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The Four Corners (a small room of poetry) Page 2
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immortality taking place
unbelieving frown across his face.
Here was circumstance,
man made and imposed upon
where the spirit trailed off,
across a field and over the hill
drowned in a stagnant brook.
All these years
days, god those crazy days
and nights as matter of course.
That stale air from back along
in moments
found its way to all in sight.
So, he was seated everywhere
in bed and chair
in the old school field somewhere
wondering about character
all to aware the weight
as if handed in baton race.
Taking on eyes in water
despite this heated time,
he realised movement was movement
slow motion.
swaying from salted face
he collected those jewelled tears
packed them up
mixed them with golden years.
Briefly smiling
remembering soon a new dawning
placing upon open palm
letting go lungsful
of caution to the storm.
Hearing the Tone
A flair for the dramatic
as I overheard you talk
sitting on a miles from beach deck chair
out the back.
You are after all
in love with yourself
vain and reliable
as ever always on time
you shine.
The Second Corner
Mistaken, that didn’t happen
It’s been conjured, magic
in tricks of night, fading light.
Whimpered, bruised and battered.
That won’t happen, a child.
Moving in and moving out,
winded (again)
reaching for the door, the out
is too far.
Shadow over shadows-
demons gather, horses fall.
Caught In the Middle of In-Between
Good grace,
a tightened sense.
Dignify a retreat
out of sight will do,
go away and lose yourself
in another life.
A cheap paperback might cut it.
Paper cut, yes that would do just fine.
Trust me-
There won’t be enough pages,
Paper and tree to diminish her light
do try anyway.
The forward
the end,
a name on one seven nine.
Caught me in the middle of in-between
I’ll never finish this,
that which is not fiction.
Change
Change comes, change goes (often)
Dressed in socks, only socks for feet cold-
It’s a winter floor you once said.
Colder the winter door after you left,
another lay in wait-
There was often a space, it grows.
Now reader, please help me out.
I’m not in a bin or lost on a sea
made of waves and sandy hills.
A tad confused, a little deflated at best.
My bubble burst into smaller less able pockets of air-
They did not survive the stiff wind.
Should you be let in next time?
There’s that knock. Should the
combination lock be revealed?
The location, cork screw.
A bottle popping second,
liquid fizz going down.
It’s not like it’s not fun,
riding up there with jet trails.
It’s lovely entering the sky,
its great going for broke
and crashing through every room.
I love being a dreamer, not wishing
to wake at every command.
The enjoyment, living in bliss and ignorant
like a political player avoiding the poles.
Guessing and not that popular.
It’s the fill you see. Finding out
apparently was better than mine
or so his gold card and endless pockets did explain.
It may not be much, this surround.
It might be a little less, the stuff kept in.
There are missions and boats to sail.
Sharing this, I don’t actually know how
to spend (your open legs, your closed mind)
It could be worse. I could throw up my arms
in protest and write to complain.
Hearing the knocks. Shivering and turning over, away.
Glad. Happy. Relieved. My winters come and go.
Yours, its snows everyday (and night)
Chime
How upon this chime
I ask
for a light
upon darkened path.
How is it so rare
to be warmed
not chilled by
sweetened eyes of healing.
I hope not to be set upon
by that which guards you,
a question of faith
hangs-
a noose
a foolish rope
tying and binding.
Arrival is now
a coins edge
on a bridge.
A cape between you-
between darkness.
Light,
a reminder
not of him nor folly
but truth,
not in contained spaces
outside
where light
shall seep
into corners of all loss.
Dive
Reel them off
coming down
coming apart.
I'll take any carrot you dangle,
any scraps you toss
because I’m sightless today
last night broke us up
and I’ve fallen away.
Leaving Normal
I burned your photograph
You burned me first. I calmed my nerves
as you calmed your blade.
We stuck it into each other, the calamity
and hilarity. The car crash split the sun
and separated skin from bone, changed matter
of consequence into matter of fact-
that she was lost.
Carousels span and lights flashed like paper bulbs.
Water dripped, notes taken.
The grasp of the never could.
Three simple letters of end,
the English language so cruel sometimes.
