first works
Marcus A. Lavery
first works
M. A.Lavery
first works
Daffadowndilly Press
Published by Daffadowndilly Press www.daffadowndillypress.com Copyright Š 2018 by M.A. Lavery
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher and the author.
Dedication To my grandmother Diane Lavery for all her love and encouragement
Introduction by Gregory B. Gallagher I am honoured to be amongst the very few to have the privilege of reading these poems before publication.
I have a few things to say to you Marcus. You are an old soul, please open up the valve to let it all out, full throttle. Read your poems out loud to yourself for the ultimate test of their musicality, for in the end poetry is more akin to music than anything else, and respect your craft. There is no other person on this spinning sphere through space who has your "voice", so, realise the magic you have in yourself and trust the investment of body, mind and spirit in whatever you love to do, and go all out in the doing of it.
Best of the best, Gregory
Quebec, September, 2018
Writer, film-maker, poet and musician
Contents 1. The Autumn Tree 2. Thoughts of a Pessimist 3. On Hell 4. Hearts Unbroken 7. Autumn 8. Sunset 9. Silver Petals 10. On Winter 11. Lacking in Misery 12. Lost Within Shadows 13. The Bell Tower 14. A Failed Interrogation 15. Withers Writ 16. Moonlight Grim The Threnodies I-XV
The Autumn Tree In a field of stillness solemn, Shall one find the autumn tree. On its branches sit four jackdaws, From where the ground below they see, But leave they don’t, such branches, Yet they are completely free. Its bark be black and rotten And no longer does it grow, In its field of solemn stillness, Now topped with winter snow, And despite the winters vicious wind Its roots remain buried below. It cannot be chopped or knocked Nor be it frozen by the cold, It cannot be uprooted, In spite of what you're told It outlives all that ever live, As is time, it is old. 1
Thoughts of a Pessimist Sorrow wrought the soul of me That I lift the weight of despair, Thus, I am not filled with glee Nor moments of happiness, rare. To see, a while, the world as gold Shall only bleach your eyes To that, that is, the world is cold For on it Sorrow lies. And the filigree that is one’s veins, Oh, how easy it is to destroy And oh, how much it pains Me to tell you life is no joy.
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On Hell The light of heaven's shield Here has not shone in years, Upon each desolated field Now fallen dark with fears, And dull trees fall, as forgotten dreams Waltz on high over ancient fell In cold and dimmed beams Born within some fiery hell, Of good men fallen astray Of all fairs they once believed, Lost as they went grey, As of love they were relieved, And sent down they were deep below Where molten rivers of suffering flow.
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Hearts Unbroken He did not wear his silver suit, He would not sing nor waltz to flute And he forgot, what was to smile And living is death, whence in denial. Away I watched him slowly diminish, As he awote his journey's finish. His heart was broken, soul devoid, That which he loved had been destroyed. He only wore his crimson coat, For stains cannot be seen, But on the mind, they still will float, Not stains of blue or green. He only wore such crimson cloak To hide the colour when he broke A heart still beating, into two, Out from which a darkness grew.
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And while this man was not the best, It was no others, but his own chest, But every break must sometime repair And bid farewell to dark despair And when what love was left was found. Back unto joy he was then bound, For no more he hears the threnody By demons to remember thee. Now he only wears his silver tie, He no longer waits like an inmate to die, And now at last in light he sees The beauty in the birds and trees, He looks not at poppies with sorrowful breath And sees them as a sign of death, But as an emblem of the strong and brave, And be, they may, within the grave But in hearts unbroken still alive, For there within, all things thrive, Save for sorrow, save for sad, Save for all that we deem bad. 5
Now ever and anon all decline But then exalt much the more sublime, And none shall dethrone the Lady Love Nor rob her of her soothing glove, For love it does not work with lust For love you’ll find is wrought from trust.
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Autumn As soft breezes blow And autumn leaves fall To streams of golden flow That hold the trees summer shawl, Beauty is seen in the withering. Blue clouds trail on the greyened sky, Upon which few birds are seen, As far to the south they fly For trees that still hold green, And here is the calm and still That heralds forth Winter's chill.
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Sunset Red clouds make rest on the hazy sky, The dimmed sun shies behind the hills And birds return promptly to their beds on high, For the orange sea with darkness fills. The black descends sharp on fields From trees that rest just behind, For to shadows the light must yield And with night the shadows will bind. The stars glitter and gleam In the gloomy stillness of night, Whose setting it would seem Is the most absent of light.
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Silver Petals White flower on the brae With bees upon your petals, Such beauty by the day, More than any metals. Your leaves the purest silver one can buy, Like clouds upon the lake of sky That trail above my wistful head Which thinks with utmost content, For beauty is not yet dead.
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On Winter The orange dusk light shimmered On what leaves remained strong, Blowing fierce in the wind of winter, Clinging on with clenched teeth. The thin trunk waves at the world From fear it may fall Before the gales of winter cease And the life of spring arrives, And with it come new clothes For Sally, who already froze In the sharp twilight of December Before drinking the sun on the morrow, Like a lost fool in the desert drinks water. And then it thaws and feels the warmth of the sun’s golden rays as they shone at the world and drenched it in green.
