A poem by Angharad Jones

1. Negative Print

I clench my fist on tender things,
And close my ears to silent wings,
I purse my lips at taste that’s real,
And bolt my heart on all I feel.

With open arms I love the crude,
Embracing all that’s loud and rude,
And in the night my reign is wild,
I am the wilderness’s child.

My thoughts are all distorted fright,
Medusa’s snakes in knotted blight,
I scramble for the crumbs of life
To find them dry and full of strife.

I search for men with dead blue eyes
To see my own reflected lies,
And cling to worldly things and they
Elude me every single day.

Elude, elude – illusions all,
The mirror mirror on the wall
Now shattered to a thousand shards
All tricking with their bright facades.

Tricking into cheating games,
Delusions with my heart in flames,
A captive in deceit’s deep thrill,
A victim of my own strong will.

And as the will engorges more
The thrills burn burn me to my core,
The false deceiver leaves the room
The cravings multiply in bloom.

The wanting, wanting, one loud scream,
The nightmare now a toxic stream,
The last denial - owl’s live yell -
Then silence. It’s my own death knell.

And in the great big nothingness
A tender wind comes to caress
My face and eyes, my ears, my fists
And slowly, slowly, all untwists.

And smooth and tender is the night
I am no longer flight or fright,
Nor mask nor cheat nor Queen of slight,
There is within a small dim light.

The mad kaleidescope is still,
The crazy colours of my will,
I am no more a broken soul
I am at one with all, and whole.


(2009)