Colin , this poem is not working for me. I think perhaps it would if you
managed to simplify it a little and let the images carry the meaning. It is a
great subject for a poem. Sue<< Pop concert
Some friends brought me here
but I do not know them any more.
They are owned by the music.
In the crowded hall where all lights
throb down in stunning colours
I stand alone. The figure on stage sings.
I do not understand him but feel
the dim thud of the sound inside my head.
I move closer but cannot enter the golden zone,
so slope away and only then
the stage proves itself a mirror
I must turn from to uncover.
This bloom that seemed so frail in the storm
that could have died in the wilderness
grows strong in this soil like a pale narcissus,
unfolds and comes to flower here
in this hot-house of lust and sweat.
It is fertile with people like a rippled field.
Their pounding bodies have enriched the mud
and the damp skin and beating blood
nourish the plant till its leaves scintillate
and it sinks its roots down, is strengthened
by soil and tender weather,
becomes firm and turns to the light
that radiates from a thousand avid faces.
It has been sucked in to its fecund bed.
It is effortless now. The mud wants him enough.
He offers them bliss and they take what they can.
The conduit for these roots is ready made.
They accepts him as he seems and reject
any strand that does not ring to the critical tone,
demand only this, to know themselves
through his blind trifid fulfilment,
pump sustenance in until the seedling
can swell no further,
becomes bloated and overgrown.
As the soil claims him he changes for ever
this land that has taken him as its own.
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Colin
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