Allan Marsden

 

Many of Allan's works relate to the underlying non-linear nature of reality, and/or a deep-seated reverence for Nature, often personified as the Goddess, which transcends mere logic. Nothing is what it seems to be, not least in Allan's poetry or in his life.

POEMS

My Left Eye

Earth.

In the dark forest,

out searching for meaning,

green tendrils assault me;

first my right leg, then both arms

as I fall to the ground by an altar.

Constricted, bound, the life-force wanes.

My face becomes a sunken mask

losing all feeling:

all but my left eye, which stands proud.

Concentrate.

I am of the earth, but the earth will not hold me.

Soft, gentle rain. It loosens my bonds,

and slowly I tear myself free.

Water.

The rain comes stronger now;

lakes swell, rivers burst their banks;

I am sucked in by the flood.

No air. I hold my breath.

A drumbeat grows in my temples.

Pain overwhelms me;

all but my left eye, which stands proud.

Concentrate.

Though born of water, water will not own me.

The sun shines. Floods calm, then dissipate.

I can breathe once more.

Fire.

The land dries. The heat grows burdensome.

Now there is only dust

and the burning sun.

The shelter of the forest is gone.

Desiccated, shrivelled,

skin red raw. Flesh prepared to barbecue;

all but my left eye, which stands proud.

Concentrate.

Though my life is fire, fire shall not consume me.

A cooling breeze comes, clouds cross the sun.

I rise from the dust. 

Air.

Rise and float, then am carried along

as wind becomes hurricane, tornado;

a thing of destruction.

I have no control, it tears me;

my very body splits, limbs and torso

flapping like streamers in the wind behind me;

I am disjointed,

all but my left eye, which stands proud.

Concentrate.

Though carried through life on its dreams,

the air shall not steal me.

Here is the eye of the storm.

Here in its calm She stands, and I worship her.

She holds me in her arms, and I am saved.

In Her, the plants support us.

In Her, the rainfalls fertilise.

In Her, the sun brings energy.

In Her, the air is holy breath of life.

My whole body I dedicate to loving her;

all but my left eye, which stands proud.



A Philosophy of Containment

It's said that, in the ark,

the dragons were kept in fireproof holds

to keep them safe when breathing, they were told.

They didn't survive,

their flames reduced to racking asbestosis,

their final days in hospice wards,

singing in cracked voices with the good old Sally Ann,

who understood,

and sought to help their passing in this way.

What then, though?

They didn't have cremation in those days,

and such a waste to fill their guarded churchyards

with these pagan bones,

so they let them lie as hills,

draped across the countryside like a memory,

where some of us worship them still

in their dreaming.