At the Far Tor (moorland poems)

'The Flickering Girls'

You! I see you -

You are on fire! - lithe girls,

With all the life that is

Leaving me; my strung-out wolf-soul

Wondering in a life, now wandering;

Leading me down to its smoke-wrecked shores.

In crisp September

Burn as I - my yearning world -

Never burned

In shelters from the wake.

Leaf-deep, you see, my storm quaked

And I could not break into those tree-tall towers -

Those shadows -

Keeping my all, from your enthral.

So... no...

There are - here - few sighs of wind

On this ash-buried timber -

Brittle - and so blasted.

No bright joy for me, anymore

But there was love, and there was need

And now you're wearing them -

Inside the sharp and alarming, closed forest of youth;

Stark temptresses, dancing,

Full-naked... ebullient...

Half-smiling, to someone... just beyond...

Not seeing me - no, not really at all -

Now sliding away...

(Oh how it is - harsh beauties - that this world will wash itself

With ourselves, and with our worlds

To leave us dry - and belittled -

Whispers

Where we were only

And forever

More fuel;

More bone-meal for its billowing breeze.)

sept 14

Alternative/revised:

'to the flickering girls'

you... you are on fire

with beauty, boundless and harsh,

and all the Life, this power, that is

leaving me...

my strung-out wolf-soul

wondering in a life, now wandering;

leading me down to its smoke-wrecked shores.

but, hey -

in crisp September -

burn as I - my yearning world -

never burned

in shelters stolen from the wake.

leaf-deep, indeed, my storm quaked

at what could break;

and i could never fell

those tree-tall towers -

those shadows -

keeping my form too galled; too wary;

and so far

from your wondrous mystery, and enthral.

no...

few breaths of wind sigh here

on this ash-buried timber -

brittle, stilled, sand-blasted.

no bright, feverish joy for me anymore

where there was Love, and there was Need;

where now you're wearing them -

inside the sharp and alarming, closed forest of youth;

stark temptresses, dancing,

full-naked... ebullient...

half-smiling, to... someone... beyond...

not seeing me - no, not really at all -

now sliding away...

(oh how it is, lithe figures, flickering - that this world

will wash itself with our worlds

and leave us

dry and belittled -

whispers from a bacchanal

where we were only

and forever

more fossil and fuel -

bewitched and so beguiled -

more lone, now levelled

bone meal for its blind and blinding breeze.)

[image, taken at Carnglaze Caverns, cornwall]