Sunday, 18 December 2011

(A Ghost Through) Sparkling, Fading, December (Glasgow 1987).

Christmas night out:
Inside the darkest room,
Below street level.

Hovering seamlessly
Through thick, billowing haze;
Touching desperation for breath,
Laughter stifling unease.

Miniature orange-red circles
Momentarily pulse,
Then cease, between drawn cheeks,
Like queuing brake-lights
On a foggy night.

Outside:
In black air,
Revellers and high spirits,
Mix unaware, through the glowing waterfall
Of the street lamp.

A sudden ambulance gathers senses,
Turns heads,
With blaring blue crescendo.


On its roof a Catherine wheel
Inside an upturned glass,
Mesmerises,
And for one second,
Fear is tactile.

Above eye-level:
Dusty office blinds curtail dusk.

A wall-clock
Pricks the brooding silence with
Insistent ticks.

Over the Square
Bells in gaudy greens and reds,
Glisten on wires, taut as bowstrings.
Shimmering whites shine down
On oblivious last minute worshippers,
Their bulging bags,
Sprouting from every finger.

Like walking pines,
Their branches drooping,

Decorated to distraction,
They shuffle downwards along the pavement.

So, to the east, my old haunt,
(For my time has come):
To the constant stable,
Of the light,
Of the world

Where I will pass,
And no shadow will fall.
 


Painting by Bryan Evans
http://bryanevans.com/reproduction-prints/georgesquare_large/


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