Relict - A Selection of Poetry by David Myatt

Relict
A Selection of Poems by David Myatt

My poetry was composed between the years 1971-2011 CE, and is of varying quality. Having recently undertaken the onerous task of re-reading those poems that I still have copies of, there are in my view only around a dozen that I now consider good enough to be read by others. This collection contains these poems.

DW Myatt 2011 CE

One Exquisite Silence These are the moments of an exquisite silence As we lie together on your sofa, holding, pressing Our bodies together As I, gently, stroke your face and hair And you kiss each finger of my hand. There is a fire of logs to warm us, As night descends: There are no words to confuse, No time, as we flow, together, As clouds on a warm Summer's day Beneath a dome of blue. There is a peace, here, which fills us As if we are the world and all the beautiful, peaceful, things Of the world. Nearby, your two ginger cats sleep Secure in the warmth of their world As we are secured while we lie, Wordless, feeling those subtle energies

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Relict - A Selection of Poetry by David Myatt

Born from no barriers: You are me as I am you, In such exquisite moments. But you belong to another And it is against my will, my dreams, desires That I leave To walk the lonely miles under moonlight To where a dreary lamp lights my empty room.

(2003 CE)

Dark Clouds of Thunder The moment of sublime knowing As clouds part above the Bay And the heat of Summer dries the spots of rain Still falling: I am, here, now, where dark clouds of thunder Have given way to blue Such that the tide, turning, Begins to break my vow of distance Down. A women, there, whose dog, disobeying, Splashes sea with sand until new interest Takes him where This bearded man of greying hair No longer reeks With sadness. Instead: The smile of joy when Sun of Summer Presents again this Paradise of Earth For I am only tears, falling

(c. 2010 CE)

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Relict - A Selection of Poetry by David Myatt

Wine

Stale I once drank you Knowing no difference because of herbs. She held me, her cunning hands That did not wish Nor offer the warmth that snared my soul: The wine was Intoxicating our senses But only I was drunk: She laughed. I needed rest Dreaming marriage under sun Until bright morning came When she, alas, changed Her form in the reality of the room And I was left to walk with my sack Down the dusty track Past a grove of sun-burnt trees Toward those distant hills: And yet the white-washed house was only One step Along my Way.

No Sun To Warm There is an ineffable sadness For your eyes betray that warmth, that beauty, That brings me down To where even my street-hardened Will cannot go: So I am sad, almost crying Outside, there is no sun to warm As yesterday when I touched the warmth of your breasts And the wordless joy of ecstatic youth
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Relict - A Selection of Poetry by David Myatt

Lived to suffuse if only briefly with world-defying life This tired battle-bruised body But now: clouds, rain-bleakness To darken such dreams as break me. For there are many places I cannot go.
(1974 CE)

The Sun of Warm November

So this is Peace: As the Sun of warm November Warms and the grass grows with such mildness.

No strife, here; No place beyond this place As Farm meets meadow field And I upon some hessian sack sit, write To hear some distant calls from hedged-in sheep: No breeze To stir the fallen leaves That lie among the seeds, there Where the old Oak towers, shading fence From Sun And the pond is hazed with midges.

So this is the peace, found Where dew persists, Flies feed to preen to rest And two Robins call from among that tangled brambled Bush Whose berries - unplucked, ripened - rot, While the Fox-worn trail wobbles Snaking Through three fields.

So, the silent Buzzard soars To shade me briefly:

Relict - A Selection of Poetry by David Myatt

No haste, worry, nor Homo Hubris, here Only that, of this, a peaceful peace Rising When we who wait, wait to walk with Nature.

So there is much sadness, leaving As the damp field-mists of morning Have given way To Sun

Closeness Becomes Us

This is the life of silence As she lives warm, within There where a net of dreams is woven By a day's walk, a night's love, And those hopes that stretched out as our hands entwining Seeking some horizon Beyond Where the cloudy sky of our dull October day Became the silky sandful warmful Summer smoothness of beach Beside a sea azure, Sunful, clear - and warming.

These are the moments of her silence As she lies warm within such arms as hold her And the blood of sleep, slowing, keeps her still Because the nighful sky of night is still With stars And the breath to keep her living Is a gentle tide to ebb to rise to flow Upon our shore of sharing.

There is sand still - a little - between her toes Unwashed by such haste as brought us Back, back to one bed shared Because we could not would not wait To be together to seep again Here where, door locked, the world divides To be only that which we feel dream see, and flow
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Relict - A Selection of Poetry by David Myatt

Here where daylight seeped sepia-softly To become our starlit night bright With stars.

Now, now surely I have dreams memories ecstasy enough To keep the inner smile As time, my time, seeps to break me As those three score years and ten seek to break Each Earth-dwelling being of Life.

