Scorched Wings - A Book of Poetry by Charlie Ulyatt
This book of poems was written by myself over a period of years so I thought I would share it and see what comments I received if any ... enjoy.
I am now also posting 2011 Poems as I write them here.
Scorched Wings
We fly through fire
Mocking pain,
a crippled flame.
A sadness of wings
unable to beat our destiny.
Night of the Owl
They were seated by the waterfront
looking into the distance
at the rising moon
jeweled over the mountains,
a perfect evening of harmony.
They savoured this moment together,
yet, would never know
the outcome of the evening
or the sound of the bullet
marking the dawn.
Freedom
We were asked to refrain
from knocking at the window.
Our gentle taps on the glass
could be heard over great distances;
it was this of which they were afraid.
They attempted to muffle the sound
with heavy curtains,
yet, still we kept tapping.
one day, the window broke.
The Night Stalker
She observes
the scratches
on my hands,
fresh and deep;
questions their origins
whilst carefully inspecting
her nails for signs of wear.
“They were not there last night”
she says,
evoking images
of dreamtime fights
with leopards
and other wild animals.
She is soon distracted though,
as I point out
the bruises on her face
which have appeared overnight,
without my assistance.
Over Breakfast,
we wonder
at these uninvited miracles
and how the night stalker
trades in his sleep for our flesh.
Miserable Bitter
One last bid,
an empty desert,
a grain of sand,
my skeletal frame.
Transparent – hollow,
ongoing hunger,
scream in silence
yet again.
Purge the inside
of my soul,
a tired worn out
emotional wreck.
It’s cold in here,
an empty heart,
all gone to waste
and left unsaid.
Restrained Days
Restrained days,
too contained
in dead mysteries
and conformity
which rope deep
the knots
round ankles
round wrists.
A frustrated Odyssey
which leads us to beds
of dreams
and wakings,
shameful devices
to break free
from this dome.
I am a sad exile
in the world of man.
Dangerous gardens
grow tall around me.
I must leave this mountain,
keep searching
for hidden Eden.
The Fourth Man
Something wasn’t right;
three others
had entered the house,
though he could see no reason
for their visit.
Out of curiosity,
he too approached
and entered
Inside, upon the wall,
hung the portraits
of those who had gone before him,
and in the mirror,
an empty frame,
awaiting his departure.
The Downside Chill
The downside chill
marked out
by
cool
slow
blows
may cast a stone
into these once calm waters,
and heaven will destroy this ghostly
global town;
a guilty verdict
now delivered
with the passion of a dictators heart.
We can always take the easy option
“We are the new messiahs”!
Yet, when I ask you
from my dark corner
to rescue me,
will you be there,
with your arms outreached ?
Or will there be a silence (no beating wings) ?
My heart is a world
with many holes in it.
Harvest
Not afraid
of the darkness
that shines on the day.
A cry for harmony,
music and poems
of deep image
to illuminate flight;
harvest ills and death
vision and song
for empty souls.
Rembetika
A balmy Greek evening
and Plaka streets
echo with mournful muse;
sad blues of Asia Minor
sweep through hashish haze.
We had hope then Yannis,
and together
we weathered the storm,
nearly died
in the throat of Zeus’s revenge.
Now your absence has left me alone
without a guide
to face the bitter aftermath (of desecration),
and the death
of the kafenion.
I will raise a glass
of bitter retsina
to the ghosts of lost poets
and to those your land neglected;
cont …….
to the old sweeper woman
who throws down her broom
and dances
on ocean lips,
bruising them gently
with her feet,
and the one eyed beast
who howls at night.
(Cyclops my friend, can you still see ?).
And I wonder,
shall I return, again,
to the jasmine nights
of our mad ouzo dream ?
To Escape
To enter
a movie
of our making,
a confrontation
of dreams.
To vanish
from streets,
seek shining culture
of minds.
Worlds are on fire now,
the feast is on.
We leave tonight!
Autumn Leaves
I walk alone,
a solitary figure
on this deserted beach
which hides nothing
but the bloody bones of history.
In the ancient sea,
a disturbed reflection
of nature in the raw,
I see ageing trees,
sadly shedding their leaves,
once employed by Adam and Eve
to shield us from our birth.
Someday,
this stormy autumn tide
will carry me back
to watch those same sad leaves
come to rest
upon the eye of humanity,
remorseful
of all they exposed.
Sabra/Shatila
His fingers
couldn’t quite reach
his fallen walking stick.
The brittle digits,
incapable anyway
of even the weakest grip.
Though dying,
he weaved painful patterns
between the bullet holes in his home.
And on TV
the soldier’s blue eyes
betrayed a menace which ran far deeper.
And, I wondered later,
if they buried the young girl
dressed in green,
with her victory salute
still intact ?
Ocean Depths
Tonight,
I reach
deep
into ocean floors,
nails
rake
fine sand
for bodies
and heroes.
Ill at Ease
Ill at ease
on the stage,
we have become actors,
afraid to unlock doors
which may lead us
to unchained worlds,
where we enter great caves,
escape the knife
which cuts
through our motionless skin,
walk through mirrors
into distressed oceans,
enter battlefields
where poppies do not grow.
We have entered this kingdom
lacking vision,
powerless
to escape the darkness
which wants to take us home.
Cautious of Betrayal
We watched the vulture
disappear behind the mountain,
went back to our friends
in the café.
