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Home Page | My CV | Acting For Fun | Personal Tuition
| My Social Invention | Me on Film & TV | Me On Coronation St. |
Photos Of Me On Stage & TV | Me As A Live Presenter | My Writings ( p14 - 21 ) ...
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Could life's sole office be as pain engine;
its whines a harvest for the Maker's feed?
Death's agonies are exquisite and sin,
bile, envy, sauce the rainbow's bleed.
For pride, God banished Satan to the loss
of beauty, so He's said; may love prevail.
Yet war's a coin that blurs within the toss
and, double-headed, victors palm the tale.
For love is keenest as the stock of hate
and hate broils deepest in an anguished squall
and anguish lies abed on reason's plate
and reason's reason is to stir them all.
To taste, life's key ingredient then clear;
in knowing pain we season it with fear.
The sweet: when torments physical have done,
we dwell .. and forge a million pyres of one.
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Fucking and gently to the silent strains
of darkness fluted on a virgin score.
Sleep grazing safely lullabies the pain
and marks, presses blood into cords of sore
delight; of a keening, a whale-song phrase
of love, or of need, that is love laid bare
to the echoing trill of ancient ways
now lost, in a sense, in a prism's care.
Blindly, forgetting, we burst and pour, hot,
slithering, pitch into oblivions eye;
fragments of light burn, flayed to the raw, what
seeds scatter settle, their flower a sigh.
Sucking the bitters of our scented breath
now dawn, come gently to the darkness' death.
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So, let us then consider that at hand -
this evening when the critics harshly stare;
this self-inflated condom of a band,
their inked and ersatz penis in the air.
Yet what can be a cause for tense reflection?
You've forged and fashioned, polished and impressed
with wit and pace and stoical direction;
it's 'true' and truth will stand to any test.
And have the public laughs, applause, been bought?
Have they known bribes to make you feel at ease?
Of course not, they have paid for every thought
you've given them, thus proving how you please.
So live it, love it, know this pithy end:
an actor comes, whilst critics must pretend.
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Though never speaking plainly what I must
my wit will snare all givers of the lie.
A dew-lipped pander to the common trust;
the salted fountain, wetting but to dry.
And every toothless laugh that echoes wide
will, hollowed, come again to bray at fools
whose cheers for kings within my mockings hide;
these people weep for love, yet love the cruel.
But for the purposes of understanding -
well knowing foetid oceans glitter blue -
my conscience has a glove to wear the hand in;
my aim, in ambiguity be true.
Yet no more breath I'll give of present days
for silence is the deadliest of praise
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Home Page | My CV | Acting For Fun | Personal Tuition
| My Social Invention | Me on Film & TV | Me On Coronation St. |
Photos Of Me On Stage & TV | Me As A Live Presenter | My Writings ( p14 - 21 ) ...
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looked@askance.freeserve.co.uk
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