Archive for poetry

The Child

This process in which we are transfixed
By the lacy mirage of happiness,
Finds us constantly befuddled by a pressing,
Yet distant engagement.

Like wine poured from a clay jug
We are falling crimson sweetness,
One day to wash away the grieving, sticky
Shroud and see things clearly, as they are.

I was not born a wanderer in these
Industrial fields, a marginalised rage
In the gutters of mechanised truths,
We alone are here to tell our story,
We alone will rise or fall.

We may lay back and view the synaptic
Firework show, the arabesque commotion
Of the dreamers eye, freed now a child
In creations infinite arms.

The echoes of imagination are the conduit for joy,
For love, for finer twists of life,
To bring our souls down here and
Tuck it in at night, then study the many
Faces we hide.

There are new ways of living, new ways
Of loving, and as time wears us down,
Whittles us away, we are born anew
In the darkness we gave away.

The child, returns to nature
In the timeless language of laughter.

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We Come To

I had fallen from the skies but refused to land,
I was lodged in the green canopy of wilderness you see,
I had dropped through the patterned grains of a dreaming tree,
Just following the passage of water, drifted down
Murky rivers, drawing me out of the jungle,
The salt in my blood and tears craved the ocean.

I was 121 species of ants and unfathomable
Species of nocturnal butterflies. I was the crocodiles eyes
Slipping just beneath the surface.
I awoke in a hut.

I realise that nature fears me and rightly so,
I am rarely consumed by her.
But I can’t get in line either, can’t wolf down,
Can’t call for Mother when she seems feint.
It’s as if our hands were not living and our hearts
Never beat and we cared too little to look up
Or kick out and scream.

To another’s snake-like dream tryst I’m wed,
Eyes closed and grooving, feeling the forgotten acoustics
Of exploding histories, a poke square in the instincts.

Sometimes it’s easier that way
Y’know. To bubble.

The Amazon is a gateway, each tree a message, the birds,
Our punctuation to assimilate with natures rhythm section.
The howler howls,
The shaman’s feather drums,
The ether,
We raise our sail.

But what is illusion?
To avoid the banquet of vine soul humming, not to
Stifle the fire flies of pent up mayhem, flickering; I reach down in, then out,
Chest expands, deflates, unassisted.
“Is this my heart?”
Each time my vessel is emptied, it refills with purer moonshine.

A human sacrifice. Experience, just vibration.
Crude ripples escaping without source, rhyme nor reason.
Without destination, meaning or hooks,
But maybe a melody or a jam,
Maybe the sound of a distant flute echoing within
A beat drunkards haiku.

Why not now?
Rip our hearts out, the black eyed priest
With fangs and deformed jaguar thumbs.
Life has always been the greatest offering
Beneath the blinking star maps.
Why not now?

But who lives the game? We are all gamblers in
Tormented ignorance of the stakes.
There is death beneath our life and only nothing to win.
No risks. No dealer.

Warm blood, airbags, radiohead.
Small huts and feathers shed, blown sour smoke,
Naked games in the steaming hysteria of polyphonic insect symphony.
The pinnacle of beauty, our forms, the depravity of our being.

We must hum together to cleanse this space.
We must hold hands to form new beings, new shapes.
We must take our clothes off
And pray for heightened states of gibberish, feel our way through
The shifting symbols of language and flesh,
Melt these villages with the power of volcanic insight
And mist.
Then, with the white hot ash, cauterize our wounds.
The destroyed, freed by the destroyer,
As we dance in circles, holding hands,
To the tune of silent laughter.

The sweat is pouring down my wax mask.
The river is bursting it’s banks and tears flow across
The horizon.
I look down to my nails, have I clawed at the red earth?
Everything is gossamer pulsation and nothing is missed.
The poison arrow frogs come in slick numbers,
Reality so densely humid, we are breathing in brackish fluid
With lungs the texture of plastic shopping bags.

On palm stilts, above the murky wash and tumble,
A height where we believe we are safe. But for how long?
And what’s the cost? And who’s counting?
Our foundations seem to fade,
“We don’t even know you!”
Then something and twists, down near the heart
And into the wash we scatter jacks.

Before dawn, we come to.
The plants blew mystic clouds into the
Conch shell and we heard her quietly weeping.
Then a voice from the back row booming; “It’s Tuesday.”

