From Ypres August 1914 to the Military Burial Ground Kirkee circa 1944 by Jonathan Beale

The trees root grew from the garden at Kirkee – where the storm passed many years ago. The Acer tree (here and now) bears its cardio vascularity; pulsating; existing in its own private inertia. Leafless.

The heart beats on down the line, overlapping.  Something, someone, somewhere remains here today.  The ruins remain of a wiser day, the once angry voices are lost now in the wilderness of an ignorance now forgotten overwhelmed by a newer time.  The tongue like the snake hangs as a participle, to trip and never to really say: and why?  The laws that govern and those nomological that are blind to all as are the cells that dance upon the eye and ear and leave after the first bite.

I looked into the pool, the river, the ocean, the Doric columns that framed me in some infinity,  I thought, is this me? Or just who am I? Really who am I? Son of Democritus or the son of some other god; major or minor.

………….Two views of the same thread
………….Now that the tabula rusa is dead

When he took the most dramatic step; that most incomprehensible (to you or I) away from the soil of which he only ever knew a silent nights thought left him from then and now.
He who in some point in space and time took upon
Where was he were was on either side of kingdoms no visitors nor exiles knew
Yet he was once here between the one set of bracketed dates and another.

Steel dawned day governed by math and word – and man’s blindness, fooling, failing.

The dust from where he grew was in some English county – dust is malleable by the wind.

Each wind plays their pawn – unluckily caught au passé in the dust, to be laid to rest in Kirklee or Ypres.

The verso and recto still needed to make the tomos and the ink will always flow.

Sometimes I cannot see in a day’s blind dream:

“In the Seam   How eerie
Under my skin the worm slips along
is cancer is marked upon your head
……………………………..Or is it mine?

……………………………..“Woven with me-you:
……………………………..For and against still we
……………………………..Follow the lines that are
……………………………..Designed only for us to tread
……………………………..By whom and why
……………………………..Who can tell?  ‘Why?’
……………………………..Yet who really places the pawns?
……………………………..And so really we go on…“

In the eye of the child whose new face and eye has just touched the new days air –
Yours, mine, theirs, still in the garden. That has now grown longer towards the horizon.
The Acer tree has leafed once more this year and life has taken one step on, it now has gone to bearing its heart its cardio vascularity still pulsating existing in its time and mine.

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