The sun touches the uppermost point of the stone cross perched on the apex of the little chapel's roof. Dew crystaled lichen capturing the rays of light and sending them twinkling to the ground. Beneath the cross,the building is held in darkness. Thick fog clinging, valley filling darkness, coating the walls in damp rivulets, running down onto the rotting window cills, breaking them into sodden lumps of wood. All around the graveyard is green with dripping moss, hanging from the stones and flowing into the thick couch grass carpet below. Voices gather. At first indistinguishable from the 'cack' of jackdaws in the brooding, bare branches above. Broken fragments of speech, climbing into the valley. The squelch of boots through the soaking grass, the soft rustle of oilskin, the breathlessness of lifting, as the old pedal organ is hauled into place. Slowly the voices grow distinct, individual, reaching out to each other and forming conversations. The growing crowd silencing for now the cackle of birds. Faces cram into the ruined chapel, lit by the sun now reaching down through the chancel window, while the mist drips from tight drawn hoods. A new gathering of modern monks, bridging the millennium, reaching back to the monks of Blane, holding fast the thread of time. The pedal organ puffs and wheezes into life, notes clinging to the damp air, always a third too high to sing easily. Dawn breaks full through the window's stone arch, flooding the little congregation in pale golden light, as the Easter hymn rises once more through the brooding trees, chasing the jackdaws cackling loudly into the skies.
Two wisps of smoke rising from the glowing fire Twist and curl in the silent air Spiralling and dancing together Playful Teasing, laughing in the dawn light Intertwined then parting Intimate Then distant as lovers Eternal in their dance
I brush a hair gently From her white flower girl frock As a tear slowly forms and Runs across time. A small brown stain Has formed on her left wrist, Rusting the silver bracelet, A blemish on her hand. Carefully I polish time. Shining the bangle, While with siblings care Renew her soft young skin. Pixel by pixel I recreate perfection, Worn down by passing, Buried by receeding time. I cannot work on the next time lapsed image: A girl's dark curled head Against a black shadowed door Smiling and shy in Her first blue checked bra. If I could I would Remove, Pixel by pixel Those nascent breasts. For they will never Nurse long the young She will produce. They will merely fulfil The warning For the dark haired girl Caught against the black portal of time. © Malcolm Alexander 2017
Restless Unsettling Invasive Numbing Opportune Unenviable Stupefying yet Ludicrously; Overwhelmingly; Voraciously; Ecstatic.
Some times you just have to stop. My mind is crammed with sadness, madness, badness and a never ending Why? Who are these people? How could they do that? Three groups of children have been blown up or shot in the last 4 weeks. Minya; Manchester; Aleppo To think is to scream. So it's alright to stop, it's not my fault! It's OK to swing gently To and fro While the sun shines through the Orange, blue, green canvas stripes. It's OK to twist gently With the breeze While the sun shines warmth Deep into my soul It's OK to just be. As the sun sinks slowly Across the bay And hides behind windmill hill. I can only be defeated If I never re-charge. So it's OK just to stop and say it's not my fault. And Simply Swing to and fro. Tomorrow I am ready.
Deep in her cave She lies as A single tear falls Into the dark earth Through the cave mouth Which holds a window on the world She sees a child Who once was and Deep in her sadness A deeper sadness still, wells up. A sadness that deepens To an anguish. An anguish that deepens To an excruciating pain. An excruciating pain that Explodes into a never ending howl! With her howl The trees shake Rivers rage and mountains moan, While the elemental wind echo's her call. The whole of nature cries out. Why, man will you destroy yourself? And deep in her cave Another tear falls for The child who once was but now never can be. But through the cave mouth That holds a window on the world A voice as gentle As a summer breeze whispers: Not all men will destroy! There is a man Who died for love And through this man All can learn and live to love And in this love no child shall cry. And deep in her cave A third tear falls for The Child who once was and yet still will be. © Malcolm Alexander 2017