Wednesday, 5 June 2013

Poetry Thursday 65 - Xanthous

This one came to me last night and surprised me. It is not about me and I'm not sure where the inspiration came from. I know I was thinking about description and atmosphere in connection with 'Cessation' my latest novel and I'd also been watching part of 'Abraham Lincoln Vampire Slayer'. I think the colour came from the film.
In many respects this poem is about where inspiration comes from and as such is an example of the drive to write coming from different places. The form rather like the characters in my books fit what was in my mind and provided the vehicle I was looking for on this occasion.


Yellow light of a jaundiced, fly-spotted bulb
in a sickly, warm, damp room.
The solitary wooden chair of a lonely existence
and an old newspaper crisply, stiffly open on a table
not trumpeting its lies for anyone to take notice of.

The unshaven, unkempt, unknown form on the bed
dead, asleep, comatose perhaps, in a twilight life.
Who knows the history that built it
and is now demolishing the same?

Not a sound to break the xanthous spell
perhaps a suggested inspiration from it.
No traffic sound or distantly peeling bell
just ominous, blanketing, cloying, muteness.

The silence as golden as the ambient light
the kernel of life disturbed nothing.
What would break the sepulchral atmosphere?
Not even a stray rodent searching for sustenance
broke the all-encompassing thrall.

Would it rise tomorrow to face another one,
to battle through to night once more?
Then to seek blessed relief in solitude
or will it just blend into the yellowness?
The ambient aromas of staleness and ordure
generated from the supine entity
do not alone indicate vigour.
Yet there is an inner glow.

The faint spark may be dim but retains power
even in ITS sickly, inadequate condition.
It will go on and find a rosier glow
against the adversity of yellow mediocrity.

©David L Atkinson June 2013

God Bless