‘Structure with complicated passages through which it is hard to find one’s way’
‘Structure with complicated passages through which it is hard to find one’s way’
(Inspired by the word 'Labyrinth', from the Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable)
Structure with complicated passages through which it is hard to find one’s way
Sound familiar? A labyrinth although you might say,
that sounds just like that certain person we both know
The way they keep their hedges high, the way the winds blow
round the corners and the crevices that delve deep in their mind
The way we have to burrow in for what's been left behind
only to be captivated by the darkness that we find
Blinded by what we love, blinded by this mind
Are you Petesuchis or Tithoes,
1800 BC Egyptians
building structures in the thousands
and yet they weave underground and
trap the crowds of eager seekers,
locked in circles, and the weakest
howl as walls of rock and stone
become the place that they call home
Buried under Lake Moeris
this labyrinth of the faeries.
Is this the home of the Minotaur
the bed from which the creature roars
a lonely soul seeps through the ground
Door locked by Daedalus, who found
the way to triumph over the dead Is to follow a skein of thread
round the curves and bends of maze until one finds the light of day
Or the creation of brothers Rholus,
Smilis, the other, Theodorus,
whose multicursal seven courses
pave the way for the daughters of the town to wander deep
to the centre which can keep
a jugful of a thousand songs
and a beast of fire which longs
to walk you straight towards a hell,
150 columns so well
adjusted that if needs be
a child of one, two or three
May reach a column and with might
turn the column so very tight
That all are stuck there overnight
Are we in the realms of Clusium,
structure raised for the tomb
of Lars Posena, king of the Euts,
Etruria clammers at the boots
of this god-like creator here
this man who has dispelled the fear
of what lies darkly in the gloom,
what inhabits a King’s tomb.
Or are we in the company
of Theodorus, BC
as far back as 540
who built a samian vault
and who said, it has been told
that never would the people know
just what he’d buried deep below
never would it be revealed Just what dark secrets he could yield.
Woodstock, Oxfordshire where no doubt
The second King Henry did lay out
His plans for maze, lock and key
for Rosamund, fair lady, she
Blushed as she saw his crown
Lain out bare on the ground
Followed him round the paths of black,
Round and round until a stack
of bricks halted her racing pace
Until she saw dear Henry’s face
She climbed the stairs of her new home
Forever safe, forever alone
Locked in the safety of a lone
womb of grass, rock and sand
This stifling tomb of England
Here it is she must reside,
day and night, virgin, bride
Henry’s love pours from afar
Bridges the alleys, deep and far
To reach fair lady of the night
Rosamund, what a sight.
Or a Cathedral in northern France
Swing open the doors and you’ll have the chance
to gaze in depth at mark’ed floors
Petals, six, bulging, pour
out into a spiral of black,
Tubes of organs winding In fact
I think I know what you may be
Are you the resting place of she
The buried lady of my heart
Who’s destiny it was to start
The path towards our betterment
Towards the days of good intent
Tell me, do you hear me there?
Do I echo in your lair?
Or are you rotund mounds of free
Grass and stone and do you see
the waves as they crash and roar
Against the land, the birds that soar
above you. This is indeed a lonesome home
Inward facing, all alone
You wind and twist into your bones
Until they crackle, sputter, moan
But here I see tall waving arms,
Thick round buds of flora carve
Blushing green and yellow tips
Deep entrenchments in your hips
Your thickened thighs and rotund lips
run hot circles, though your tricks
Keep me guessing ever more
Have me heaving on the floor
Through vacant halls, a silent cry
Through russet womb, where secrets lie
Do you hide in the depths of a place
Which lies intrinsically to your face
The castle of Leeds lives south of its name
A quiet abode, of generous terrain
where sharp angles meet these circles of sin
Where pattern is troubling, wanders thin
And melts away to corners of dust
Corners that defy all trust,
See the world from upside out
clamber away from your doubt
The tricky passing of the seasons
Rush by and without a reason
you can undo what has been done
Unplant the seed, the soul has won
after all this trouble, all this strife
of searching through this wandering life
From millennia of the golden tomb,
To deep black pockets of the womb
It seems I can't identify
The route my dear, the reason why
I cannot find the path less walked
The passages blur and who’d have thought
That one day I would end my plight
Pack my bags, wave, take flight
And settle in a better place
Where there is no need to trace
My way with sword and poured absinthe
Into your lock’ed labyrinth.
You can watch me perform this poem here:
Thanks for being here,
Claire x
