Migration

Migration

My arms outstretched, as 
Barren as the branches
You listened in silence
Until I'd had my say then
Turned your head so slightly
Said you, "Had to go away"
And the park gates to be locked 
And the lamps teary in the dusk
Once more I begged you stay, but
My words bore the breath of winter and    
You'd already flown away.

S. Evans, Exmouth, 2016

WHY SHOULD I THINK OF YOU?

Why Should I Think of You?

Why should I  think of you?
As if I need a reason to
Thinking of you and me
And our sharing once
Of a drop from this  boundless sea
Only one drop I confess but
Our drop nonetheless
And all the more precious for that.

© Stephen Evans 2015

Evocation

It isn't your body that still beckons me
From the eyelid of the doorway
Or the mischief and promise
In your sigh and in  your smile
It isn't your  warmth in the private of  places
Or your eyes' dilation at various stages
Not the coupling of our heart-beats
Nor the whisper of your skin

It is none of these.

What most  visits my memory and recalls you again
Is the scent of your hair when we kissed in the rain.


(c)  S.  Evans

Songbird

Why cage this songbird in my chest 
If it's only going to choke?
Why weld this strong bird to my arm
If its wings are bald and broke?

That songbird will die

That strong bird won't fly   

That nest you built lies silent
Beneath a barren sky

(c) Stephen Evans 2016

ROAD SIGN

Spurning car I walk home
Amid the evening's drab recessional
Procession of hopes that fade like fumes
Before the opening of front doors
A rusting road sign signals me
"How often do they notice?" I ask
"Dented and weather-faded as you are?"
And rudely answer on its behalf
"Only when they need me."


School run and hearse I would suppose
Make daily use of you
Pointing as you do 
That right turn
Takes you to the school while 
Left to the crematorium leads
No more than simple stated facts
Amid the stream of passing lights
People always hurrying past, heads closed,  
Preoccupied in present
Dogs defecate where you stand 
And yet you don't complain.

You don't complain because you know 
That satellites will free-fall from sky
And batteries are apt to die 
And the blessed GPS 
Will drive us all in circles
Then park us neatly in a mess.

You know that when our toys break down
And once again we seek direction
You'll still be here for all of us
Season-wrought and resolute
Dependable, unchanging 
Mapping out our destinations
Turn left or right or straight ahead
Your simple trusted navigation.

(c) S Evans 2014

OLD COATS

Old Coats

Old coats I used to wear,

Of different climes,

Of different times,

Some hardly used and

Some threadbare,

They hang around and stare at me,

From the wardrobe's Narnian door.

Each one a pocket memory,

Of a time and a person I used to be,

A musty moth-ball guards this place,

A sedentary sentry of a score of years,

Eyes me fearfully with mistrust and tears,

As I tell him how,

His war was over long ago,

His vanquished foe,

Now a fluttering of nothing.

Old tissues that fought the sniffles,

Through winter's monochrome months,

Hibernate in the deep -woollen dotage of,

A duffle coat duvet,

Spent ink cartridges,

Straddle cheap playing-away day,

Train tickets, while

Loyalty-cards scream of infidelity.

An orphaned button dreams one day of,

Returning to her family,

A compass awaiting re-discovery,

Points to where in a crumpled layer,

Twisted toffee wrappers, crinkled and crushed,

Their contents long discandied.

Choke upon layers of tweed and dust.

Summer stubs from seasons in the sun,

Of Pimms in the pavilion and Panama hats,

Who lost or won and innings scores,

And many other Wisden  facts,

Recede into the recess of a blazer,

And League match ticket books,

Tick off the score-card  of my life,
Triumph, failure, 

And mosaic faces in the crowd,

I never met yet shared such times.

Fragile cotton fibres,

Frame a faded picture of,

Two lovers in a photo booth,

Thrown together in a fumble of youth,

Forever in an amber-warm embrace,

His face could almost pass for me,

At twenty three,

Beneath,  

A lower tier of

Cinema receipts,

One unspliced spool of long  forgotten films retreats,

Across the inner eye,

A flicker of silver memory,

Surfaces for one moment to stare,

Then nosedives like some Titanic on her maiden thought,

Under a sea of the mind's  debris.

