester and her jester

Why are we not all born

with a jester attached?

With us until we die.

To keep us awake.

To remind us of the truth.

To fill mortality with laughter

and the jingle of bells?

If the jester

listens to her jester

as the brain listens to the heart

she may eventually find peace

among the flow and thrust

of our twisted ribbons.

Are we finally saved then,

can I relax now

or did i get it wrong again?

I’m certain I saw a family resemblance

and, it was only yesterday was it not

that the ferryman winked at me?

And although the days are losing definition

I’m certain it was the same day

you made a necklace out of acorns

and hung it around my neck, laughing.

The partnership is blessed

and sacrificed

at the same moment.

The breast to the memory stone.

Not a circle after all but an arc.

And all is suddenly Carnival,

bright and loud and gilded,

showing the folds and creases

of pockets and wallets and bags

as we leave them at the door.

Unburdened

we are

free to dance.

The Jester and her Jester. 18×14″. Acrylic on paper on panel.

Painting and poem by clinock.

Autumn Blues.

autumnbluesSummer’s blood

thinned by foghorns

and chilling rain

turns tentative,

injecting veins

with a shivering

stuttering neon.

blues detail1Stretched by wind

skin is tightened

into geometries

of angled cold,

light weakens,

eyes struggle

against sleep.

blues detail2

The season moves

with the languorous

throb and angst

of Tchaikovsky

grinding October blues

through the smoky air

of burning leaves.

blues detail3

blues detail4

Are these the colours

of rusting memories

of a summer gone?

the falling glories

of the wings of trees?

or the ragged motley

of a jester at a wake?

 

painting and poem by clinock (edited redux)

Autumn Blues

autumn blues

Summer’s blood flows,

stuttering neon

through cooling veins.

Stretched and thinned

it angles the skin

in dripping chills of rain.

It slows

in tentative light

and the falling glory

of the wings

of trees,

and dressed

in the multicoloured

motley

of a jester at a wake

it pulses

with the languorous

throb and angst

of autumn blues.

 

painting and poem by clinock.