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Mother’s Fire

She risks her life to give us life
She cannot know the depths we cry,

We tear our flesh to prove ourselves
When all she wants is a lighter spell,

When killing is a memory
Where we may sit in symmetry

And smoke ourselves into a dream
Of natures patterns and singing streams,

We cast shadows on her light
For the sake of broken love,

Painting ourselves into her womb,
To bury our hopes in a fearful tomb.

She gave her heart to him for life,
With faith she fell into the fire.

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Lightly Creeps My Father’s Wagon

We all wake up a little creased
Sometimes,
We’re all broken by the rules,
We cannot be pure in
Coca cola,
Our dreams are whiskey and ice.

Lightly creeps my Father’s wagon,
And blood moon
The undertow.

The palm leaves torn like pages,
We are loving like foreign animals,
Live between the lines of storms
And poetry,
To find our hearts, what a thing,
Alone in the wet dust
And ink.

There is a crippled road where
No trucks pass,
A forgotten drum that leads man
To the heart of the forest
And stone ceremonies.
An eagle feather freely given
Cannot touch the ground.

A distant fear like pollution
Or murder, cuts when the
Path is clearest.

Sometimes in the morning time
I like to write my first thoughts,
They’re like babies
In a pond,
Looking back to their mother.

A sweeter page with light strokes
Of poison. Dawn chorus;
Stirring chaos, the hum
Between the anvil and the hammer,
A swallow in flight
And frozen dreams of Venus,
Where the lightning fingers
The tattered flags
And his eyes are clearest,
His touch is static and faceless.

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Out through the night

I

You took us out through the night
And the sweep of indifference,
Toured the bright lights in pretty puddles
And sleeping city streets.

There was always a storm to tell.

Reaching out of ourselves we
Unlocked moments,
That ecstatic ride far from controls
And erratic neon shrouds,
Where no thing rises and falls far
From the pen.

How the rose brings many thorns
Like a careless invitation.

 

II
Leaning aimless, a blur of focus,
In dive bars and bazars we drunk some
Time to kill reason.
The relics and ashes of civilization
Belittle this poor excuse for debauchery.

That man is no Jesus.
Our procession has lost it’s sparkle
And in rebellion,
Too clumsy for magic or sage.
With one loving hand on despair,
Carrying cracked faces and books
Like an ambling prayer,

Filling each desolate steppe with romance
And foreign gestures.
Some are haunted by the word,
Most are cowards at the coal face of freedom.

 

III
Knelt on pews and crystal ashtrays
And slunk in dripping, nowhere alleys,
We rode on song and scraps,
Eating lunch off origami,
Taking shelter in the wind.

Poisoning fear was whiskey and piano,
Waking in a sweat of dew close to dawn;
So sick and shivering
In the scales of mediocrity.

When love and hate stare back
From the drained bottles,
When you analyse too close the tears in the labels,
Then heart descends, in fever and lazy to care
For the love plague and tiring colours.

Weak without umbilical urges the
Greatest tales of all-time
Fill the doubting waste paper basket.

The aching significance of our hidden language.
How discreetly we suffer the subtleties.

 

IV
The battered guitar and cheap candles
Guard the dusk,
Words falling between the gaps,
The mannequin troubadour escaping
The Grecian palate
For a splash of Ganges with familiar friends.

In those worn and polished gutters
I saw what this could mean.
I broke myself because there was no
Poetry in completion.

When I was torn at the loom you offered
A single golden stitch,
That kept me together, that made me itch.
You whistled like the weaver making patterns
With knots and coarse thread and all around a
Heavenly strain taut with purpose.

The ageing stains of wonder have circled us in,
Some call it life, some call it sin.
The inevitable ring of ignorance,
For what we have lost will never end.

No amount of tears will make it pure again,
No more wishing for easy forgiveness
Or homeward whispers,

Our human poem has the eyes of a child
Running away from resurrection.

 

V
You held my hand in the dead of night and
Knew those salty travellers tears,
The roots of my disbelief were not lost
In casual abstraction.

And now. Can you guess?
I don’t buy this depressive holiness.
Won’t carve out bile on a smoking crutch,
Won’t break down in flaming surrender.
I choose a raging isolation,

Irrelevant in this dystopia
I seek a reckoning with emptiness
To fill me heart with clarity,
The rider on those waves is lifted
Closer to reality,

You picked our wars
Without flaming crosses,
Your triumphs were the
Greatest mystery.

How will we find a way?
Without the harp and compass
To keep us from the rocks.

 

VI
So bring again the apple blossom to the
Shivering chills of Manhattan,
Bring the pilgrims papers and warm bread
Wrapped in memories,
Bring the mornings haze of forgiveness and
The scent of parks and hotel lobbies.
For I am sleepy and dawn is when I like.