The day drew on, fine graphite to paper presence.
Draw not your attention to previous scribe-
The birds dive as if everything else failed,
The brakes didn’t. We stopped in time,
full of breath and wet warm skin. Motion slowed.
My thoughts shattered, reformed in instants.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat,
Coffee I'm sure stained the vapour from my lips.
The officer said “was that your normal speed, sir”
Always is I reply.
If she was ever with me,
I would have shielded her eyes.
Eastward Girl
Oblivious again
unaware until
a second sun burnt my eyes
looking away
to adjust
slightly fixing
on this eastward girl,
a call came up
pocket air rising
down below.
Later,
when I had collected
my senses shattered-
I nestled into kindly thoughts
in no particular order.
Élan
The mind is active,
the syna
pses fire. Electrical storms
batter the tiny vessels crossing
the vastness of hope, solitudes
and the remainder of days.
Is there enough to launch rockets?
Is there time, kinetic discharges
and super power up packs. I play, you sigh.
Mrs Jones, she crosses the street.
Mr Bob shuts his windows, bows out.
Mrs Jones, she comes home again.
Mr Bob, he owns up-
They both wait, all spent.
The sun, yes you know its position
even at night.
Remember well, do everything well.
Solar flares pick away at your defences-
Don’t be a brick, don’t be a stone.
Don’t be a loveless stranger
far from home, be potent, be kind.
Be the clash of a symbol tattooed on
a letter sent the old fashioned way,
it’s dash pouring in through the letterbox
filling the hall with enough light,
matching all the stars.
She reaches out, frail.
He reaches back and a flicker takes place.
Just because the ship went down, you see
all hands were not lost.
Tiny Piece Falling
Lying there
wide open sleep
well aware.
The orange streetlight
creeping the walls,
a red glow indicated time
all to clear.
Cool air breeze his tired skin,
a strange thought occurred
and in that occupied second
she pulled an apple from the tree
and it fell
breaking on the ground.
Falling Short
This will pass
almost convinced
talking a good talk
hell,
The whole worlds won over
this passage-
just.
The heart is playing tricks
seen before, an old hoop
even set aflame
doesn’t shift the blame.
I came
barely breathing
before you,
naked and humble
not even seen
the lightest breeze
barely felt
an image deconstructed
on your lovely canvas.
Few Do March
(Written for international women’s day and
dedicated to the all the nurses of World War 1)
Your beauty is locked
surrounded by decay, thundered horses
and guns in bound.
They came, numbered too many
blood and wound
sun in eternal night.
Tender care, my lantern light
hands hot
on whispered night
Mine nurse.
Your sweet breath heals
my departure from
showered killing fields-
Forget thee never.
Flower Shaped
Every object is here for a reason
a record he bought
a picture not quite straight
or the coffee table
the wonky leg.
There’s always a story
hidden, seen
They've bought joy,
sadness long lost.
The memory of when they were
handed over
bought
bargained for,
taken.
There’s always actions
counter actions,
business in the street
coming and going
wind blowing.
There’s sometimes a pungent smell
odour liked crushed flowers
gone wrong.
cooking apples
stewed and boiled
beetroot, never finding the water too hot.
Front door closed
never painted.
Many things, binded together.
Then there’s the glass you bought me
which warms sometimes
even after
the light has been blown out.
Four Walls
Testing the monkey for love
reading on
Involved in the electrics
The shallow
the unkind.
How insane to stage this,
a theory-
what they thought,
a true test of emotion
eventually splintering,
how cruel of you
to try and cage me.
Hollow True
He was light,
no food or water
to weigh on bones.
Jeans wanting to fall,
veil and cloak of sub smile
time left behind-
sloughed on the bench
left out of the game.
With the calmest of inner space
hollow true,
without confusion
himself at one
patiently waiting
for all to shut down.
Indulge Me
So indulge me if you will
with some idle banter
or silly talk to pass
and busy away such an untidy day.
Hidden amongst the bushes of words
which are offered up easily enough
are those letters that make
conundrums of my beatings.
