Curtain, poems by Anni-Wilton Jones
Anni Wilton-Jones, a resident of Co Mayo, has also lived in Wales, England and Saudi Arabia. Having experienced a varied range of careers she is now semi-retired, working part-time in supporting voluntary dyslexia groups. A writer of poetry and, occasionally, prose, she has read in Wales, England, the USA and Ireland. Her collections include Bridges, Winter Whitingand, written under the pen-name Victoria Tims, a chapbook of poems about abuse, entitled Moth.
Magister
Power is your core; yet even more intense, more
brilliant, is the face you show to the world. I
cannot comprehend a force so great and cannot
hide in your shade since you illuminate all in
your orbit. Though you give life and meaning to my
existence, when exposed too long to your heat I
sear. In time, you will grow too great for your own good,
then burn out, collapse, fade away; too late for me
to be free. Your growth will have been my extinction.
I will not see you decay.
Sunset
He will remember her here
where he brings all his joys and
his sorrows – exam results
and the scholarship offer
the keys of his first car and
the wing mirror from the crash
his first pay cheque and his last
for the years have speeded by
this is a time for farewells
so he is back at his place
alone as he always comes
but bringing her as she was
not as now in the hospice
here he will remember her.
Inversion
His life had always been
upside down
he had seen things
from a unique perspective
and no-one had ever
understood him
so now he sees trees
below him
their tops pointing
down, down
and knows the time has come
on this bright day
to make his greatest move
one glorious leap
and the branches ripple
and disappear
but return
as the surface settles
and all is serene again
as if he had never existed.
Negation
Closer
come closer
the wind is harsh
snow-laden
and I
am so alone
though you
are beside me
I touch you
feel your warmth
yet shiver
ice
colder than the storm
falls
silently
from your lips
bites at my brain
frosts my fingers
your rejection
eating away
their questing tips.
Pause
We do not move
your empty chair
nor clear the cupboard
of favoured food
not whilst
we see you
still
in all your haunts
turn
as always
to that soft tap-touch
that we will never again feel
adjustment takes time
and the will power
not to forget
but to remember – without pain.
Twisted
(Brian Tolle’s sculpture, Twisted Chimney, at Rhymney, S Wales)
Your domination
of raddled beauty
sets you apart
but your magnificence
cannot mask
your monumental folly
heated by no fires
since those that formed you
there is no warmth
beneath that ruddy
hard façade
inflexibly warped
your twisted logic
circles back
to where you started
no progression
no change.
© Anni-Wilton Jones
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