BIO:
Jason Constantine Ford is from Perth in Australia. He works as an employee at a book shop. He has over fifteen years of experience in studying various styles of poetry. The major influences on his style of poetry are William Blake, Edgar Alan Poe and Gerard Manley Hopkins. Blake’s ability to address the social issues of his time through poetry and painting has had a lasting impact upon Jason’s early years. For correspondence, contact Jason at jasonconstantineford@gmail.com
Death
in the Woods
The taste of many brittle years already spread
Across paddocks without a drop of rain
Is bitterness profound as Death begins to tread
Upon the graves of names which still remain.
Death is slowly passing through the woods alone
With many kinds of trees becoming prone
To loss of grip among the aging leaves
Succumbing to the might which Death receives.
The air surrounding Death becomes so strong
As winds impose a sense of might upon each tree.
The branches shaking left and right, belong
To the dance of Death declaring how all things should be.
The curse which came upon the ones who died
With wounds inflicted by the sword of pride
Is kept beneath the ground until the day
Death decides to spread to other forms of prey.
Thoughts
Following a Storm
After
the raging storm has calmed unto a state
Where
I am standing safe, secure, away from harm,
The
waves are tamed with gentleness which I equate
With
soothing scent of nard and feel of healing balm.
Although
the waves no longer crash against the shore
With
power that exceeds the strength of many hands,
Fragments
of intellect of mine remain unsure
Concerning
matters that I fail to understand.
Shall
raging storm return as coming back to life
And
spread a trail of fear among a people blind?
Am
I a dreamer who attempts to think of strife
Which
only seems to breath inside my mind?
A
Path into the Raging Water
Despite
the depths of raging sea
And
troubles vast, a man embarks
Upon
a quest without the company
Of
tools which ward away the sharks.
He
starts his quest with tool of steel
Inside
a loincloth that prepares to deal
With
countless waves arising high
Above
the height of watchful eye.
With
only loincloth and a simple blade,
The
man of strength is diving straight
Into
the depths of dangers now displayed
As
raging waters that cannot abate.
Although
he swims the depths as one alone
With
tender muscle that surrounds each bone,
The
dangers that confront his chosen goal
Cannot
remove his lasting strength of soul.
Eclipse
at the Gates
Denial
walks from place to place
Without
a sense of grave disgrace
From
keeping lips which never talk.
The
men renowned for hiding face
With
veils denying any trace
Of
what is real, begin to walk.
A
book of lies is being carried
Upon
the backs of men married
To
form of creed which oscillates.
Shadows
are passing through the street
With
steps which now complete
The
final stage of reaching gates.
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