I could lie and throw in misdirection
so the end is colder but then again
you've seen my truth and know it well,
lowered your body onto it, against it
and experienced all the rights contained.
So indulge me if you will
and seek out my capacities
of light, but do not burden your breath
on indecision or create hollows in your thoughts
were doubt breeds bigger legions.
Indulge your fingers across my eyes
as I wish to with mine across your breast
to where your buttons connect your pulse to
a hurricane desire of fortified pleasure.
So I'll say again and again, talking my head off up
and in.
Indulge me if you will in that later time
when the sun was seen slipping
to the lower line of Capricorn.
The Third Corner
A steady drum, a dawning
this is actually happening-
Blood trickles down the spine,
Nerves react and fire-
It’s in the room and about the place.
Frightened. Moving around the square,
pressed to the walls and incoming
another skin without the control, lost.
Like water in light. The walls rock
and flex, how shapes change
and rules bend and break.
Its filling up, the furniture floats
words, sink.
Kestrel
To care
to lay naked in existence
the heavy brow
a drinker
a man who doesn't drink.
Swimming in proof
like a misshaped straw
bent
straight
hollow
There was evidence
no lies
no action taken.
Just
the weight.
Truth sought
from an untrue friend
who took
wind from feather
bringing down the sky.
Invisible
Find the mate,
visible links-
something forged on first contact.
High beyond buzzard’s
and eon oak.
Endless stru
ggle without invite here,
no cloud or marching band-
just a ray of hope
to look inside
a smile to say “I see you”.
Moth (Part 1)
I didn't want to spread my goodbyes
across a cold field
It didn't sit right, that metallic taste in my mouth
chewing on the weight of lead.
My voice trailed off, ash in air.
like the burning out of a sun,
this boy felt the same, reduced in years.
This wasn't the time, the place-
the chill reached up reminding of winter
and the dropping temperature.
Bringing the warmth,
my love carried in my hands,
walking carefully and tripping inside.
Recalling the words that boom in my ears
That silence which deafened-
the children of which I am one, built
and torn down-
rebuilt in the days to come,
this race not yet done.
Revisited
Amongst the decaying wood
damp and splintered,
whine in the wind
finding its way through winding cobbles.
Not even seagull song was airborne
nor other lightly sound on coastal ridge.
The late hours, early hours
heavy hours
persons nowhere to be seen.
Loneliness sat with him
getting wet all the same,
the waves were closer
higher than a man who though he stood tall.
Arena lights going down
even moon and stars locked out,
no invite to the assembly of laughable characters
and almost dead embers.
Salt and sand dug down deep
solidifying any tear (s)
wishing for a brief childhood
wanting to run,
needing warmth in this crab town.
The storm lasting a long day
and his days
just the beginning,
gritting teeth he stood up.
Wavering.
And from there
he started living.
Tick
Twenty to go,
blast today
into pieces,
into grit
also dust
which when blended does scatter.
Nineteen to go
curse today, first up
this morning
before you but not me.
Eighteen to go
slicker than fountains
which scribble across
fine paper,
not long now until tomorrow
when divided I stand
and reckon,
looking around
for that which is gone
but still in abundant absence.
Wanting the Return
Head low wishful thinking
interior crippled,
memory mangled.
Shaking at conclusions drawn to
mouth full of cotton balls
thunder head rising-
the words were of washout,
life in veins a cold spill.
When you were done and had
hitched another
I was a laboratory rat
with all eyes intent on watching me squirm
as the poison you had injected took effect.
You
If it were school
no tick would beside your name.
If it were concerto
your seat would be devoid.
If you were moon
the rocket men would not fly.
If you were sun
in darkness our world
would surely die.
You are absent,
gone from my warmed digits
but here in degrees
your colours fully fly
and discourage the tampering of
something tightly wrapped.
You are vividly the scent, the smell of gold strands
you are vividly the taste
a beautiful foreign land.
The Fourth Corner
Almost there, scribbled on walls
and scrawled across ceilings-
Stars circle.
Raining down blows, fists
and clenched jaw as if the
Intruder, the one who just arrived
unexpectedly, the unwelcomed
years ago.
