Shreds Upon the Cutter’s Floor
Poetry
Haunting ~ Shreds Upon the Cutter’s Floor
Introduction
We all reflect on events.
People sometimes ask me to write ‘and they all lived happily ever after’ stories and poems. Now and I again, I do.
I like to observe the murkier side of life as well, because human nature is the engine that drives humanity.
That engine frequently breaks down, and we come to a stop.
Other times, it overheats. We all get angry and take it out on the passengers and other road users. The saying “blown a gasket” is apt.
Other times still, we are convinced that we have the solution and, what’s more, we’re going to make sure everyone has the same solution. The saying “toe the line” is apt.
At which point, enter from an ignominious side road, little people with big plans that, alas, can only be implemented if they be permitted to take over and dictate.
The rest is history.
Shreds Upon the Cutter’s Floor
There is a haunting sound
in this melody,
Tennessee.
The name to mind even,
Beauty, Romance, Love, Sacrifice
Eloquence even.
The mind electrified,
An understanding, fathomless
With our very origin
Communicating
It seems now
we are out of step
No!
With the present
I am out of step!
For when reflecting this life
even twenty years afore,
connection is absent.
The PAST
It is gone!
That way of life.
That constancy.
That sure footing.
From beneath my feet
all ground has moved.
I’m left upon the edge.
Only air resists me,
And if it gives,
and I am gone.
This onslaught from border north,
These islands fragmenting,
hastening,
where once no borders stood!
We see constancy in retrospect.
Our present lot we bemoan.
Suddenly, time stands still.
Hark! That haunting call,
that beckoning,
that yearning.
That flash
…
Incandescent,
Brilliant,
Seismic
the Past in all its solidity
is fluidity.
Old standards smashed.
Life’s principles mocked,
Shredded
as a cutter shreds
on the floor of the tailor’s shop.
Why destroy
that which is good?
That which is even?
That which natural?
That which is normal?
Why behave
without restraint?
Without thought?
With ignorance?
With rebellion?
Our laws are broken.
Why?
Dictators stand firm.
The ledge again.
Why?
Ingenuity counts for nothing.
Why?
The headlong rush to oblivion.
Why?
Oblivion is not death.
Oblivion is not unawareness.
Being eternally cut off
But eternally aware.
Ian Bradley Marshall
1 October 2024
All Rights Reserved
LIVERPOOL
© 2024 Ian Bradley Marshall
Banner Photo : Photo by Štefan Štefančík on Unsplash
Composed 1 March 2021
Ken Webb is a writer and proofreader. His website, kennwebb.com, showcases his work as a writer, blogger and podcaster, resting on his successive careers as a police officer, progressing to a junior lawyer in succession and trusts as a Fellow of the Institute of Legal Executives, a retired officer with the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, and latterly, for three years, the owner and editor of two lifestyle magazines in Liverpool.
He also just handed over a successful two year chairmanship in Gloucestershire with Cheltenham Regency Probus.
Pandemic aside, he spends his time equally between his city, Liverpool, and the county of his birth, Gloucestershire.
In this fast-paced present age, proof-reading is essential. And this skill also occasionally leads to copy-editing writers’ manuscripts for submission to publishers and also student and post graduate dissertations.
