Brian Marks - Manchester 'Beat Poet'
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Extracts from 'Where Lightning Dances Vaudeville'
Copyright: Brian Marks 2002

Brians poems combine both rhyming and freeverse styles, it is a book of whimsical and deeply emotive poetry. The second edition is due out in 2011.

Gardening by Moonlight
Gently tremble weeping tree,
your lanceolate leaves dipping,
so softly disturb this mirror glass water
where silent ripples capture the midnight
sky in measured circles, distant stars
like a thousand swans reflected, dance
surreal upon the illuminated screen and
here in a garden heady with the scent
of rotting leaves and newly turned earth,
I am brushed by languid shadows cast
by a clear harvest moon.

The Pulse
Rhythm of seasons, pull of moon
and tide, the celestial round.
Hibernation, sleeping, waking,
biological clock, heart beating.
Cosmic vibration, chaos, harmony,
life death cycle, sowing, reaping.
No thoughts, no words, no language
needed, the message is there, achieve
a balance, the picture is clear, we
are the pulse, we are this universe,
mother nature my religion.

Grey People

Grey people talk a lot but say nothing
they drag you into the dark recesses
of mediocrity, draw you into a void
of inconsequence where there is no
place to hide your embarrassment.

This cloak of intellect

This cloak of intellect you wear
creates an illusion it's not fair
you wear it well but you're not
fooling anyone only yourself.
Quoting lines from books you've read
storing facts and figures in your head
but will you recall that if you don't know
yourself you know nothing at all.

Dada is Dead 

Old masters of merit
must spin in their graves
at this sick revolution
called art making waves.
Contrived, pretentious
denouncing all laws
dictating the future
to growing applause.
Gone are the old ways
of pastels and paint
canvas and palette
of taste and restraint.
Ingenuous fashion
this artistic void
where odious methods
are duly employed.
Anonymous animals
butchered for sport
immersed in formaldehyde
gaining support.
Ringing the death knell
the ultimate dread
art is imploding
Dada is dead.

The Chronicler

Undercover works the chronicler
whose mission is to serve, enlightening
a city with the calligraphic word.
Spreading statements of defiance some political,
obscene, the chronicler claims new frontiers
where none before have been.
With an aerosol can in his hand
the writings on the wall, defacing
public property aesthetic art or scrawl?
Short on basic etiquette spontaneous inspired This authors English grammar
Leaves a lot to be desired.


The butterfly dance

Basking in the summers heat, wings outstretched, euphoric
a butterfly sipped nectar from tall blossoms in a fragrant garden
then airborne it flew through dappled light, flapping in erratic flight
conspicuous its insobriety.
A cautionary tale the butterfly dance
for then a hungry bird swooped down
dispatched its unwitting prey
and within a fleeting glance, was gone.


A fisherman's tale

We are living in a world of the artificial fly
the apex of technology which no-one would deny
outwitting mother nature is a marvellous thing to stress
and the "Classic" British angler knows the secret of success.
Two feathers and a pinch of fur though primitive maybe
push the barriers of science to a staggering degree
seducing trout and salmon not uncultured or naive
to this multi-coloured morsel that they willingly receive.
So next time you hear the story of the one that got away
please raise a glass of Claret and shout loud
"Hip Hip Hooray!..."


Brian has recently completed two other books, a herbal titled "A Gardeners Apothecary" a history of medicinal plants and trees found growing wild on the Lyme Park estate in Disley  and a detailed autobiographical journal titled "General Notes and Observations" written between 1984 and 2004.

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