Ashamed, legs weakened and
arms falling like they
never held any strength at all.
We crash through these rooms,
This space no longer safe nor fitting.
Awakened, the four corners
storyboard. Characters have played
their part, stuck to their script-
remembered their lines, improvised
their actions, the audience not privy
to behind a closed door.
The four corners, yet to fully
play out or a curtain felled.
It’s different now, all altered.
I don’t suppose you have a
stick of fire, to strike?
There’s a burning to be done,
Carried out like we carried her out (that day)
Grabbing a coat, you can have your room back-
all of them in fact.
I’m outside, never to be cornered again.
Note from the Author
Thank you for taking your valuable time to purchase and read The Four Corners to which I hope you enjoyed. Please feel free to leave a review on your favourite eBook site and thank you once again.
If you would like more information please visit my Facebook page:
www.facebook.com/DavidBelgrovePoet
or to follow me on Twitter:
twitter.com/David_Belgrove
About the Author
David Belgrove grew up in Melton Mowbray, England. He has always had an interest in travel. When he was 20 years old David relocated to New York where he lived for a year working with young people. During his time there David developed an interest in poetry and began writing. Upon his return he continued to write and accumulate his work, at that time (the 90’s) a creative platform to publish seemed incredibly difficult. During that time David maintained his enthusiasm for the written word, particularly poetry and short stories. Once social media started to take hold the internet started to provide many avenues of possibility.
David has enjoyed many professional roles and challenges. This have included his own business enterprise and working for the National Health Service as a team leader, working with adults with special needs. David also had the opportunity in 2005/2006 to live in Northern Michigan where he worked with young people and taught aspects of scuba diving as well as outdoor education. Amongst his varied working life David has also been involved in volunteering which has included working with and supporting youth offenders.
David strongly believes that ‘Life is for doing’, this has been reflected in living overseas as well various extreme sports that he has undertaken, including parachuting for charity and flying.
For the past 6 years David has been working for a college in Leicester, England. His role involves supporting students with disabilities, learning difficulties and challenging behaviour. David continues to write and travel and hopes to release more work in the future.
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unbelieving frown across his face.
Here was circumstance,
man made and imposed upon
where the spirit trailed off,
across a field and over the hill
drowned in a stagnant brook.
All these years
days, god those crazy days
and nights as matter of course.
That stale air from back along
in moments
found its way to all in sight.
So, he was seated everywhere
in bed and chair
in the old school field somewhere
wondering about character
all to aware the weight
as if handed in baton race.
Taking on eyes in water
despite this heated time,
he realised movement was movement
slow motion.
swaying from salted face
he collected those jewelled tears
packed them up
mixed them with golden years.
Briefly smiling
remembering soon a new dawning
placing upon open palm
letting go lungsful
of caution to the storm.
Hearing the Tone
A flair for the dramatic
as I overheard you talk
sitting on a miles from beach deck chair
out the back.
You are after all
in love with yourself
vain and reliable
as ever always on time
you shine.
The Second Corner
Mistaken, that didn’t happen
It’s been conjured, magic
in tricks of night, fading light.
Whimpered, bruised and battered.
That won’t happen, a child.
Moving in and moving out,
winded (again)
reaching for the door, the out
is too far.
Shadow over shadows-
demons gather, horses fall.
Caught In the Middle of In-Between
Good grace,
a tightened sense.
Dignify a retreat
out of sight will do,
go away and lose yourself
in another life.
A cheap paperback might cut it.
Paper cut, yes that would do just fine.
Trust me-
There won’t be enough pages,
Paper and tree to diminish her light
do try anyway.
The forward
the end,
a name on one seven nine.
Caught me in the middle of in-between
I’ll never finish this,
that which is not fiction.
Change
Change comes, change goes (often)
Dressed in socks, only socks for feet cold-
It’s a winter floor you once said.
Colder the winter door after you left,
another lay in wait-
There was often a space, it grows.
Now reader, please help me out.
I’m not in a bin or lost on a sea
made of waves and sandy hills.
A tad confused, a little deflated at best.
