Haunted, he wears his ghost lightly.
Woven on phantom air
the dream descends like spent ashes.
Singing, with pointed sticks
he marks the wing of the lightning,
as only a father might do.
Entangled in ghost tossed clouds
he follows his fractured dreaming
like a mother’s goodbye.
Haunted and enchanted,
he summons the cast of the moon,
the wash and cry of the sea.
The borders of sleep are burning.
Poem and pastel drawing by Clinock
Ghosts pass by.
Abandoning their armchairs, stubbing out cigars,
swigging the final drop of vintage port
they leave by the back stairs
hanging a sign on the closing door
as they go:
“See You At The Parade.”
Ghosts pass by
evicted from my pineal penthouse,
no longer welcome.
Long squatting ended
they join the Felliniesque fandango
and pass on by – animals, sprites and
crying phantoms in wheelchairs and on stilts.
Ghosts pass by
and turn their eyes my way
but no longer have a claim on me.
In wide hats, feather boas
and cloaks of stars they pass, but no longer stay
cluttering dreams for days and years
with swirling mists, droning gabble and icy threats.
Ghosts pass by
the darkened windows of my night and I
watch their two dimensional ambling
with eyes of dawn. The parade is long and filled
with fascinations, fears and the magics of moon.
But I have cut the chain
and am exorcised by love.
Painting and Poem by Clinock.
Painting: 20″ x 30″. Acrylic and oil on canvas. 2013. Click on image for more detail.
art rat cafe 