The Deciding Battle

Madness has a white and haggard face
                          when I stoop
                          among the reeds
the ice-sharp wind lances me through
                I am a fallen image
                an insane king
frostbitten, clinging to memories
                words that stick
                in the craw
I hear the hammer of the distant surf
                black are the sorrows
                I am abandoned
and crack frost from my beard
winter steals the life from the slow
                and old, I sleep with my eyes
                open, ice on my lashes
I have no weapons
Only the rain throbs on the grass
as I search for watercress
My pale paunch juts
the screams of battle echo
                crack the boughs
                the pain in my head
                my blistered feet
mine is a complete poverty
                too weak for wars

(Italicised lines are taken from Trevor Joyce's The Poems of Sweeny, Peregrine)

Obstacle

Cúchulainn   an obstacle
ripple of fame   muscle
skin-deep   heroic cycle
wheels   into the action
warrior words splinters
bloodied   no odds too
much   too high
the  first  exchange

the peace is shattered
by another explosion
limbs severed   ball-bearings
nails   shards of glass
rip  into  flesh  delicate
balance   crashes down
over-burdened   more fragile
than your soft hands

met in the middle   wrong
to challenge   bitterness
a great boar   about
to bring down   havoc
groaning over corpses
doom   will slash softly
a common courage will suffer
the sweetness of assault
promised falsely   set forth
fended off   until sunset

it is suddenly dark
dead people lie at your feet
screams   perforate
this new world where hope
is something   far-off
to be discussed   around
a table   between meals

he lamented   everyone
must die   cross swords
soul   tearing from body
begin again   war-like
a thousand feats   high
miraculous   fighting
in water   until
high noon   so closely
heads touched   but
it was too late

in the scramble   to stay
alive   tread upon
the dying   squeeze out
their lifeblood   panic
becomes a way of life
a survival instinct
sudden lack of air
lack of life   lack
of options   lack of touch

it is enough   ribs crushed
clasped arms   set down
mourning   memories of together
your blue clear eye   speech
crimson deeds   split open
stark   battle-madness
only a shade   countless
multitudes   fallen everywhere

distant   yet not so far
the flick of a switch
rustle of newspaper
look up   and into space

Copyright © Matthew Geden, 2002