So, three decades older, I touch and touch with gentle touch The warm soft tautful flesh that keeps her youth The way our warmth melds us As the scent of night, sea and sex Melds together to be a perfume for her Sun To warm me here Where I am nothing more than moments.

For these are such moments of a loveful silence Seeping That I could die here peaceful in her sleepful scented arms

(2009 CE)

Wandering English Lanes

What is there left but each passing moment, past? No -ism, -ology, idea here to break our balanced Earthful connexion: As that butterfly there is only that butterfly-there, Moving as all futures unplanned. No goal to satiate as haste hungers so many humans. For what is, is only that knowing of this A Time unmeasured in duration, Flowing as Sun above horizon there: No hours as slope of hill meets with river field, Only Skylarks rising, since Spring, begun, is fading fast to Summer And river flowing slows to greet in greeting that bending bend, there.
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Relict - A Selection of Poetry by David Myatt

Warm to humid here where hedge agrees with verge And which, uncut, so keeps our english-green: And I am this all this and sighing sit with almost tears. One car - from what to where - speeding and then the breeze To seep in peaceful peace. So sleep with Sun until walk to Inn to satiate a thirst. What is there left then but wandering rencounter Back where weird beings seeding merge themselves With cars.

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A Summer Sun

Crows calling while sheep cry By the road that shall take them To their death: I sit, while sun lasts And bleeds my body dry In this last hour before dark On a day when a warm wind Carried the rain that washed A little of this valley Like the stream washes My rock: There are no trees to soften This sun - only heather and fern To break the sides of the hill. I cannot keep this peace I have found It seems unformed like water Becomes unformed without a vessel A channel or some stream: It cannot be contained
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Relict - A Selection of Poetry by David Myatt

As I contain my passion and my dreams. There are no answers I can find Only the vessel of walks in hills Alone Whereby I who seek Am brought toward the magick peak That keeps this hidden world Alive: It does not last But like the cirrus cloud Is blown by breeze to free A summer sun.

DW Myatt

Only Time Has Stopped

Here I have stopped Because only Time goes on within my dream: Yesterday I was awoken, again, And she held me down With her body warmth Until, satisfied, I went alone Walking And trying to remember: A sun in a white clouded sky Morning dawn yellow Sways the breath that, hot, I exhale tasting of her lips. The water has cut, deep, into The estuary bank And the mallard swims against the flow No movement, only effort. Nearby - the foreign ship which brought me Is held by rusty chains Which, one day and soon And peeling them like its paint, Must leave. Here I shall begin again Because Time, at last, has stopped Since I have remembered the dark ecstasy Which brought that war-seeking Dream

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Relict - A Selection of Poetry by David Myatt

(c. 1978 CE)

Relict

Sun, broken by branch, seeps Into mist Where spreading roots have cracked The stones, overgrown, perhaps, For an hundred years From a seed, flesh fed, the oak Sheltering Mary Relict of William And a breeze, stirring again This year The leaves of an Autumn's green gold

(1976 CE)

The Two Faces

I am the two faces of God Vox Patris Caelestis While, within, a lewd Satan grins Playing at Change: My pieces are human who cried At my hurt.

I am alone, the cry While Treble voices sing Echoing, and strange shadows long dead Dance too briefly along the cloister wall. There is pain as I stare

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Relict - A Selection of Poetry by David Myatt

Past dying sun and a valley Winter cold Trying to believe while stars break And a crescent moon Glowing like the whore's eyes In that dark room Jibbers over the heavy breasts Of the hill: No cloud To veil her shame.

No one, nothing Answers. Only Air, and I sit, still waiting And remembering prayer. In the ruins, my dead self comes to life Rising slowly, worm-slowly To the first singing blackness Of night.

No answers, nothing: Only this tramp sheltering In the ruins of a church And memories, yes there are memories Glowing Like the lies of my life

(1974)

Letter It is raining And I am watered And cold There is warmth in love Which explains my wait By this road while cars pass Noisy in the shielding dark:
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Relict - A Selection of Poetry by David Myatt

My spirit is not seen as it sits On the wooden bench where hill Meets valley sky And where a standing stone waits To whisper words Of a language that has died. But I listen, while rain falls, Hearing your cry. Always a dream or a memory Lead us on And we wait like children Trusting in the spirits of the Earth. We love unsuspecting While they our lovers scheme, Succour themselves on our blood And bleed us dry. There is a sun as we sit In the heat of a summer On this bench as new lovers Holding hands Transmuting all the dark days The tears of our past In the touch that mingles our auras As they must be mingled to bring The words of our waiting stone Alive: Always this dream Leads me on. But it is raining And in the rain I hear Your spirit cry

(1987 CE)

cc David Myatt 2011 CE

These poems are covered by the Creative Commons (Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0) License and can be freely copied and distributed, under the terms of that license.

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