My bubble burst into smaller less able pockets of air-
They did not survive the stiff wind.
Should you be let in next time?
There’s that knock. Should the
combination lock be revealed?
The location, cork screw.
A bottle popping second,
liquid fizz going down.
It’s not like it’s not fun,
riding up there with jet trails.
It’s lovely entering the sky,
its great going for broke
and crashing through every room.
I love being a dreamer, not wishing
to wake at every command.
The enjoyment, living in bliss and ignorant
like a political player avoiding the poles.
Guessing and not that popular.
It’s the fill you see. Finding out
apparently was better than mine
or so his gold card and endless pockets did explain.
It may not be much, this surround.
It might be a little less, the stuff kept in.
There are missions and boats to sail.
Sharing this, I don’t actually know how
to spend (your open legs, your closed mind)
It could be worse. I could throw up my arms
in protest and write to complain.
Hearing the knocks. Shivering and turning over, away.
Glad. Happy. Relieved. My winters come and go.
Yours, its snows everyday (and night)
Chime
How upon this chime
I ask
for a light
upon darkened path.
How is it so rare
to be warmed
not chilled by
sweetened eyes of healing.
I hope not to be set upon
by that which guards you,
a question of faith
hangs-
a noose
a foolish rope
tying and binding.
Arrival is now
a coins edge
on a bridge.
A cape between you-
between darkness.
Light,
a reminder
not of him nor folly
but truth,
not in contained spaces
outside
where light
shall seep
into corners of all loss.
Dive
Reel them off
coming down
coming apart.
I'll take any carrot you dangle,
any scraps you toss
because I’m sightless today
last night broke us up
and I’ve fallen away.
Leaving Normal
I burned your photograph
You burned me first. I calmed my nerves
as you calmed your blade.
We stuck it into each other, the calamity
and hilarity. The car crash split the sun
and separated skin from bone, changed matter
of consequence into matter of fact-
that she was lost.
Carousels span and lights flashed like paper bulbs.
Water dripped, notes taken.
The grasp of the never could.
Three simple letters of end,
the English language so cruel sometimes.
The day drew on, fine graphite to paper presence.
Draw not your attention to previous scribe-
The birds dive as if everything else failed,
The brakes didn’t. We stopped in time,
full of breath and wet warm skin. Motion slowed.
My thoughts shattered, reformed in instants.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat,
Coffee I'm sure stained the vapour from my lips.
The officer said “was that your normal speed, sir”
Always is I reply.
If she was ever with me,
I would have shielded her eyes.
Eastward Girl
Oblivious again
unaware until
a second sun burnt my eyes
looking away
to adjust
slightly fixing
on this eastward girl,
a call came up
pocket air rising
down below.
Later,
when I had collected
my senses shattered-
I nestled into kindly thoughts
in no particular order.
Élan
The mind is active,
the syna
pses fire. Electrical storms
batter the tiny vessels crossing
the vastness of hope, solitudes
and the remainder of days.
Is there enough to launch rockets?
Is there time, kinetic discharges
and super power up packs. I play, you sigh.
Mrs Jones, she crosses the street.
Mr Bob shuts his windows, bows out.
Mrs Jones, she comes home again.
Mr Bob, he owns up-
They both wait, all spent.
The sun, yes you know its position
even at night.
Remember well, do everything well.
Solar flares pick away at your defences-
Don’t be a brick, don’t be a stone.
Don’t be a loveless stranger
far from home, be potent, be kind.
Be the clash of a symbol tattooed on
a letter sent the old fashioned way,
it’s dash pouring in through the letterbox
filling the hall with enough light,
matching all the stars.
She reaches out, frail.
He reaches back and a flicker takes place.
Just because the ship went down, you see
all hands were not lost.
Tiny Piece Falling
Lying there
wide open sleep
well aware.
The orange streetlight
creeping the walls,
a red glow indicated time
all to clear.
Cool air breeze his tired skin,
a strange thought occurred
and in that occupied second
she pulled an apple from the tree
and it fell
breaking on the ground.
Falling Short
This will pass
almost convinced
talking a good talk
hell,
The whole worlds won over
this passage-
just.
