Stanley Nicholls Solomons - Poetry

A selection of poetry by
Dr S.N Solomons (©)

A BIRTHDAY POEM TO MY WIFE


So many ways
To punctuate time.
Dates, anniversaries,
Not forgetting birthdays.


Notes in your diary
Knots tied in string
Knots in your mind.
And all for untying.


Watching the dials
Nicely mathematical
See how the seconds go
Neatly staccato.


Marking infinity.
Dissecting eternity
Leaving no trace
On the surface of Space.


Figures and figments
Projections of mind
Second hand measurements
Imposed on Time.


But this special day
There's no more I can say,
Except you are my wife,
My love, my life.


November 16th 2003

---

FRAMES OF MIND

Sulking

Slumped in a dull red sulk
he sits, ego pulsing inside
its slender shell of identity,
around his psyche.


The child within
peers out, tearfully.
Given time he'll
mend his mind
glue around the cracks,
reconstruct himself
convincingly,
even admit his lack
of maturity.



Anger

So, in the end
I told my anger to my friend,
and he gazed down from
his superior intelligence
saying in a loud voice
that anger was a vice,
a destructive emotion,
violence a primitive notion ,
and neither should be allowed
to linger within and fester
"It makes sense!" he said.


At this point I am afraid,
suffering from schadenfreude
and surfeit of good advice,
I left my friend behind.


I made up my mind,
sought out my foe,
told him my anger
and hit him very hard
upon the nose.


And to tell the truth,
my anger did depart,
along with one tooth,
and I felt better.



Joy

That morning he awoke
And it was so strange
So new, so nascent,
Everything arranged
Crystal clear,
Full of an inner sense,
Relaxed and yet intense
There was no fence
Between him and the rest,
Him and events
No more regrets
All with a purpose
All with a unity
And joy.




Grief

He lay in the hollow
scooped from his Present,
and could not emerge,
could not see back
into his past,
nor go forward
into his Future.

Here was no cause,
and no effect,
no real relief
no end to anything.


So he smiled at grief,
the pain within,
the problems,
weighing upon him.


Smiles that friends
took, mistakenly,
at their face value.

---

MORNING NAP


Ten o'clock and all's well,
at least as well
as can be expected.


I recline
in the half-light
of the lace curtains


I lie long,
fitting my spine,
against the line
of the armchair
listening to the bird song
swooping and scooping
in tender bubbles of sound.


I move my eyes
and laze there,
unwilling to turn around,
and range the room.


Objects vanish and loom
full fish-eye,
paintings and photographs,
carved wood and books.


I half close my eye
and look out
through the film
around my gaze
in lieu of sight.


Awareness abates
and I retreat
from reality,
from anxiety,
from the pleasure,
and the refined pain
that fills my leisure,
and I search for beauty,
whatever that may be.

---

FROM THE COMPUTER ROOM


The day awakes
and slowly stretches
under its grey covers
and the morning breeze
stirs the leaves.


I hear bird-song
rising along the hedges,
in brilliant bubbles of sound.


And all around the scene
colours brighten,
dark turns to brown
and grey to red


I look down
on flower-bed and lawn;
taste from the crimson cups
of tulips;
hear golden fanfares
from the daffodils;
smell the sweet flare
of apple blossom;
follow meandering
flight of bees;
and see sharp starlings,
beaks askew,
spiking the grass
quiet with dew.


And then I turn away,
from the real day,
to my computer screen.

---

UNKIND CUT


Tyger, Tyger, pussy cat,
Meditating on the mat.
Nowadays you can no other
Sitting like a burnished Buddha.


Tyger, Tyger, pussy cat,
I often wonder what you're at.
Perhaps you dream of former glories
Defending all your territories.


Of victory and feral feats
Against the other alley cats.
The smiles that spread so enigmatic
Are naughty thoughts of past gymnastics.


But now, alas, these dreams of action
Are mere immaculate conception.


Oh it was the most unkindest cut
When we took you to see the vet.

---

WHIRLWIND IN FRANCE


The road clangs with heat,
and mirages tremble ahead
and melt like dreams.


The sky is tarnished copper.
On either side poplars
cast rhythmic pointed shadows.


I stop the car in shade
and mop my neck and face
and the sweat stings my eyes.


There is a sudden murmuring
The sky darkens and the thick
air washes ominously about.


The trees begin to panic,
thrash and thrust out,
and the leaves are frantic.


I leave the car and see
a black whirling wind
above the twisting trees.


I brace myself against the car,
breathing in strong air
in fear and wonder.

---