oliver sudden's set

Between the normal world and Beacon there is a misty half-way place, a kind of intermediate universe that allows the juxtaposition of elements from both. This set represents the possibilities and realities of the two.

weight

inside the shelter of the night
the shadowed presence of the blockhouse loomed
its proximity as tangible as hers.
they stopped . . . abruptly, and turned
and in this turn the universe
shifted off its axis momentarily.

he read her lips with his.
"there can be no consummation," she said,
and he agreed, for no saviour could he be,
despite the tale he heard of long desolation.

one night resolve entered her spirit,
and she unshackled the chains
that kept her hobbled in the desert,
and in the freedom of strength,
declared her independence.

sliding through the cracks of opportunity,
they held each other,
and discovered resonances long thought lost.

"i am a liar," she said,
"but i thought not that it would come to this."

"nor i," he said, "but unsteady resolve is no lie."

"i will speak to you no more," another said,
a daughter of the shattered union.
"for you have betrayed my trust," she said
from between the cracks of a crumbled castle.

"that is as it should be," he replied,
for he had no other answer.

"she is hurt," would say a sister,
"it will take an age or more."

he shouldered this pain,
and accepted the burden of guilt,
for this was better
than the weight being placed
around the necks of those
so ill-equipped to carry it.

road

the road on which we drove lay straight and bleak,
the grass on either side as pale as straw
behind the fences, trees on either side
that hedged us on this narrow strip of tar
and pushed us down a never-ending ride,
in miles that clicked as urgent a clock
that counted down the minutes of our lives.

there came a break in this monotony;
a gate, a place to stop along the way.
we parked, emerged into a chilly breeze
and clambered up across the wind-taut wires.

across the field we found a dark decline
in which the snake of river curving hid
beneath a vaulted arch of wind-shook trees
and where a grassy bank dipped muddy toes
into the dapple of the gurgling stream.

and here the sun observed the way we shed
our inhibitions and our street-worn clothes
to find the eager warmth of close contact,
a voyage where the landscape of our thoughts
translated to the urgent thrill of body touch.

upon the sward we found our dizzy peaks
which burst into the air, a song of sighs
that shook the leaves above, just like the wind,
and sparrows startled up into the sky,
a flock that winged our secrets to the air.

perhaps somewhere a farmer saw this flight
and wondered what disturbed these scattered birds,
but while we made the most of this brief stop
along the charging highway known as life,
we found we really didn't care.

grey

fractal grey swirl
subtle ripple
below heavy mist
which tumbles down river

dew sits damp
on the empty benches
along this promenade
wet with emptiness

pale, the washed out faces
of blank-eyes warehouses stare,
solid, unmoving
sandstone statues

the river's tide is turgid
slow-moving like my blood
as i stand immobile
unable to move my feet

i can't avoid
the cracks in the paving stones

destination

the amber light splashed out into the night
from out the mullion windows of the metropole,
a beacon to the cold and restless souls outside . . .

and so we sought the shelter of the bar,
where gas-fired burners spun their heat
above the heads of muted dialogue,
the patrons deep in glass-filled talk.

nobody flicked an eye as we engaged a corner free,
two stools against the wall we claimed our own.
so close we perched, knees intersecting,
tightly pressed, such that the faintest nudge
sent tremors running through us both.

the coat i wore hung limp against my sides like tired wings,
but cloaked the unseen movements of your hands
which roamed against my skin beneath my shirt,
while likewise i encountered softness
curving softly on my fingertips.

we shared a drink, my guinness serving both,
the froth you kissed upon my lips,
the bitter squirt i poured into your mouth from mine,
symbolic of a lovers' kiss of consummation,
reflected by the knowledge in your eyes.

our conversation skittered just like butterflies in spring,
on things inconsequential and profound,
and all the time i gazed upon your face
in which i saw such vibrant life,
so softly glowing from reflected and internal warmth.

