google2a2dd558cabf67a3.htm

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Poetry By Jonathan Beale

Jonathan Beale has 500 plus poems published in such journals as: Decanto,  Penwood Review,  The Screech Owl, Danse Macabre, Danse Macabre du Jour, Poetic Diversity, Voices of Israel in English, Miracle-E-zine,  Voices of Hellenism Literary Journal, The Journal, Ink Sweat & Tears, Down in the Dirt, The English Chicago Review, Mad Swirl, Poetry Cornwall, Leaves of Ink, Ariadne’s Thread, Bijou Poetry Review, Calvary Cross, Deadsnakes Review, The Bitchin Kitsch, Poetry by Birkbeck alumnus, The Dawntreader, I am not a Silent Poet, Pyrokinection, Festival of Language, Festivalwriter, ‘Don’t Be Afraid: An Anthology to Seamus Heaney’, Ygdrasil, The Four Seasons Anthology, The Seventh Quarry, Van Gogh’s Ear Anthology, The Curly Mind, The Beatnik Cowboy, Dali’s LoveChild, Storm Cycle Anthology (Best of Hurricane Press 2015), The Jawline Review, Bluepepper, and Jellyfish Whispers .
He was commended in Decanto’s and CafĂ© writers Poetry Competitions 2012. His work has appeared in such books as ‘Drowning’ (Scar publications) and ‘The Poet as Sociopath’ (Scar publications). He is currently working on his second volume.
He studied philosophy at Birkbeck College London and lives in Surrey England.


Same Old Same Old

In the lack of misunderstanding:
The self-portrait.
Here in this misrepresentation;
Where the slapdash nature of
Meaning trips and stumbles
Under its own feet –
Colour of the eye in an external world
Devoid of words – sounds phonetic
Just existing in some corner…
The portrait is the fictional image:
The single frame animation cel.
In this misnomer of life. 
Lights thin refraction dances
All around and all across the  
Sparkling night – The artist’s
Paint stained fingers hold
As he munches on chips
And a steaming mug of tea.
As the psyche of the night
Swallow up the last visitors
Of the pub crash and bash
And trip and fall and stumble
On their way home.


Poem 2

Lines in the air  

The preface

An anticipation

Times perception

Lost

Looking in to…
the space
A room.
Two people. 

Genders unimportant. Reign
A minimalist room
Echoing vouched

In torment
A torrent
an
Argument

Left
a smoking ruin
After they have
Gone



Cheap Trick

One slight; one night; once among the neon
and the bar room noise
The chaos
Seemed to be alien vaguely relative, somehow familiar.
The action something invisible something unreal
Although important for need of mankind
The need for when all else has drained
Down away away away…   

All their eyes were distracted by
The neon, billboards, and garbage blowing about
Now forgotten
Yesterday’s wants now gone - bellies empty 
Unrequired - yet to cut out as a cataract
To forget the image.

No comments:

Post a Comment