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Best Poems From
CHARLES M. MOORE
(1953 june)
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161.
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In the town called Apprehension.
In the town called Apprehension
where the timid care to stay
there aren't any windows
and the days are always grey
there's a woman who would meet you
but she's lost touch with the scene
so she lives in isolation
with a diary full of dreams
Her friends are quite exclusive
she can trust them anyway
but the dogs that seek attention
travel to her door each day
she can sometimes hear them howling
prowling, scratching at her skin
but the doors are always bolted
when the darkness closes in
She thought she'd change her lifstyle once
and went to a hotel
but she didn't like the coffee
and she didn't like the smell
and the way the men would look at her
when she was on her own
so she packed her bags and memories
and made her way back home
You know she really loves you
but she's trying to play it smart
she doesn 't want to tell you
in case it breaks her heart
or maybe she's afraid
because of things that she's been through
so she hides behind the curtains
in the room without a view.
Charles M. Moore
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162.
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Invisible me
Sometimes I'm invisible
I realised one day
I sail through crowded shadows
and no one looks my way
I hear no greetings of 'Hello'
'Good morning, or 'Good day'
the eyes are blind
a common sign
of modern time today
Sometimes I'm .
Charles M. Moore
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163.
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It's a river
When the time keeps passing and the world goes round
and the sea is crashing at the cliffs and the sounds
erupting as the seabirds cry, you can watch the river
as the time goes by
And it's like it's holy and it can be hell
and you feel so lonely and you fear the smell
of the guns that fire then you see the light
of a rainbow dawning and you realise
that the river's flowing as the time goes by
And you met the people and you knew them well
and you said you loved them and you rang the bell
in the tree of life you watched them grow
and the world is turning as the river flows
The earth smells good and the sky turns gold
when the birds are singing and you bless the old
you can kiss your woman and it feels so right
as you touch the river as the time goes by
As you stand barefoot upon the morning shore
and you feel the centuries of death and war
and the wind is biting and it tears your skin
and the river's flowing where its always been
And the river washes and the river's clean
and the soul remembers where the river's been
as you watch it tumble and you watch it flow
your life's a river now you know, now you know
your life's a river now you know.
Charles M. Moore
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164.
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James of Killie Brau
Three days I wandered on the moor
and still I'd lost my way
I wakened from the night before
among the creeping haze
The dawn was stirring blackened hills
the heather groped my shoes
its twisted stalks and branches cracked
when ever my feet moved
Then from the whisping wavey mist
an old man's form appeared
my heart grew faster by the tick
my legs stood rigid fear
At first it was but greying hair
then head and shoulders grew
from in the flowing matter
the old man's shape came through
And not a stir of bird nor beast
was heard whence near he came
floating through the morning mist
and then he called my name,
'Though art James of Killie Brau,
You've travelled far and far,
You're miles from your homeland,
And where you really are'
His voice was low yet clearly heard
it wasn't rough or spiked
it seemed to echo from his mouth
its smoothness made it bright
I puzzled how he knew my name
I never had seem him
His clothes were strange a whiteish cloak
his face a darkened skin
A boney structured arm and hand
stretched out and grabbed my wrist
its claw like fingers wrapping round
I made my final wish
Then low and smooth his voice rang out
I thought this is the end
'I'll take you where you're known about,
I'll take you home my friend'
He took me leading, like a child,
I stumbled by his side
his breath was never panting
I never heard him sigh
Down through glen and mossy top
he led me on my way
his grip as tight throughout the miles
and then I heard him say
'Sit down here and rest awhile,
Tell me what you see,
On yonder landscape's craggy cliffs,
Where moorland meets the trees'
His voice still low I looked below
and up the other side
I gazed in valley, mountain peek
I scoured far and wide
My voice spoke everything I saw
described in every way
but still I hadn't told him
what he wanted me to say
His topaz eyes stabbed at me
piercing at my soul
his blackish stick like finger
directing me to go
'See yonder on the clifftop,
Above the hanging reef,
Beside a tree a standing stone,
And homeward it will lead'
Although I didn't like him
he somehow held my reins
directing me from A to B
I could not turn away
And yet he showed me kindness
directing me to home
I turned around to thank him
but discovered he had gone
It would soon be early evening
my step was quick and true
up by the cliff and hanging reef
a tree and stone I knew
The weather changing for the worst
and darkness closing in
the cold and damp beneath my clothes
were biting at my skin
I've never seen a sadder tree
no bright or bristling leaves
it stood alone beside the stone
the stone alone by me
Its twisted trunk was small and shrunk
its branches twisted too
they whipped and snapped
when breezes passed
the leaves were greenish blue
Remembering my mission
I looked upon the stone
so I might travel further
on my journey home
I gazed upon the writing
it was hard to make it out
my fingers scraped between the cracks
shaping at the grout
And then like clouds erupting
with some fantastic clash
a thunderous roll of laughter
came bursting in a flash
It screamed at me in agony
it echoed in the air
it was the old man's laugh I heard
and yet he wasn't there
'Look at the stone', it shouted out,
'I'll tell you what you see;
Here lie the bones from Killie Brau,
Of James Mcafferty,
Who wandered for three days or more
struggling to get home,
But from the clifftop reef he fell,
Some sixty years ago'
I didn't understand him
I'm here yet in my grave
for every word he spoke to me
was every word it said
And so he spelled it out for me
his voice was low and clear,
'You have a restless spirit son,
That is why I'm here'
'Now and then you wander,
And I return you home,
For you're the ghost Mcafferty,
While I remain your bones'.
Charles M. Moore
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