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Poetry - 2001

biological time - a reading for Rainy McMaster by Lloyd Godman

The presence of type, words on the page brought forward by sharp focus
given prominence among other words of equal beauty
which are left for another day where the experience relates

But for now they are left to die in the dissolving distance as the page bends in infinite psyche,
Where, where does it end, what, what does it mean? Can I choose a pink one? Softness please always.
Isolated words like moments in a great play some stick and filter down, penetrate the core,
hit the heart others drift away lost. I could never catch them all.

The familiar softness of skin, my own skin, a lovers skin, a mothers skin, a strangers skin?

The interplay of sensory stimuli text, image, text, image, text as image
Does image become a text, a word in this?

Of grass in summer, perhaps a field waiting for the hungry sock or bare feet, hey fever

Leaves in autumn the flame of summer dieing in reds and yellows, perhaps a life inevitably passing,

biological time ticking like words on the page

The rich freshness of flowers, the colour of a deep fire perhaps the fullness of maturity

But where were the snow images did the thought of winter chill you, drive you insane

I like it I like it

© Lloyd Godman