Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Union


 -------------------

That time before the full darkness of night
when the shadows of the trees are almost too much
reaching too far
intense as an ecstasy

I closed my eyes and breathed in, in
and when I looked again there were the stars

Did you know that light is pure love

Your face in the moonlight

a heavenly caress

And all the world, and all the worlds
Come in beauty
and reach out to kiss

-------------------


The poem was written as a response to this video; especially the light formations within it which inspired me greatly: https://youtu.be/UfcAVejslrU





 

Sunday, November 27, 2016

Break In

You wake on the sofa
and find the garden doors are open
a mouth to the black night

Soiled footprints on the floor
have you forgotten your waking actions
no, this was not you

He has been here
watching you
planting a disturbance for your mind

Some call this Love
some call for help
some clean up and lock the doors, fast







Sunday, October 23, 2016

Communion

The morning stretches coldly
an earth aching for tenderness
the sky reaching away
and even the birds are hidden
silently accepting the autumn's advance

After all that passion
how quickly the leaves fall from the trees
as grace falling from grace
the sudden surrender to the change
an adherence to the present

The tree says, 'Do you even know my name?'
And you realise your own stupor
in love with its beauty
yet without enquiry
Communion with no question

I shall be as the tree
and let go of my covering
All that I was has no use
All that matters is to be
this conduit between earth and sky


Friday, October 14, 2016

The Approach

The night presses in
like the blackest clay obscuring light
and imagine if this was how it was
forever
if the stars and the moon and the sun and the planets had gone
and we would know we soon would go also
become nothing
cease to be
and this is how it will unfold
and every night is a preparation
until the blackest clay obscures all light
and the infinite night begins

Sunday, September 18, 2016

Separate Seas

I realise what makes people move
forward
is their will to attain
a conquering of time

I saw that the sea is not something
outside
but an ocean of ideas
separating

Love is a gentler abstract than the cruel hours ticking by
and I can swim much better within it

Those people I have known who faded away
did not even leave a shadow, after all


Monday, July 25, 2016

Outlines

They said I am full of grief
and I agreed with them
my lungs have breathed too much disappointment
in this life

I am not myself, I said
but later I disagreed
for this is what I am, now

Don't misunderstand
I still see joy in every gift of nature
and finally see the hope a child can bring
but my shadow turns to the suns of yesteryear
and I blink at every disappearance
eclipsed 


Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Incidents at the Shrine

I do not know if I can bring back my flowers
The soil is sparse
and you never wanted to be a god, anyway

But I can still capture the touch of lightness
and our astonishment when we met in that place outside of all this

Since then the lands and the seasons
the constant turning
has tired me
and I went many times and you were not there

If I come, will you hold me, make any promises, is ours something rooted that reaches to the sky

Or do we remain as incidents
albeit at the shrine


Monday, June 20, 2016

The Room

Noone said 'Here are the keys to your life.'
But if they had done then you might have entered that room
and seen the clutter inside and the many doors
you would have become distracted by fabulous times
and friends
and found money in drawers
and begun to watch so many films
some about yourself

The men
would be many
and so much beauty
but now you look at the narcissists in their lairs and snarl as you walk by

Time would bend and space would open and suddenly you would be in many countries
all at once
marvelling
and dancing
and crying

In that moment and in that moment and in that moment you would feel love
and your heart would become filled with sweetness
then suddenly it all goes dark and you would find yourself alone in a bed with the curtains drawn
without reason to be
but you keep waking up
and at some undefined point you realise you are smiling
and he, and he, and he did not kill you

and all the dreams and all the hopes and all the rushing and pushing and getting and gigantia of it
one day slows down

and in that room you would suddenly want to retreat
to nestle with a book and another
and wait, look around, do you see – you are alone
no more calls, no more rings on the doorbell, no more offers or dates or invites

But this is not the end
and the room still has many doors you did not yet see


Saturday, June 18, 2016

Restless Need

Restless Need  a work in progress


The voices are always worse inside. On long, summer days they literally scream at me to stay outside – but one of them is a trickster and tries to stop me from doing the Timings. The Timings are important to the order of everyday. Without them everything will fall apart. And I mean everything. It's not just a case of me and my flat, it's a situation that affects the whole world. The Timings keep everything running.

I have to go out on 7 separate occasions throughout the day. It starts from 9.30am and ends about 5.30pm. Like a job. When I come back from any one of the ambles I stay in for maybe 15 minutes then go out again. I have the same circuit walks each day; up to town and back through the public garden, down the alley to the sea and along the prom then back. Up to town and into the library or a shop – but not for long. Along the alley and back along the prom. And combinations of those walks.

Sometimes I wait for her. I know some of her times; she talked to me more at the beginning – so I know at least a few times when she has to leave the house to give a class, or whatever it is she does. I wait in the courtyard and when she comes down the steps she has to see me whether she likes it or not. On those days I feel brave and wonderful. But I also feel angry afterwards because she never stops to talk to me properly. Today I tried to talk to her about the things she has in her windows but she couldn't wait to get out of the gate.

When I know she's gone for sure sometimes I get my paradise keys and go into her flat. The landlady forgot she gave me those keys before the flat got re-rented and it was being repainted and workmen were in and out. When I go in I am very quiet because I want to feel her through every part of myself. Sometimes I sit on her sofa for just a moment and imagine she is sitting with me, laughing and talking as we relax after a busy day. I always do one thing when I am in her flat; one small thing to show a visit was made; today I moved one of the plants; one tiny change to how everything is.

To be continued..

Friday, May 27, 2016

Blue Absence

I have waited such a long time
struggling in the noose
remembering its shape as a magician's eight
the infinity of you
spread before me as a painting, as an ocean, as a memory
a poem in form
I have waited
and searched for forgetfulness
Yet
I ungrasp my fingers and still feel your touch
I tie the blindfold but you are everywhere in the darkness
I try not to speak your name but it resounds
unspoken upon my lips for so many years
still circled in the sky
radiant



Wednesday, May 11, 2016

Separation

She is the moon
Alive – yet within his mirror
a royal white silk tear
Solo, as he

Safe with his lens, he sits awhile
away from his looking glass
and its cold, smooth kiss

'I know pearls will bring me sadness
and must not be stitched into a wedding dress'
he hums his mother's words
hunched in his white coat
pencilling his equations
A cool manipulation providing a blood rush

She sits in her white dress
a bride to be forever
whilst the galaxies ripple around her
a pleat of star songs

The poets see her
The children see her
The fools see her
The wise see her
Whilst his logical heart stays blind