I smoke too many cigarettes
these days,
and at night,
I stub out
the sound
of angels wings.
Guitar Song
I am
the sad man
with the guitar,
drunk on lust
and fractured feelings.
In a crowd,
I am my own mythology;
my heart,
a percussion
of empty rooms.
Alone,
a guitar,
a mourning song.
At Peace
At peace
amongst the relics
of an ancient dawn,
where colours fade
from green and neon,
to a more gentle shade
of ochre and sandstone;
where, secluded
in the receeding light,
I surrender
to my feelings
of solitude,
of solidarity
with the twisted trees
and the timeless stones.
Futility
He noticed the beauty
of the bare trees in winter,
threw off his clothes
and dived into the harbour.
Someone had told him
of the treasures that lay there.
At this point, he ceased being,
the trees remained bare.
“Fait Accompli”
They circled slowly around the dying boy,
confused about their role
in this incident.
They questioned the purpose of his young death
and who would make the sandwiches.
Snow
An empty bottle,
a small hole
where a cigarette had been thrown.
In winter,
this bleak landscape
changed little.
And though the snow
would hide his sins,
he preferred
the transparency of ice
and the window
that it offered.
Total Eclipse
A dog howls, sorrowful,
in a far off street,
the only sound present
but my own fading footsteps.
I have taken this moment
for myself,
to recollect and recall
everything that has gone before.
The days we spent together,
walking barren mountain paths,
occasionally stopping
to blow cigarette smoke
into the bee hives
to watch the chaos that would follow.
Thinking back,
perhaps it was that very same chaos
that glued our edges together
so precariously;
and that also tore us apart
all too rapidly.
cont …………
Hot, sultry days;
yet, with many a thunderstorm
that broke without warning,
keeping us awake
until the rain subsided.
The seas have been calm though,
ever since your departure.
My heart has finally come to rest
against my tired frame.
Yet, some nights,
I lie awake,
listening to the sound
of the cats,
scratching their claws
on the eyes of the dead,
trying in vain
to raise once more,
the sunken vessel.
cont ……….
And I walk slower these days,
restrained by these shoes
that cut into my heels.
It’s as if they are trying
to constantly jog my memory,
remind me of something.
Perhaps, it was that evening
of pure poetry;
the night you left your handprint
on the sun,
the night your shadow grew
so large
as to cause our total eclipse.
Night of Fools
Survey
the night
of fools.
A breeding
of instant
mania
wounds deep
the calm
arrid night
ready
to sleep now
one more morning.
Naïve
Yesterday,
he had been for a walk
in the woods,
feeling the need
to put some optimism
back into his life.
He had heard the singing of the lark
and had seen the first buds of spring
upon the trees.
The sun had gently burnt his back
and he had felt the dusty earth
beneath his feet.
But today, he awoke
to find himself alone
in a door less room
wearing nothing
but a black arm band
and around his neck,
a chain
with a broken key.
Considering his Demise
The burning ash
of the cigarette
fell upon his shirt..
We expected a sudden panic,
yet, with a shrug,
he watched it smoulder,
reluctant to extinguish
a dying flame.
Culture of Ages
Soft shoes
shuffle
towards dying
in dust.
A solemn mantra
of death,
and fire
of loins
burning
Soulful journey starts here.
“To the forest”,
proud
of gods
and resistance
*
Oh come ye warring armies,
take up arms
and die,
allow our smile
to rise once more,
revert
to culture
of ages.
Untitled
In waxen image
our hands entwine,
bonded for life
in the silence
that once
was friendship.
The Performance
The actors cast a final glance
at the empty stage.
The echoes of applause
had long since faded,
leaving in its wake,
a shadow of indifference.
The spotlight still focused
on the ghost
at the microphone.
“Everything shimmers on the surface”
the voice repeated over and over,
ignoring the increasing silence
that hung above the empty seats.
The madmen and dancers footsteps
were also quiet now.
They had abandoned
their moment of power
to retreat amongst the crowds,
become passive voyeurs once more.
cont ……….
And, as we left the theatre,
we handed our tickets to the usherette.
Her torch guiding us once more
back into the night,
our hearts fluttering with first night nerves,
for we knew that, under the spotlight,
there would be no place to hide
and little room for improvisation.
Time and Words
He moved his pen,
his watch
around the table,
oblivious to those
who had noticed
his actions.
He meditated
on their position
for a while,
then moved them
around again,
secure in the knowledge
that he alone
could enter his world
of time and words.
Wrong Turnings
Illuminated by the frozen moon,
winters ashes blanket the ground,
their delicate acid burn
an impossible kiss
upon our forgotten lips.
In this cold,
I am numbed by your speech,
a blur of insanity
that penetrates the very heart
that once brought hope.
There is no joy in together
any more,
only solace
brought by the crushing
of your final words,
a melting of consequence,
wrong turnings
taken along the way.
Flesh Wound
She walks
towards me,
rifle in hand,
her every movement
shadowed by the cries
of gulls
from distant sand dunes.
Her silhouette
takes form
amongst the drifting landscape,
sculptured footsteps
reflect
against the breaking waves.
Yet, in the space
between us,
there is silence,
a silence that is audible
above the ocean and the bullet.
Star
She takes his hand,
offers no more
than a smile;
a warming star
to fall
upon his ageing skin.