Out in the Bay
Out in the bay, calm, the shiver of wave, palette of shale, turquoise and silver
And the subtle outlines of trails that trail off from cloud shadow and water currents
From movements above and below, an unshakeable feeling, this urge, to trace the arcs
Outlines and flat blobs in the sea, the water scarred, the subtle delineations that seem
Meaningless to anyone else but me, this prepossession ephemeral yet careworn creased
A scream shattered and the fragments ooze into the sluice and slice of the sea
The loose shapes rest and wax and wobble outwards of themselves towards
Dispersal or are lost in the tumult of external pressures from coming Atlantic storms
Roughening up but presently this tempered scene is key to some matutinal secret
A dispensation from other wasted mornings yet still inured to the lack of answer
Thus putting such a premium on some sort of utterance, a twist and shout even
But demur tending to downplay performance, always turning down a dance
For pointless appointments under the pretence of paying the rent outstanding
And now I shiver, in my right hand, spiritedly and fail to play the piano in the air
When asked politely, a few weeks with Mr Keys who lived near The Hole in The Wall
But I never had the feel for it, I could throw a stone or kick a ball for hours however
My Disordered Movement proved, my fate pronounced, an unshakeable shake
I’m branching off and I’m branching out to see if I’ve the scope to sue for music.
To dispel any obscure argument for ignorance, to outgrow once and for all
All the wet dreams of adolescent idolatry, instead hold in abeyance the answers
To the bland demand of meaning, instead say some words for the drowned souls
Untaxed, unsolicited and dismiss, as Fletcher in Porridge does, those who blather
As ‘all wind and water’ and endeavour to cut the nets, to let slip the truck with
The mackerel skies, to allay the rub of obsolescence, to throw a party.
Martin Sharry. 2014.