Lipstick painted phone numbers,

Index cigarette packet lives,

The spoils of victories of the night,

On first name only terms,

And calls that never were returned,

A sliver of some cardboard hope,

That never saw the sight of day,

Interred within a  side pocket,

Where they forever firmly stay,

Rest in pieces till the judgement day.

Post it notes in an interview jacket,

Preen with pride beside my first wage packet,

Past-it paper-clips  a half-pence piece,

An Ever Ready battery that one day

ceased.

Chewing gum wrappers ,

A winder for a watch,

A melted rubber band,

An empty roll of Scotch

Tape me to a past life,

 I thought I'd left for good,

Of doors that should stay firmly closed ,

Supposed they'd stay that way and would,

Now creak stiffly on their hinges,

Open wide to let me pass

Down corridors like warrens to

The wastelands of the past.

A single stamp for a letter never sent,

Scraps of throwaway thoughts ,

Some of them well meant,

Pleas to reconsider on

Crushed blue lines .

The jangle of a mystery key,

Unlocks another memory,

Of a life once shared  with a  secret she,

Of whom my parents would never approve,

Their attitude still painful to me now as then,

Invoked like a shaman's curse,

Still rattles my mind.

When fishing in the pockets of old coats,

Be careful of what you may find,

Be heedful of their hidden depths,

And the sharks-teeth thoughts you may provoke,

Be mindful of that old mistake,

That feelings mend and heal with time,

The languid lake can often be,

A drowning tempest,

Out at sea.

© Stephen Evans

ONE NIGHT STAND - REVISED

This is a revised version of my poem 'One Night Stand'.  I used this along with the poem 'Scan' for a course ran by CalArts.

One Night Stand

I won't bring you flowers
I won't share the hours
Or shelter you from showers
I'm just a one night stand.

Others will always hold your hand
Others will try to understand
Others will be the better brand
I'm just your one night stand.

Others will want to console you
Others will want to share the view
Others will go where you go too
But not this one night stand.

I'll be a point in history
Long forgotten as I should be
Too plain to be a mystery
Just the one night stand.

I won't cry and make a fuss
I won't lie or break your trust
Or phone you up because I must
I'll be your one night stand.

But if you’re liking what you see
Forever till you tire of me
I'll stick around and always be

Your only one night stand.

(c) Stephen Evans

OUT OF SEASON

The russet vestments of the leaves

Bless all within this autumn scene

The sea front sullen, out of season

Silent and solemn, the year now spent

Where summer decked out once these dreams

Stacked row on row on promenades

The spectral shades of adolescence

Swiftly board the carousel

Now covered, rusting, long since silenced

The shades of sad nags bear the weight

Of summer's annual obsolescence

The seafront harbours secret wishes

Once couples kissed and sealed their fate

And post-conjoined, then joined their hands

To pray their precious moment lasts

Beyond the shoreline, beyond the skyline

Beyond a daytime's quest for fun

But hours merely move more slowly

The final sentence once begun

A stay of execution only

As nothing lasts nor can outrun

Our transit round indifferent sun

S. Evans 2016

IF AGONY AUNTS WERE POETS

​

Dear...

"Never date a self-centred man
There'd three in the relationship before it began
Buy him a mirror so he can preen himself all day
Wish them a fond farewell then send both on their way"

"Don't cry over a selfish guy,
He wants his fingers in every pie
Including yours and your best friend's
Tell him that this is where his dining ends..."

"Never date an ugly man
Unless he drives a big white van
They have their uses every day
The vans I mean, obviously..."

"Never date a cultured man
He'll be highly strung and not a fan
Of Corrie, EastEnders or Emmy Farm
Within a week you'll do him harm"

"Never date a clumsy chap
Unless of course you're called MissHap
MissHandle, MissPlace or MissLed
I dread to think what he'd be like in bed"

"Never go out with an intense fella
Profundity has its charms but it's not a great seller
You'll never feel comfortable and never socialise
As long as he's watching you with his madly staring eyes"

"Please try to resist an angry man
Who rants at you like a rabid black and tan
Such sway and charm you must resist
Firmly tell him he must leave and,

Sweetly state he won't be missed"

"Steer away from any man
Who gets his tan from a can
Unless that can is really Cannes
Aboard his giant catamaran"

"Never under any circumstances, consider a  man
Who thinks haute cuisine is an egg and spinach flan
You'll do him a favour and time you'll save
By ditching him and his microwave"

"Don't entertain a travelling man
He'll talk all day about Japan

Iran, Hindustan or Yucatan
Indeed, any place that can rhyme with 'an'
His favourite place is naturally the Isle of Man..."

