Transition
Recently brought some photos,
black n white
of fading or dead performers.
People like John Coltrane, Diana Rigg and Paul Scofield.
Thought they would impress
add style and culture as
they posed from a distant past upon my wall.
I wish I could be back with these actors
locked in a celluoid domain,
figureheads in my transition
leading me
to a deep and forgetful sleep but
whilst I sleep of what shall I dream,
of Baudelaire, Rothko, Hopper or Cream.
But should I do; would I hear their sound
their messages
their souls
when life becomes a choice of instruments
yet all have their music and
their's and our thoughts are not rationed,
where the streams of life are free of the ice blockade of hunger
and temples of power, altars of profit
fall down in ruin.
When all see no use
of buying money and blood at the cost
of blood and money,
as individuals are valued
in their self assertion, working with all but
endowed
with a juggler's dexterity and
people are more than a crowd
and all can safely dream of a pastoral past.
'Perchance to dream'.
To walk via silent scented paths
to rest in noonday's warmth
experiencing
the joy of herds and flocks and
the light of sunlight upon our world
which shall fall
in emerald streaks and soft blue shadows
where else it would have struck upon dark moulds
or scorching dirt - pastures beside
the passing brooks
soft banks and lowly hills
where
I could ride
dear old 'Horse'
through thymy slopes of down
gazing upon the blue line of a lifted sea.
Ah ..the dreams of past gone time
embodied in souls and pysche
of actors artists and performers
who create the living past
in sound, paint and celluoid
to enoble us poor in spirit
to a joyous present.
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