Download PDF Here 13th Anniversary
Live Encounters Poetry & Writing Volume One December 2022.
Lockdown, poems by Philip Muir.
Lockdown
Footsteps resound through sombre quiet
Eagerly reaching for an ear with which to connect
The same ear that is barraged by numbers
That embellish perception, apprehension, fear
Of that which moves virulent, potent, invisible
The silent threat that holds the footsteps distant
Abstract echoes belie the force of distance
Sentiment fades worthlessly into the quiet
Imposed by that which lingers, mute and invisible
Inflicting detachment, impeding connection
Enforced by the destitute bonds of fear
And the interminable, barren swirl of numbers
Sterility belies the tragedies manifested in numbers
At least to me, a heartless soul standing distant
Cowering in complacent pretence, that does not fear,
From the incessant moaning – why can’t they just all be quiet?
Dehumanised, abstract, yearning to connect
When ultimately, we are all simply invisible
Wouldn’t we all, just for a time, like to be invisible?
To forget and be forgotten, to pause playing with numbers
Revelling in this, our winter of disconnect
Though others’ hearth and home lie distant
Their loves and losses shrouded in the quiet
Though not beyond the reach of love or fear
The future is the greatest source of fear
Ever-present, seeking out the invisible
Cradles in which catastrophe festers quietly
While death and toilet paper are measured in numbers
Though not yet real, it taunts; invulnerable, distant
A conspiracy of time and projection, engaged to connect
It’s a virus; it destroys rather than connects
Isn’t it understandable that some may fear?
Though ideals dictate that fear be distant
The watcher on the wall sees what to most is invisible
There is no come back if one becomes one of the numbers
From the noise of life to the sullen, sterile quiet
In common cause, we connect through strands invisible
Knowing, not cowed by, fear of life-negating numbers
Love expressed in distance. Strong, sombre quiet.
Small Victories
The lunge falls cruelly short
Grasping for the antidote to inadequacy
In one fleeting juncture at which cognition and impetus
Synchronise in a cosmic coitus of consciousness
Without which the reach is a redundant reality
Fated for defeat
Safety is instead found in worthlessness
Familiar in its quilted coven of retreat
A perpetual pyrrhic conquest over incentive
Robbing the perception of procurement of worth
Soaking, paralysed within the fog
In this cloistered private universe
Muted breath draws feebly to withered lungs
That respond with a whispered cry
“I’m here, I welcomed the wind that sustains the soul
Hush now, and steep in the still of life”
Floating silently in strength innate
Stand on the crest and survey the expanse
Time undulates as a wheatfield in synch
With the eternal rhythm of ages
Churn, churn, the cycles seethe
The bellows blow on fledgling soles
This moment of secure footing
Imprinting this being thereon
The propensity for barrenness conquered
The smallest of victories lauds the spirit of worth
Exhale the triumph with newfound strength
Assurance that yes, more victories will come
Ascending promise supersedes conquest
The rising sun of each and every new breath
The Knowing
One by one and all in line, each aspect turns a page
Progressing via the change in view beyond the noble cage
Each footprint traced in doubt, and yet, in confidence proceeding
Risk shame of abrogated worth, pursuit the only leading.
Snares laid for knowledge, injured critters gathered in the hunt
Each its private universe, resisting the affront
Discovery confined within the bounds of meagre means
Battling through the conflict with this enigmatic fiend.
Defective weapons slash and hack, ungainly, laboured gain
Chaotic shrapnel congregates, a vomit-like moraine
Wading through the quagmire, the sticky, stinking sludge
Detritus reaped in drudgery, an endless, tiresome trudge.
Entrapped within the hunter’s mind, a world precisely bound
Translation from the mayhem, a cacophony resounds
Woven through existing threads of elemental truths
A disconcordant tapestry, an improficient sleuth
Dissemination rides the rutted road of revelation
Articulating nuances in stoney calculation
Abstract destination, a hostile diaspora
A mediator calls a truce within perception’s aura
Listless, browsing racks of neatly packaged incidentals
Banal uniformity, absurdly regimental
Randomly elect a package, bland and nondescript
A yawn while held to blankly stare, this arid manuscript
Abstraction a cudgel raining blows in swift return
A silent battle cry resounds in casual concern
Inconsequential icons, dissonant designs
A grating coalescence, disparate worlds align
Vitality extracted, ponderous disinclination
Idle eyes ignite in faint illumination
Sentiment compels a stubborn, willing, free inertia
Gladiator proudly thralls a prejudiced arena
Resounding song, attains the essence of assimilation
Neurons glow in rapt applause, a dazzling constellation
Radiance monopolises, defiant in its charge
Identity subsumed within the unrelenting march
The critter runs at no behest, a panicking escape
Commence pursuit, disheartened some, a strange, replaying tape
The muster gathered, seething mass of ordered disarray
Collective consciousness progressed, maybe soon cliche
© Philip Muir
Philip lives in Auckland, New Zealand. When not consumed by lawyer life, he throws words at a page and hopes they stick, though he often enjoys the challenge of strict poetry formats. He has had poems published in The Blue Nib, Cordite Poetry Review and Fast Fibres. He regularly performs his poetry live and organises a local Auckland poetry group.