The Table
the walls were of a stone thin and upright and mottled
their surface raised in shallow quadrasent
the colour of the young giraffe and
yet more orange, the scented maid of groves, and dull sheen
the sheen of high ceramic
between each third stone
a fine slit that gave access from the gallery
thin between the walls the narrow cavity that is the hide of spies
onto the inner square of the small space enclosed below
which an oak table lives
the waves of green and grey
that from its solid form are radiate
in shades of gravity and tones so low that
only those with hands upon its umber surface yet may feel
vibrate the stones of pathways deep within the self
some said the viewer from the galleria there above
might have spied on lovers
or a private play
or outward from the orange mountain outpost
outward to the dawn rise sun
across the mist shrouded glories of
and early forest morning
populous with the shrill of birds and monkeys
flauting in the high canopy
heard and largely yet unseen
so returning the mind to the inner cells of thin spy walls
danger returned as harbinger of fate
danger had remembered as an enemy
the secrets of the hiding place
and as the group were seated round the table in the long gowns
of distinguishment of the aged and the able
so danger spied his small band
the warriors of arms
the mercenaries like hooded crows sleek bound with stealth
and clever plumage that at casual looks is drab
but yet is full of sycophantic shades
for such is stealth itself at ease with its surrounding
yet watchful as its many eyes are spider like
its traces sensing
waiting for its time
desire its truth
they raised their bow like weapons silently their tips a glistened
into the room an inundation of the carbon arrows fly
through and through the quasi flesh
they pierce and pin their prey upon the
grey and square oak table
a corona of thin black lines are upward to the air
as backward their rays are traced
and with the hammering thud
of say the nail into the flat coffin top
but one has preambulation
he ran and though an arrow pierce his knee
yet he did not stop
did not stop to think
but leapt from the precipice
to the thin unwelcome arms that i describe as air
cloaked with cold the droplet dew
and sailed
the arc of falling
and the crescent down
toward the greeting arms of forests
and the far below
where silenced by the distant clamour far above
abundant eyes were watching
silent witness from the green tops like sentinels
the servants of the forest tips
are filled with wonder and astonishment
he glided like a squirrel glides with skill
but as he weakened so he faltered
and came crashing in abundance of disarray and lack of grace
came ploughing through the trees and lower shrubs
deposit in a leafy lump all a fluster and a bump
and to what surprise
the dark haired framed the dark eyes rose in shock
to see a tall young man flounder
in a bush
as she was crouching and in her forward hands
as almost one suppose a pose of supplication
a large thin saucer in her hands shrieve
the red loam the soil of blood
the way that those who search for gold
would sluice and slide
the waters of the tiny forest stream
so she was held suspended in the cast that was the moment
halt and haunting
broke but halting time restarts
and grace come forward not once a sign of fear
in the languid steps and fluid lilt
in the way that the invincibles will walk into the flame
the brave to be extinguished and the skilled to live in song
she walked
he shrank in fear
the way weakling and the coward despise the ways of woman
but
staring at the blood raised arrow
that pierced the knee and roll
she knelt and sang an equally piercing note
which modulating she projects her cheeks and lips
to concentrate the waves until it scourged the trunks of trees
of every vestige of the colours red and orange
is power vibrates in unison and grows as harmony will enhance the note
and then as chords of subtle sound will locate the inner ear
so
the carbon of the arrow shaft did shatter to a thousand parts
yet there pain did recoil
and would recall a many year
its passing
and so he woke
and in his rising stopped and stooped in humility
for at the hallways end there was amid the darkness
a hollow
and in that vacuous black shape he sensed the image be the muse
the muse of sorrow or of song he did not know but it was fear that
made his body tremble yet on he trod
gingerly for the night is old
and many are the hazards of its darkness so it seems
until our feet remember the paths of children past
the paths we strode when we were young are here
when we were the same invincibles
we walked into the world of space and time
to investigate its glories
only to be standing in its final space
its square and fellows there a mystery
that stay unsolved
and into the dark void
he gently forwards his hand
its palm flat and fingers raised as to the great above
and as the hand its small journey made
so an orange glow evokes the mysteries
of the flesh
vein an artery a glow
bone its subtle marrow there within
and neurons blue in song transmit
the symbiosis of both dream and shades
that roam unseen as wraiths
to sluice and sieve
the golden mornings and beginnings
of what we know as understanding
linked to tiny roots aneath our feet
such fine threads as unbundled robes unbound
hurtling out across and through the convex planet
threads as senses wild undone are winding through the cosmos
to a distant table in a fabled land
The Table appears courtesy of
Mike Burr