The heart is playing tricks
seen before, an old hoop
even set aflame
doesn’t shift the blame.
I came
barely breathing
before you,
naked and humble
not even seen
the lightest breeze
barely felt
an image deconstructed
on your lovely canvas.
Few Do March
(Written for international women’s day and
dedicated to the all the nurses of World War 1)
Your beauty is locked
surrounded by decay, thundered horses
and guns in bound.
They came, numbered too many
blood and wound
sun in eternal night.
Tender care, my lantern light
hands hot
on whispered night
Mine nurse.
Your sweet breath heals
my departure from
showered killing fields-
Forget thee never.
Flower Shaped
Every object is here for a reason
a record he bought
a picture not quite straight
or the coffee table
the wonky leg.
There’s always a story
hidden, seen
They've bought joy,
sadness long lost.
The memory of when they were
handed over
bought
bargained for,
taken.
There’s always actions
counter actions,
business in the street
coming and going
wind blowing.
There’s sometimes a pungent smell
odour liked crushed flowers
gone wrong.
cooking apples
stewed and boiled
beetroot, never finding the water too hot.
Front door closed
never painted.
Many things, binded together.
Then there’s the glass you bought me
which warms sometimes
even after
the light has been blown out.
Four Walls
Testing the monkey for love
reading on
Involved in the electrics
The shallow
the unkind.
How insane to stage this,
a theory-
what they thought,
a true test of emotion
eventually splintering,
how cruel of you
to try and cage me.
Hollow True
He was light,
no food or water
to weigh on bones.
Jeans wanting to fall,
veil and cloak of sub smile
time left behind-
sloughed on the bench
left out of the game.
With the calmest of inner space
hollow true,
without confusion
himself at one
patiently waiting
for all to shut down.
Indulge Me
So indulge me if you will
with some idle banter
or silly talk to pass
and busy away such an untidy day.
Hidden amongst the bushes of words
which are offered up easily enough
are those letters that make
conundrums of my beatings.
I could lie and throw in misdirection
so the end is colder but then again
you've seen my truth and know it well,
lowered your body onto it, against it
and experienced all the rights contained.
So indulge me if you will
and seek out my capacities
of light, but do not burden your breath
on indecision or create hollows in your thoughts
were doubt breeds bigger legions.
Indulge your fingers across my eyes
as I wish to with mine across your breast
to where your buttons connect your pulse to
a hurricane desire of fortified pleasure.
So I'll say again and again, talking my head off up
and in.
Indulge me if you will in that later time
when the sun was seen slipping
to the lower line of Capricorn.
The Third Corner
A steady drum, a dawning
this is actually happening-
Blood trickles down the spine,
Nerves react and fire-
It’s in the room and about the place.
Frightened. Moving around the square,
pressed to the walls and incoming
another skin without the control, lost.
Like water in light. The walls rock
and flex, how shapes change
and rules bend and break.
Its filling up, the furniture floats
words, sink.
Kestrel
To care
to lay naked in existence
the heavy brow
a drinker
a man who doesn't drink.
Swimming in proof
like a misshaped straw
bent
straight
hollow
There was evidence
no lies
no action taken.
Just
the weight.
Truth sought
from an untrue friend
who took
wind from feather
bringing down the sky.
Invisible
Find the mate,
visible links-
something forged on first contact.
High beyond buzzard’s
and eon oak.
Endless stru
ggle without invite here,
no cloud or marching band-
just a ray of hope
to look inside
a smile to say “I see you”.
Moth (Part 1)
I didn't want to spread my goodbyes
across a cold field
It didn't sit right, that metallic taste in my mouth
chewing on the weight of lead.
My voice trailed off, ash in air.
like the burning out of a sun,
this boy felt the same, reduced in years.
This wasn't the time, the place-
the chill reached up reminding of winter
and the dropping temperature.
Bringing the warmth,
my love carried in my hands,
walking carefully and tripping inside.
Recalling the words that boom in my ears
That silence which deafened-
the children of which I am one, built
and torn down-
rebuilt in the days to come,
this race not yet done.
