THE JOLLY GREEN GIANT

. . .

~ ~ ~

A green giant of a steamroller

All shiny green-grey metal, painted, polished

Made to work, to last, made well

Turning slowly its huge hardened drums

The thunder of which rumbles and snorts

A huge but friendly monster

         effortlessly crushing its charge

         smoothing everything into one smooth plane

The passage of time, the purpose of nature

Not lost on us all

As we struggle and purpose giving our best

The great iron wheels bloodied by sweat

Glisten, welcoming in the mid-morning light

Rolling on as waves of tide-turned sea

Turqoise green and thinned by waters edge

Lapping, lifting, rushed by moon-tide and

        drawn by tropic-sun and arctic-glare

Here before us as these islands draw close

These gentle oasis’, our consolation and ease

Here, the fond memories of youth softened

         like yellow leaves in September showers

         still ripe and dewy, the fruits thorn

         has lost its sharpened edge

         by want of feeling not of sense

Here in the midst of our busyness

         we find time to ponder for a minute and then again,

         the welcome friend, the sobre roll of timpani

         and we are again absorbed by this

         orchestrated overture, this ball of kitten wool

And when I’m drained and my struggle is over

When I hear nothing but the dense, fetal boom

         of wheels whirring and am secure

         that once embraced by such cold-hardened form

         the blacksmith’s forge could not heat

The rainbow scalded and branded in me

Glowing with an energy incandescant

When I’m crushed and utterly complete

It will be no more eyes-sight-smell-sound

It will be total!

Me and this jolly, green giant

This happy, welcome memory

Again, my nearest friend

I too will play on his machinery

I will marvel at his precision, his purpose

I will laugh as never young man did

I will taste wine as rich as mead

         drawn from the centre of the earth

I will be eternal and the mystery will fade

         and no longer shall word and thought

         stick like crushed pepper in the throat

I will rise and fly as a sea osprey

         or lift and flutter as a flight of sparrow

I will dream nothing but warmth and love

I will speak not word that is spoken

I will grow, I will shrink and not ounce of sweat

         will grease palm of hand or brow

Only joy will enchant me

         not hyena laugh, nor monkey chatter

I am pure, I am innocent

All because of this relentless pursuer

This noble steed draped in coloured cloth

         and mounted by silken gladiator

Whose face shines deeply with light

         and whose beauty merges both male and girl

His eyes blue, her cheeks ruddy

His hair golden, her neck long and slender

And if the mute colours of this torrid steed

         in soft pearl, berry pink and iced cobalt

Whose livery laced with silver studs,

         buckles and straps, glistens, enchanting

         as the white-gold of bridle and bit

         fire in the mouth and his grace stirs the senses

         like some deep surge of wonder

If all this beckons we, what need I fear

         the splash and fizzle of steam

         the gentle and insistent drone

         like a myriad army of honey-bees

The crushing ache of limbs caught

         in the vice of his attention

I am filled with admiration

I am enthused by tradition and heritage

         so regally before me

Me, this petit enfant

         this dreamer of dreams

         this explorer, voyeur

Me, this terrible romantic

I am no longer overwhelmed

I am at peace

I turn to meet this mystery

         hidden from my eyes

They blink and falter

Willingly they close

My arms open,

My mouth soft, smiles

I meet the cold hard wall

I give to it’s extended front

         and roll effortlessly

Under, over, under, over

Till I hear from singing in my ears

A haunting strain, a choir building

Like some holy opera

And when I stopped

         and told them I had met death

Their faces ashen-white

        were alarmed and they

        as re-run sportsmen

        began to rush, to them with speed

        to me like leaden-footed soldiers

        forward runners for the great, clad grinder

..

edenbraytoday

             07.06.86

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dedicated to a good friend – Jessica Phiri 05.10.2011