clarion

There's something about the word Clarion that i really like. i don't especially know why, i just do. for the first full poem that i had written in years i actually (and for once) started with the title and worked from the point on.

i would be a liar if i claimed that my wife and i never argue. however i would be equally deceitful if i gave the impression that the following poem is a blow-by-blow account of a tumultuous and damaging exchange. the truth - as is often the case - lies somewhere inbetween.

there comes a time in many disagreements i have with people (but especially my wife) that i realise that i may be completely in the wrong. this usually happens past the point-of-no-return, and is usually followed by a blurring of the original discussion points or a discreet withdrawal (while claiming said withdrawal does not constitute a tacit apology on my behalf). either way, it can (and does) get messy.

Clarion is therefore my take on the unthinkable extension of (and conclusion to) prolonged continual bickering and the damage it can do. i'm thankful that i'm nowhere near this dystopian future. i keep it out of sight, but i know where it lives...

Clarion

standing on the bridge of empty welcomes
watching shadows feast there and reclaim you,
sensing that the worst was yet to come,
i blew long deep trenches heavy in your way;

rained scars and wounds - more than necessary -
aching pain solely to undermine you.
scrambling fumbling ever ever onwards
you cried and laughed at what we had become.

my heart so torn, in pieces there beside
you stained our names forever in the dirt
lay tracks upon my skin, upon my soul
long long days - long years to carry always

staining all the scenery around us,
the moon's stark pallor etched upon your face,
with crimson welcome torn on endless thorns
last gasps of lives, last call to end our war.


Jan 2003

the bridge of empty welcomes
image © catherine trigg