Into the Marvellous
By Ewan
- 1661 reads
Untie the rope,
wrap it round your wrist.
The balloon will rise,
a new moon at midnight.
The stars look down
and city lights look up:
we float between them,
reflecting twice the glory.
We follow the river,
through the city,
crenellations to the left,
brutalism to the right.
History fires arrows
at the future
and we watch their flight:
they fall short, ignored.
Our simple blimp
soars over Prague
or Budapest or Sofia:
we flee the Occident.
We pull on the rope,
turn towards the sunrise:
moving air moves
our captured stillness.
The dirigible’s course
is easterly
to the yin and yang
- into the marvellous.
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Comments
This poem captures the
This poem captures the beautiful picture so well. The baloon looks almost crystal to me.
Thank you for sharing both.
Jenny.
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The picture is stunning, as
The picture is stunning, as are the words. I suppose I'm reading this as a companion piece to your 'Folklore', so the beauty seems to have a number of barbs. Particularly liked the verse about history shooting arrows.
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I like both this and the
I like both this and the Apocalypse one. Two different moods but both seem to be shaking off the shackles in some way.
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