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Lacking in Misery Daisies dance on the Summer's breeze, Thistles sing and dandelions sneeze, The grass waves high to the naked sky, And the trees fully dressed in green Robes of beauty did beam From the fun of soaking the sun With such content it may drain It, of each bright golden grain It wields as it caresses the fields.
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Lost Within Shadows On ash ground, red embers fall, And on the wind lost voices call, So, see did we the forest flame, And hear we did old puppets shame Of when the ashen king he falls, And lost to time his ancient halls. He fought with swords and spells of fire, His honeyed words were filled with ire, He built to heights before unseen, His eyes were sharp, his mind was keen, He mined for ruby, tin and gold, His arms were strong, but his heart was cold, He dug to depths that were too deep And broke a demon’s ancient sleep. He could not slay this fiery beast, Thus, none would sing, nor, would they feast, And before his death, the last he’d see, His men in flames, in attempt to flee. 12
The Bell Tower The Belittling thunder of iron shook The cobble and the commoner both, With a belated bellow of warning For hypocrites under desultory oath To vanish, or face the hook. Ravens deafened in the belfry Fly over the anarchy and fear, And screech like nails on a chalkboard At his enemies drawing near, The city far from hell-free. And when he burst through the gate And each fear-filled fellow and mortified maid Stare at a beggar, confused in his rags, The kneller of the bells appeared and said It was a false alarm, a little too late.
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A Failed Interrogation A tall man with an unflinching frown Entered into the room of dread, A bowler hat was on his head, Like a sad King's shiny crown. The bolt held still in the door, Like the iron upon the prisoner’s wrists, Closed as strong as the tall man’s fists, All bruised and bashed and sore. As the prisoner sat on the three-legged chair And tried, in the end, in vain, to stay upright, The man burst out with a fright, And knocked the prisoner dead with scare.
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Withers Writ Where I have walked is ash, Strewn coldly on the ground, For whenever I and any clash, In fire my foes have drowned. Where I now tread is flame, I have unleashed upon the land, It the hunter, life the game Which soon becomes grey sand. Where I will walk is dread And fear, for flame to come, And fear that all shall join the dead, And to flame they shall succumb.
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Moonlight Grim Has moonlight ever been seen by day In its glory and eternal shroud, Which heralds forth the summer sun And makes the twilight people proud. Do you know what lurks inside? And why so sore it burns the eyes, And likens them to its own shade With fiery flare as daylight dies, No rules by, does this light abide. Why are you so bitter, moonlight, grim? Why do you burn me with cold fire forgot? And bind us with your threnody The dead can hear, but we do not Beneath your cloak of dark and dim.
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the threnodies
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I
Threnody I You cannot look on Summer's sky To feel utmost content, When with blinded eyes you pry Upon your life’s descent, Into the cave of Sorrow's cowl Which leads to gardens bleak, Gardens where the Scythe Men prowl And stare, but do not speak, Here many a still man sleep Beneath the shade of polished stone, But from their beds they shall not creep, But rot and wear to bone, And every blind man sees It flash before bleached eye, And hears the panting of the breeze, Before said man should die.
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II
Threnody II Sorrow, Sorrow, in the dim, Diminish someone else instead. Sorrow, Sorrow, oh, how grim, To break the lovers of the dead. Must it be the living's fear Of death but not their own, That they end up atop cliff's sheer, And then impaled upon cold stone, And it is sorrow not one’s self Who dons that hempen necklace, And promptly jumps from wooden shelf Because their feeling helpless. But we the living often are So witless in the head, From each woeful, unseen scar Left there, by the dead.
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III
Threnody III Death is such a frightful thing To us who live and love, And on to life attempt to cling Until arrives the greyened dove, Of which to rob one’s soul of woe, And desecrate its woe-filled root, Then in its stead should sow A plant which bears the fruit Of deceit, and wish to kill, In a gleeful endless spree, Merely for the horrid thrill Which leads one to the tree. And there does man meet sullen wire, Strung from the single branch left on the trunk, His eyes, you see them lose their fire, As he dances like a drunk.
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IV
Threnody IV Why meet the bloody block of doom? Why make that one mistake? That leads you to your shabby tomb, The bed from which you won’t awake. It is sad for one to know and see How covetous so many are, Whose wills cannot win over envy, And so, with justice spar. But every right taken from right brings wrong, Such, is the malice of our world, Where both angels and demons belong, Where toward honesty, corruption is hurled. And all that is good meets an end, And each end, the exposition of destruction, Yet, we prevaricate to pretend Happiness does not lead to hatred’s production.
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V
Threnody V I saw appear, the misty gloom, And stared into its endless hole, And it stared back, and did consume My sad and sorry soul. That was so many years ago And in here I still thread, Soon, I fear that I will know What they're like, the dead. I have forgot what is to see, To smell, and how to feel, But I do know I’ll not be free So long as does this mist around me reel. And now stuck beneath this ancient cliff, In its endless eating shroud, I hear only its cold, consuming riff, Within my broken head, it’s loud.
