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After silence that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music - Aldous Huxley, Backled and Shound as a 9 stone moth every midnight till dawn, Because a vision softly creeping Left its seeds while I was sleeping
The Beast in the Space (1970) by W.S. Graham
Shut up. Shut up. There’s nobody here.
If you think you hear somebody knocking
On the other side of the words, pay
No attention. It will be only
The great creature that thumps its tail
On silence on the other side.
If you do not even hear that
I’ll give the beast a quick skelp
And through Art you’ll hear it yelp.
The beast that lives on silence takes
Its bite out of either side.
It pads and sniffs between us. Now
It comes and laps my meaning up.
Call it over. Call it across
This curious necessary space.
Get off, you terrible inhabiter
Of silence. I’ll not have it. Get
Away to whoever it is will have you.
He’s gone and if he’s gone to you
That’s fair enough. For on this side
Of the words it’s late. The heavy moth
Bangs on the pane. The whole house
Is sleeping and I remember
I am not here, only the space
I sent the terrible beast across.
Watch. He bites. Listen gently
To any song he snorts or growls
And give him food. He means neither
Well or ill towards you. Above
All, shut up. Give him your love.
Esme's Cloud 
It was not long ago that I, as you would, as much as any, know, coming across a post yet liked nearly, as once was said, and may still be among the young ones who gather noisily about the shopping centers, and public squares, “Lost my shit”, which I admittedly still have done, but now older, though in no way having to do with wisdom, merely “Liked” it first anyway.
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Peter got in there first though I’m afraid muffled laughter – having said that, every word of your comment hit home, as I was moved (not to the toilet) by your shit being lost. I hope you have some photographs of it to show the police and it is recovered anon.
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As you will soon see I did discover, not my mistake, but some plot against me by those (with beards no less) who run this strange world that must have once been mentioned worriedly by the ancients, that I was not the first.
I’ll look for the photos, they’re around somewhere
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I collect beards.
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Perhaps I was not first, but only, because of some way in which the internet operates unfamiliar to me, ‘foreign’ as remarked by the old men who know well the ways that we now ignore sloshing our drinks and impatient for the new season announced with marching bands and pretty ladies who never speak a word.
I’m done now
and to think days passed when I no longer was following you. How could there be a God if such a thing did take place?
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I might frame some of your comments.
“and to think days passed when I no longer was following you” – I know! There is mischief afoot I tell you, and if it were from the unknown realms then I would not be surprised one jot. Perhaps a group of unsatisfied minor Gods got together and decided that no-one else should have any fun as they clearly aren’t. Well, we have scotched (no eggs) their plans. They are thwarted!
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Yes, you are right, and it stings those minor Gods who, though now have been shown and sworn to change their ways will always be remembered (in song and story passed down through the ages) as ‘The Old Fuddy-duddys”
I think those golden frames KT Tunstall sang of would do nicely
The President and Founder
The President and Founder
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‘Followed by the terrible light’….I’ll have a word with her, see if she’ll play ball.
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The beast in space will never get the professor’s love! nods decidedly
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He’s not a bad sort when you get to know him. nods back
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Won’t believe it!
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