The Starbeck Orion Issue #1 16 (a) of 25
Peter Devonald
The Underneath
Deify the dead, demean the living
the past holds such guilty longing.
People doing bad things, don't want light
to shine in darkest hidden places.
The great unknown, every move is a plan
sickly and deathly, the boatman is ready
held together with double sided sticky-backed plastic,
waterproof plasters and memories of how we once were.
Wrinkles, less elasticity of skin, weakening, fierce eyes at least
the rest, slowly fading, the mirror is not impressed
it cowers, glowers its displeasure.
Did I lose my strength with my hair?
Scattered grey and white highlights cover the floor in snow
am I Samson, raised from the dead?
My strength fatally weakened with the loss of hirsute desires.
Deep fog subdues and mutes intention, ambiguity hides
true intonation, damp clogs essence clings to the mind,
words are knives and always unkind.
Charon the ferryman of Hades is ready for me now, carry my soul
across the river Styx, divides the world of the living and the dead.
A coin inside my mouth
pays the final toll, death holds no fear.
 
Carpe Diem (Seize The Day)
Glorious sunrises awaken us all
Dare to dream and celebrate this renewal
So much to do and so little time
Always be aware it will end up fine
Have faith, hope and fully welcome this day
Embrace every moment in the most delightful way
Clouds sweep us to our chances and dreams
Even when life falls apart at the seams
Successes, achievements and what might have been
The day flushed with opportunities, hope and means
Sun shines bright to energise and revive
Brings such joy and pleasure to feel so alive
As darkness comes the sunset flares
With spectacular oranges and red flames
The moon shines down in the starry starry night
A successful day to celebrate - so now goodnight.
We The Living Absence makes the heart fall sombre petals fall as ashen tears grey days yawn with broken wonder sunshine no longer eases fears. Yesterday I was seen and known I was understood and elated history made sense, we’d grown not feel empty and so rejected. Like balloons broken and busted butterflies wings no longer shine heart grows sacred now seems rusted cold world only makes me pine. I was sublime and full joy now alone, vulnerable and a small fragile thing lost in deepest woods and towns a little boy no longer connected to the love you bring.
Peter Devonald lives in Manchester UK where he contributes to Stockport/ Manchester Post, Culture Supplement and poet in residence Haus-a-rest. Winner Waltham Forest Poetry 2022, Heart Of Heatons Poetry 2023 & 2021, joint winner FofHCS Poetry Award 2023, Forward Prize nomination 2023 and two Best Of The Net nominations 2024. Widely published and anthologised. Won 50+ film awards, former senior judge/ mentor Peter Ustinov Awards (iemmys) and Children’s Bafta nominated. www.scriptfirst.com
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