Malcolm Evison

Malcolm Evison Poems

They hang; a heavy weightlessness,
like long forgotten memories
seeking renewal. The man sits,
beside the window, looking

Night falls; the day disintegrates. All in a moment.

Have I been sleeping, or, is it a miracle? No-one can answer for me. I close the shutters of my mind, but always there is something. Always something there; no way of escape. Soon there will be another day, I know that – the mind cannot rest, but today, all I have done is forgotten. I can feel it, always the burden is there. Today, always there is a brooding yesterday, tomorrow will be another today.

Wrapped futilely
in the realm of beauty sleep –
dawn rarely dawns on me.

Observing the precarious
of household plants

A few slender lines
of spider silk



God spoke –
I dare not listen.

I could not face

That day you found
time’s precipice
and never faltered –

Whirling, it made the day
seem shorter than
all other days had been.

I sway, as if to breathe
the passing breezes tail -

the water sighs

Too late, even to sell
himself. The air is silent.

Distinct servility

Time past time yet to be
Discovered. I gaze out
Across the hills, the scene changes

Wearing the anguish
of old age
like some military honour,
he follows the cortege.

Seeking a concrete image
to convey
a pre-stressed thought
I lay foundations

Blackly embroidered
against the morning sky,
three trees.

Absurd redemption of humanity -
how can I write
or mouth a ritual creed
which brings to life

this is another poem
I started
to unite it all in one

These visits are
by now routine -
on entering

Misjudged by many of my peers,
betrayed by those in whom
I placed my trust. Today

We don’t wait, we wonder
if now is the time
for songs to flow –
strive to illuminate

Mist mellows, swathes
the bracken waste, moves
mountains and retrieves

Malcolm Evison Biography

Born 1944 in Canterbury. Educated Bede Grammar School, Sunderland 1956-60. University of Hull 1972-75. Urban Theology Unit, Sheffield 1976-77. Currently resides in Harrogate, North Yorkshire. Perpetual student of Philosophy and Theology. Prolific poetry output in the 1960's, published in various periodicals and 'performed' at various readings in London. Sometime chair of Harrogate Poetry Workshop. When I took up painting (http: // , once more, in the 1980's the poetic muse seemed to desert me. The dry period followed one where the muse had become far too effusive and, to coin a sculptural metaphor, the effort of chipping away at a stone to find the innate form became too arduous. Since 2003, I have been undergoing a journey through (and hopefully out of) ME/CFS - many stages of which are reflected in my blog which can be found at: http: // My main websites can be found at https: // ref=hl and http: // Write now out of necessity - when the words grasp me - rather than desire.)

The Best Poem Of Malcolm Evison

The Old Man

They hang; a heavy weightlessness,
like long forgotten memories
seeking renewal. The man sits,
beside the window, looking
at the clouds. Remembering.

But nothing quite fits. If only
he could pass, at will, into
insanity. That would remove
the purgatory – desiring flames
to quench the smouldering remnants

of a life. He sits, beside the window,
watching the clouds. And waiting;

waiting for night-fall. Remembering.

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