too soon we saw this moment end,
and wandered back onto the shadowed road
where night had claimed the landmarks
and the distance was as unrevealing of its secrets
as the future sitting hidden
far beyond the other side of dawn.

dawn

i woke
in the phantom grey
when the ghosts of dawn
were sneaking through the window,
soft in bursts of light,
where they moved round the room
in velvet shadows
that brushed me
with a rustle of kisses
as soft as your touch,
and whispered,
like leaves on trees,
with your voice,
in words i heard from you.

and in this half-light
they showed me pictures,
shapes and shadows on the wall
of futures yet to unroll
and yesterdays yet to dim;
of walks along a moon-splashed beach
whose brushy foreshore
held alcoves of hidden promise,
of the treasury of experience
added to in liquid moments
of shared and secret delight.

these ghosts had their knives, too,
and as they spoke in softness
i felt the edges of their blades
as they overlaid these pictures
with new futures
and the scenes of possibility faded;
no longer were your words addressed to me,
no longer did i feel your touch,
and it was the stranger at your side
who explored your trove of love.

the morning broke
with the sadness of a thousand birds
replacing the dream
with the brighter edge
of a pattern of leaves on wallpaper,
and the hard, scything pain
was knowing
that this is what i really wanted for you.

waiting

she stood on an island
at the confluence of four roads
from where she could scan
the traffic from all directions.
at that hour the cars rolled past
only occasionally, rumbling by
with their tarmac hiss.

the sharp early morning breeze
curled around her as she waited,
her watching ticking off the minutes,
slowing as her heartbeat raced.

lonely as a statue she stood
while the morning took form around her,
rare and curious passers-by staring sideways
on their way to pick up papers, milk,
or otherwise engrossed in early morning activities.

i, too, had been waiting
but at a different place . . .
until i thought the chance was lost,
and moved off in reluctant sadness.

i saw her as i drove down,
and though her silhouette was vague,
i recognised her at first glance,
the heat of expectation
now surging through my body,
melting the clutch of my despondency.

the breathless kiss launched our journey,
bright-eyed in relief,
clutching in disbelief.
damp-palmed with reprieve.

and long after we had reached our destination,
i held this image of her,
standing lonely in her optimism,
and marvelled at the cast of dice
that rolled us to each other
unerringly through the mist.

later i returned
and stared at that place
upon the empty roundabout,
and at that moment
i felt the strength of her feelings,
and knew she felt mine.

gorge

in ages past
a giant dragged his fingernail
across the undulating hills and dales
to scratch a gorge across the land
through which a river tumbles now
past jumbled boulders cracked and grey,
whose fractured planes and angles
catch the sun and shade and waterstains
from churning, surging sluices icy clear.

within the rocky ramparts of this gorge,
across the jagged slopes and green-filled chasms
run the paths that guide the wide-eyed visitors
through scenic glades and dizzy drops,
their voices bouncing round the rocks,
their conversations sounding close
but yet so far away.

down by the water's edge we hid,
not quite concealed,
but far enough removed from prying eyes
to let the sun drip on our skins,
to feel secure enough to let the heat
pass through our eyes and hands
and feed the fever
coursing through our veins.

with husky voice and busy hand,
my muscles trembling taut,
you conjured forth my cataract
that rose in liquid arc
to spray upon the slate
in starburst silver drops.

with trembling knees
i turned to you
and found another gorge,
a landscape grander yet
than where we stood,
and here i probed
and danced with tongue,
just like the fish that broke
upon the river's mirrored face,
until you voiced the sharp cascade
that surged through you,
your cries that flew like birds
upon the scented summer air
ringing out against the stoney walls
so that the passers-by all stopped in awe
and wondered at this source
of sudden afternoon delight.

and later on we walked the paths
along with all the other summer ramblers
who knew nothing of the fire
that smouldered underneath our clothes
acknowledged only by our hand in hand.

last updated by mikko; 13 November, 2001