Joys of the chase Poem by Ivan Donn Carswell

Colours fade into nameless shades of grey
and where the tonsure of bas-relief crudely
stands effete, semantic symbolism degrades
into meaninglessness. The artefacts of an old
existence deny you humanity but you don't
recognise them anyway, they are not bound
to objects of power that belay access to reason.
In this flat world of monochrome un-ambiguity
and ceaseless movement you hear in a
spectrum of sound that defies tympanic
sympathy, sounds you feel in your teeth and
in the hair that covers your lean shanks
and in the scents that surround you.
You move in a world of here and now,
where yesterday was a stomach full
and tomorrow is an extension of
your hunger for tastes and sounds
and joys of the chase.