Extracts from Issue X



The Artist

Negation and Prelude     Exaltation

 

The Artist

Into the cauldron of creativity goes
Raw immaterial thought
Ghostly emotion, caught
In intangible astral light
And whirlwinds of energy thrust
Bubbling through formless, clouding stardust.

This void awaits
The genius of the artist
Who draws The Creation
Out of the mess tin of life,
And forms expression as with a palette knife.

In His grace and trust, thus
We become sculptors for the loving Creator,
For out of his formless creation
We may make manifest
Divine Love.

Caroline Hope

Negation and Prelude

Slow reverse enchantment the way
Is never clear
How much more a silver dream
Of endless waiting
As the room is empty
Face the wall
Never ask why
The actress wore a mask
On her birthday
Orchestral mood music pervades
The house
On the terrace he stands quiet
There is no sound
Glassware crystal prelude
Sliding mirrors reflect another
Kind of stateless being
Where only art is real
Montage eccentric curves
In post-classical space
All patterns are asymmetric now
So we float above
Debased negation all only light
Crave experience of new
Sensory categories
See in the dark
The actress stands aloof
Her mask is gilded paper
On the ceiling painted images
Flake away time passes time
Figures melt into shadow
Shadows of our future
Prelude to instant fluctuation
Osmosis of good and evil
Care-worn body pain bent
He moves too slowly
A presence unknown
Abstraction or reaction
Quiet now.
The way is never clear.

A.C. Evans

Exaltation

Earth you demon jailer,
You cannot manacle my mind,
Your bars mere prisms of light,
My pure thoughts never blind.
Moles, worms, centipedes,
A gardener's parchment hands,
Are swept away by the forming day,
The dawning of my mind.

And in that cavern of sleepless light,
A staircase carved in the ancient stone
Leads out to grey and whirling sky,
And the joyful, free, Alone.
A land of mystery and delight,
No form or substance lies beyond,
An airy haven of fulfilled dreams,
And the wild wind's moan.

Intangible clouds of paler hue
Than my fevered brow on the wings of song,
As I utter the sacred words of the air,
In the land where I belong.
With invisible wings and buffeted heart,
I hover upon the rising gale,
A master of my element,
Delicate yet strong,

Rising with mercurial wings,
Pulse rhythm natural and free,
Sublime, unreachable with God,
Glorified in poetry.
I glide, I circle, swoop away,
Phoenix of the Autumn sky,
So soars my heart across the clouds
In melody.

A meditation lyrical,
Upon my homeland in the clouds,
Where sensibilities may fly
Away from hurtful jealous crowds,
In confidence, with vision true,
With bold romantic hearts we leap,
Across a treacherous chasm deep,
Borne aloft in mystic clouds.

The sacred magic of our song
Entrances those who lend an ear,
Ethereal spells of healing light,
From the One, The Holy Seer.
Our gifts of song no cause to boast,
The lyre is His, we play the strings,
Vaguely in a shadowed world,
And angels reappear.

If we feel sublime as we soar away,
It is not ourselves we vainly exalt,
We cannot boast of what we are,
In some rare spirit we are caught,
Blown to the wondrous heights on a holy gale,
On a mental plane of airy dreams,
We surrender to the sacred power,
To exaltation we are brought.

Peter Geoffrey Paul Thompson