Revisited
Amongst the decaying wood
damp and splintered,
whine in the wind
finding its way through winding cobbles.
Not even seagull song was airborne
nor other lightly sound on coastal ridge.
The late hours, early hours
heavy hours
persons nowhere to be seen.
Loneliness sat with him
getting wet all the same,
the waves were closer
higher than a man who though he stood tall.
Arena lights going down
even moon and stars locked out,
no invite to the assembly of laughable characters
and almost dead embers.
Salt and sand dug down deep
solidifying any tear (s)
wishing for a brief childhood
wanting to run,
needing warmth in this crab town.
The storm lasting a long day
and his days
just the beginning,
gritting teeth he stood up.
Wavering.
And from there
he started living.
Tick
Twenty to go,
blast today
into pieces,
into grit
also dust
which when blended does scatter.
Nineteen to go
curse today, first up
this morning
before you but not me.
Eighteen to go
slicker than fountains
which scribble across
fine paper,
not long now until tomorrow
when divided I stand
and reckon,
looking around
for that which is gone
but still in abundant absence.
Wanting the Return
Head low wishful thinking
interior crippled,
memory mangled.
Shaking at conclusions drawn to
mouth full of cotton balls
thunder head rising-
the words were of washout,
life in veins a cold spill.
When you were done and had
hitched another
I was a laboratory rat
with all eyes intent on watching me squirm
as the poison you had injected took effect.
You
If it were school
no tick would beside your name.
If it were concerto
your seat would be devoid.
If you were moon
the rocket men would not fly.
If you were sun
in darkness our world
would surely die.
You are absent,
gone from my warmed digits
but here in degrees
your colours fully fly
and discourage the tampering of
something tightly wrapped.
You are vividly the scent, the smell of gold strands
you are vividly the taste
a beautiful foreign land.
The Fourth Corner
Almost there, scribbled on walls
and scrawled across ceilings-
Stars circle.
Raining down blows, fists
and clenched jaw as if the
Intruder, the one who just arrived
unexpectedly, the unwelcomed
years ago.
Ashamed, legs weakened and
arms falling like they
never held any strength at all.
We crash through these rooms,
This space no longer safe nor fitting.
Awakened, the four corners
storyboard. Characters have played
their part, stuck to their script-
remembered their lines, improvised
their actions, the audience not privy
to behind a closed door.
The four corners, yet to fully
play out or a curtain felled.
It’s different now, all altered.
I don’t suppose you have a
stick of fire, to strike?
There’s a burning to be done,
Carried out like we carried her out (that day)
Grabbing a coat, you can have your room back-
all of them in fact.
I’m outside, never to be cornered again.
Note from the Author
Thank you for taking your valuable time to purchase and read The Four Corners to which I hope you enjoyed. Please feel free to leave a review on your favourite eBook site and thank you once again.
If you would like more information please visit my Facebook page:
www.facebook.com/DavidBelgrovePoet
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About the Author
David Belgrove grew up in Melton Mowbray, England. He has always had an interest in travel. When he was 20 years old David relocated to New York where he lived for a year working with young people. During his time there David developed an interest in poetry and began writing. Upon his return he continued to write and accumulate his work, at that time (the 90’s) a creative platform to publish seemed incredibly difficult. During that time David maintained his enthusiasm for the written word, particularly poetry and short stories. Once social media started to take hold the internet started to provide many avenues of possibility.
David has enjoyed many professional roles and challenges. This have included his own business enterprise and working for the National Health Service as a team leader, working with adults with special needs. David also had the opportunity in 2005/2006 to live in Northern Michigan where he worked with young people and taught aspects of scuba diving as well as outdoor education. Amongst his varied working life David has also been involved in volunteering which has included working with and supporting youth offenders.
David strongly believes that ‘Life is for doing’, this has been reflected in living overseas as well various extreme sports that he has undertaken, including parachuting for charity and flying.
For the past 6 years David has been working for a college in Leicester, England. His role involves supporting students with disabilities, learning difficulties and challenging behaviour. David continues to write and travel and hopes to release more work in the future.
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The Four Corners (a small room of poetry)