25 March 2014

Waning Moon


it wasn’t th' young Dylan’s mad desire 
for carolling the waning moon; already 
too passé this grandiloquence loosely 
punctuates gestures: all is squeamish 
cigarette-impaired phrases dressed on  
a stage of empty destiny, ‘no-one sees 
the light here’ the lead player sighed - 
even I am drained of such emotion’ 

where were we before the time came, 
when clashes of energy ran a flaring 
furnace, when those grenades hit as 
unforgettable phrases exploding into 
vogue kaleidoscopes with meaning 
all worn so very comfortably 


© 10 February 2014, I. D. Carswell