Throw the curtains back and let me see the
Lines by your eyes that grow each time we laugh,
Your scratched compositions by candle light,
The subtitles of your foreign dreams
And silhouettes of perfect bodies.

No failures in longing for loves
Secret souvenirs.
Your gift was a sympathetic repose,
The way you made each tired glance unique.

 

VII
Now you’re raised
In some effortless simplicity,
What is, just is.
Was that you lingering in a sigh?

Out through the night,
Never weakened.
I hope the stars are kinder now
And your dancing away from all those
Yesterdays,

Wearing your heart in a knowing grin
Freed from the sadness in others beauty
And its faithful chains.

You took what you could,
You kept it close,
Maybe that is enough.

In a low voice, speak of glory.

 

For Leonard

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“The best way to take care of the future…” Thich Nhat Hanh

“If we cling to the idea of hope in the future, we might not notice the peace and joy that are available in the present moment. The best way to take care of the future is to take care of the present moment.”

“The Earth will be safe
when we feel safe in ourselves.”

“People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle.  But I think the real miracle is not  to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth.  Every day we are engaged  in a miracle which we don’t even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child – our own two eyes.  All is a miracle.”

“You are like fireworks. You go out into your children, your friends, your society, and the whole world.”

“You are what you want to become. Why search anymore? You are a wonderful manifestation. The whole universe has come together to make your existence possible. There is nothing that is not you. The kingdom of God, the Pure Land, nirvana, happiness, and liberation are all you.”

“I hold my face in my two hands.
No, I am not crying.
I hold my face in my two hands
to keep the loneliness warm –
two hands protecting,
two hands nourishing,
two hands preventing
my soul from leaving me
in anger.”

“If in our daily life we can smile, if we can be peaceful and happy, not only we, but everyone will profit from it. If we really know how to live, what better way to start the day than with a smile? Our smile affirms our awareness and determination to live in peace and joy. The source of a true smile is an awakened mind.”

Mindful Consuming

“Aware of the suffering caused by unmindful consumption, I vow to cultivate good health, both physical and mental, for myself, my family, and my society by practicing mindful eating, drinking and consuming. I vow to ingest only items that preserve peace, well-being, and joy in the body, in my consciousness, and in the collective body and consciousness of my family and society. I am determined not to use alcohol or any other intoxicant or to ingest foods or other items that contain toxins, such as certain TV programs, magazines, books, films, and conversations. I am aware that to damage my body or my consciousness with these poisons is to betray my ancestors, my parents, my society, and future generations. I will work to transform violence, fear, anger, and confusion in myself and in society by practicing a diet for myself and for society. I understand that a proper diet is crucial for self transformation and for the transformation of society.”

“You are like a candle. Imagine you are sending light out all around you. All your words, thoughts and actions are going in many directions. If you say something kind, your kind words go in many directions, and you yourself go with them. We are …transforming and continuing in a different form at every moment.”

“The essence of love and compassion is understanding, the ability to recognize the physical, material, and psychological suffering of others, to put ourselves “inside the skin” of the other.  We “go inside” their body, feelings, and mental formations, and witness for ourselves their suffering.  Shallow observation as an outsider is not enough to see their suffering.  We must become one with the subject of our observation.  When we are in contact with another’s suffering, a feeling of compassion is born in us. Compassion means, literally, “to suffer with.””

“The Buddha’s teachings on love are clear. It is possible to live twenty-four hours a day in a state of love. Every movement, every glance, every thought, and every word can be infused with love.”

“Use your time wisely. Every moment produce beautiful thoughts, loving, kindness, forgiveness. Say beautiful things, inspire, forgive, act physically to protect and help.”

“Breath is the bridge which connects life to consciousness, which unites your body to your thoughts.”

“Be yourself. Life is precious as it is. All the elements for your happiness are already here. There is no need to run, strive, search or struggle. Just Be.”

“May our heart’s garden of awakening bloom with hundreds of flowers.”

“Smile, breathe and go slowly.”

“We have to learn to die in every moment in order to be fully alive.”

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Dancing Moment

This moment dances
In time,
The only one;
Unique
And dazzling.

A nobody consumed
And vast,
Alone and all in
Nothingness.

One chance hanging,
To realise
Truth,
Before death
Takes our lies.

One nobody
In nothingness,
Afraid to dance,
To speak,
To cry.

This moment dances
In time,
The only one;
Unique
And dazzling.

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