JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

Faceless behind the pen
he writes, history undisclosed
childhood hidden, blanketed
dreams, pain, loves, losses
the mirror shows naught save
a dark cloak of mind

A curtain chinks
a gleaming blade performs
a deft slit, an image
an idea emerges
oozes paint-like from a squeezed tube
on to the palette to be mixed
applied delicately
in careful calligraphy

 

A tree waving its arms in fragile detail
fruit, bell-shaped waiting to be plucked
a pair of lovers naked
entwined in each other
lie under the tree fresh, unspoiled
where an oily snake patterned  
slides from the trunk between
their embraces and hisses sibilant
as a gleaming knife
slitting into innocence

From somewhere, his eyes are visible
alien, reptilian behind the brush
for a fraction of a second
- and then the page turns
and that after contains
the history of the world

But the face of love
the eyes of the snake
remain expressionless
behind the pen