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VI
Threnody VI I saw him stand at seven foot four, No master of his mind, And in an ancient tongue, he swore, A curse left long behind. He cut the head from elder snake And watched the body fall Into the crimson lake He left within the scarlet hall. Once lively men in platinum clad, Now float within the scarlet sky, And of their side they would not be glad, For all upon that side should die. The end of time is near, The darkness is coming, But death he does not fear, For the frozen time is numbing.
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VII
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Threnody VII When dawn gives birth to darkness grim, Then from its depths arise, Many a man long lost to dim, When dawn did herald sunrise. Then blood was found on innocent hands, So the guilty might walk free, While pawns were left to sullen band, As the villains watched with glee. And a smile appeared on a broken face When time became adjourned, And then without a hint of grace, The Dark shied away and scorned. It hid within a temple cold, As shadows ate the mortal life, And within its guilty hand did hold The bloody blade, a knife.
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VIII 34
Threnody VIII The enduring interjection of pain Is a greater evil than by most It is concerned, however to stain It with the blood of a ghost Should not by any orders be done, For it shall not do away with the power Held over those unfortunates, prone To its untouching neutral shower. The moral, its power lies Strong, not in its infliction, however, But in its shadow forging more cries. The threat greater than the action forever. Pain is the perishable portrait of hate, And all pictures sometime or other fade, But its memory exceeds its body late, Long after its being has frayed.
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IX
Threnody IX Once snow here fell on sacred ground, The gardens bleak went white, As clouds upon some sullen mound Reflect the moons murky light. Many amassed to speak old words When through black glass of mourning saw They seven sulking grey birds, Upon a rotten tree of law. Then from the veil of fog approached The puppeteer, in crimson cloak, Who was by gloomy mist encroached And with a tone of sadness spoke, "Your world fell to dark some years ago, But from shadows I have come to fix thee, And save you all from blinding snow Before the Cellos play their threnody."
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X
Threnody X With time adjourned when autumn fell, The world went dark, the dark was cold, And when was heard the purloined bell We were by sulking angels told: The time had come when autumn stays, And the broken man awakes, All the demons then he slays, Leaving behind deep crimson lakes. We are not demons, I am sure, But in his eyes a wrong, And left to him the job to cure, We will all hear the shallow song Of angels from the dim, Who with them carry dread, And all that follows dread is grim, And then thereafter, you’ll be dead.
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XI
Threnody XI There are so few who look From distant hills of grey Upon the world that shook When good men fell in the fray. Why none have pity I don’t know, for those unfortunate souls who die, As evils within them grow So large, they touch the sorry sky Of pain and dismay and sorrow, Brought on people with purloined scars, Who in the veil of bereavement borrow A ladder, to reach the broken stars, Memories of faults and fails, Of others stolen by grief and dismay, The blazing winter gales That sweep our lives away.
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XII
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Threnody XII I saw him sink in a sea of sin, A rubble of remorse entombed his thoughts, Drowning he was with dry skin From all the ones and noughts Of regret and loss, that stabbed at his head And killed him slowly with shallow dreams Of death as he lay lightly in bed For fear it would strangle him by any means That inflict the poison that taints him, That brings the talons that drag him down Into the dreary shallow dim, And dons on him a corroded crown, Worn from the seas of sorrow, Where he sailed blindly into the storm Without chance of reaching the morrow As he wishes he had never been born.
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Threnody XIII Such sick minds I see each day, The warp of hate, the weft of lies With empty thoughts of emptiness stay Silent, yet the sick mind cries Out to the livid soul enraged, The claws from the world below Steal the fair of mind, engaged In war with the frozen flow Of thoughts in the rusted crown Of fools, that cannot find A single smile amidst the frown That to their face does bind. And none may think a thought so pure That it may challenge evils trying To use its darkness, most obscure, To abet it in its slying.
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Threnody XIV Misery turns the cogs of pain, Writhing one into another, The cold scarlet stain On the quilt did smother The heron, at his pond of gold. The courtroom was a silent circus When his deed to life was sold To a man without a purpose. Asleep he stared at the black sky And still, when the puppets came, Forging an iron lie, His saviour from blame. The punisher, with his phony locks, Killed the table with a mallet, The man went insane, not to the stocks, And did not taste a prison’s palate.
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Threnody XV Rivers flow with pain acute, The acrimonious flame of sorrow burns, And deafens the screeching flute One's ears with its trills and turns, The rain runs scarlet in the gutter, The gears of hate twist and spark, And maliced men cough and splutter, Poisoned by sadness, they bark, They’re lost and forgotten and dead To the ticks of time eternal, And the hammering tocks of dread, The tools of time infernal. And when all have fallen fowl To Sorrow and his scythe men sick, They will wear each bitter scowl And crease of times each murderous tick.
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finis
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