"And never, ever, entertain a poet!
They write silly rhymes don't you know it?"

S. Evans

A GOTHIC OBSESSION

A GOTHIC OBSESSION

When I was yours and you were mine,

The places we'd visit I turned into shrines, so

When it was over, the pilgrim in me,

So melancholy, would furrow the pavements in

Sweet adoration, frustration, my

Footsteps, in circles I travelled,

My mind without guidance on losing its star.

I drifted the streets, the cafés, retreats, the bars and

The benches, the forsaken places, and grieve at the

Graveside, you'd never give me.

For I was your spectre, your ghoul, life's spectator,

I was your shadow that you left behind.

A shade in the sunlight, a light lit at midnight,

Of pacing the house, asking why this should be,

(Oh derelict house haunted solely by me!),

Blind to all beauty, deaf to the birdsong, numb

To all feelings except self-pity.

For I was your footprint, the trace of your outline,

A guest of the twilight, living dead time.

The garden at midnight, the fluttering

Moonlight, wisteria climbing the ancient

High walls, oh heady sweet incense,

Evoking, invoking, the warmth of

Your presence, so soft the footfall,

Down paths veined in silver,

To where I would meet her,

The vines ever round us,

The silence surrounds us,

A twisting and twining, a threading, enshrining,

Forever defining, when I was once we.  

The woodbine’s decaying, oh cloying sweet perfume!

The honeycomb weeps for to sleep for to sleep,

This constant sad yearning, to stop the wheel turning,

Staying our parting although you are gone,

Staying our parting although you are gone.

These punishing thoughts are the sweetest of pleasures,

The torturing treasures that bind you to me,

To eke out existence, the years in the distance, 

Beckon so barren and grey as the sea, 

My constant persistence, your promise; subsistence that feeds

My resistance to letting you go.

In circles thoughts travel, then logic unravels

Delaying the season for letting you go.

Delaying the season for letting you go.

Please free me, please free me, please never to see me,

But freedom would pain me, re-chain me, heartbreak me,

Freedom would slave me I need to be

Yours.

Stop the leaves from their turning to russet red yearning,

Burning all hope, that one day we’ll be one.

Slow the beat, slow the beat, stay the beat of the drum

From this presage of prison and the scaffold to come.

Dam these lines ever flowing,

Your presence from towing

Ever my heart, my heart, behind yours

Stop the sunset from sliding from off the horizon,

Stay the warmth of your presence,
Distill me your essence,

Until I am ready,

Store the stars and the seasons

Until I see reasons,

Until there are reasons,

For letting you go,

Hang the moon and the heavens,

Burst the clouds, burn the oceans,

Stem  the tides from their shores,

Mute every bird-song then,

Right all the world’s wrongs,

Until you achieve these,

I will stay yours

Make me your altar,

Your Bible, your psalter,

Read me for leisure, instruction or pleasure,

Hold me close and read in to me, every day,

Make me your precedent,

Your last will and testament,

Your pillow, your headstone,

Your reliquary!

Stephen Evans 2014

We Come In Peace

WE COME IN PEACE

Tearing you to pieces

Dividing you in pieces

Bringing aid piecemeal

Piece time workers

Assemble weapons piece by piece

Pierce holes in steel

Drive rivet, twist ratchet, choose

Your customised techno-hatchet,

To tear those over seas to pieces

Drop bombs to bring you peace

We bring you peace with guns and tanks

The ultimate billion dollar peacemaker

Heart-breaker

Dividing your country piece by piece

Deal breaking with criminal types

Armour piercing ammunition

It's enough to break your hearts

Leave grieving families picking up the pieces

Of their lives

Of their children

Of husbands and wives

Like bloody jigsaw pieces

They cannot reassemble

From the comfort of a bunker

Three thousand miles away

It's all a piece of cake

Every dog of war has his day

Let's whore that minutes silence

While we war an end to violence

And all peace upon your graves

(c) S. Evans, Truro, October 2016