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From the North East of England. Poetry, prose and cultural comment to keep you engaged and alert.

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The Chair

 

The chair says nothing but speaks volumes,

Sitting there in its borrowed blue

History of a day, crying for a future.

No underwear adorns it,

No crumpled clothing dare cascade.

It stands upright, bright as a new recruit

Inviting new life, a new role, new companions.

Van Gogh had such a chair in Arles,

Gwen John in Paris, unaccompanied,

Undecorated, alive with expectation.

 

This presence changes talk and dreams,

Focussing energies into a single purpose.

No distractions and no excuses,

Function shapes the perfect form.

Vibrant blue, in a rage of violent impressions

Exploding from the canvass

Like a visual manifesto, angry and alive.

Subtle blends of light, shadow and tone

Capturing the quality of a moment

Reflected, in a room without mirrors.

 

Words fashion futures from a slender history,

Conjuring tomorrow from the alchemist’s dream,

Transforming into glitter base metal and waste.

Silence hides a lonely cry to fill this vacant space

With an outpouring of rhythm and imagination,

Worlds populated by everyday philosophers

Gifted with insight and wisdom.

The chair remains mute but pleads for action.

Interpreting the world is one thing,

The point however, is to change it.

 

 

Steve Bishop