from Stolen Parables


i

twilight till evening leopard
the years vertical bars
changed stone love and
tearing wind suffocated
a dream this prison
may forget your symbol
precise captivity illumined
the animal destiny in
obscure machinery late
lonely purpose of wonderment
the life relates waking
and infinite to glimpse



ii

story scattered while writing
past something lost and
then a face with
parables as light force
tranquil features as magic
kaleidoscope profile perhaps
some soldiers crucified
every force was us




iii

images cause horror
threatened order could
chronicle the menace
of that scene this
sundown electing reality
stunned by animal cries
and we applauded the Gods
arrogantly aroused something
changed exaggerated talk
implacable bestial lineage
corresponded to a crimson
knife we sensed
cunning prey and fear
our revolvers killed



iv

tired of the geographies
of time contained by
a credulous reading of
enchantment in reality
survived by the dreamed
scheme in the books
that would smooth posterity
the episodes of literature
the myth and the end




v

stable shadow man
grey amidst animals
faithful and secret
inside the ditch the
black forests forgotten
awakened by the evening
a child hung and
prisoners will die
the immediate world
poorer the space and
wonderment infinite
agony is conjectured
extinguished eyes of man
fragile voice in a desk



vi

imagine a text
the handwriting of Spain
discovers a fragment
of nature hallucinatory
magic a projection
of fabulous understanding
awakens pampered delirium
a parallel cause alien
to the ancient atmosphere
a king senses the divine
condition the illusory
sword and the universe



vii

the other things happen
mechanically to know
the dictionary like
coffee but to live
justifies some pages
perhaps no one destined
to survive though
things persist in myself
books or laborious
mythologies belong to
oblivion not this page



viii

no face resembles words
only the astonishment
and outward appearance
a cure for humanity
initiated the habit
predestined the gathering
satisfaction and the flavour
ceased to become flesh
the soul disregards the
lark so many guises
in claims of existing
controlled by terror
suffering his childhood
he had concerned himself
with character excluded
his friends and found
the voice of a whirlwind
the forms are many and one



Matthew Geden was born and brought up in the English Midlands, moving to Kinsale, Ireland, in 1990. He is co-founder of the SoundEye International Poetry Festival and has had poems published in numerous magazines and journals throughout Ireland and abroad.