Posts tagged literature

All Tomorrow’s Parties

I
Give me a thick coat to keep out the howling winds;
From those eyes, blood drained hate, mortal rust never
Sleeps alone.

Melancholia knew a boy blindsided,
I’d never seen the needle of death coming,
Skipped misery as a flaw.

How strange that happy words won’t turn the
Dissolving soul.

Young dreams now darker in the corner, bodies revolving
Towards the earth and heavens.

II
The way I remember your bed, may it never change.
In that morning light when I was not grey or tinned.
Potential, in skins; in the darkest blue of night
(the ecstatic fizz)
I still find you shining and fraying, twisted at the summit,
Drowned in concoctions of beauty and sacral liquid.

Step out with me on the feathered roads,
Spreading like nerves endings into the flesh of continents,
Where the winds map our backs and whip our necks into shape;
Dancing hair and minds invoke true love games tied in writhing knots.

Weave blankets over sinning dark rivers of doubt that flush the belly
Of freedom and potential; a familiar seasick feeling en masse.
Driftwood, our damned and splintered edges,
Finds soft lake lands beneath zero, shores of smoothed vermillion stones,
Wear this weariness like fur, easing away to hibernation.

The open road is no place for a closed book.

III
How long has this ghost lived here?
The heroes overseas with their own abstract endings to burden,
Hang on the free-winged as the horizon erupts like angry volcanoes.
The road is dug shallow, we reach for real but feelings soon fade
And muddy.

Excuses for religions blot ages and revolutions topple paper idols
Whilst the culprits lie low with serpentine illness;
Smoking balls of wool, laps lined with golden tweed
And seditious cocktails of hatred.

Never found a hometown, never settle down,
Never laid down rocks or rules, never cared for those odds;

The silhouetted condor picks at stars, tears through constellations,
Across the railroad track and I’m one way headed, no back ward steps.

Toothpicks and broken glass by the lazy stones not expecting
To find a penny in the mire or hands to hold.

IV
Back in our bed, I lay with your wholeness, wrapped up against icy climes;
36 and still young, just tender. Dreaming up names on the crumbling walls
Where rats raid our sleep.

Still nothing done, no words remain, no meaning-less
Than before, no scam that elegant, no ruse unique.
Alcohol still makes me burn and ruminate.

I hear the rain lashing down, renewing Turkish soil and the roses of the garden,
Tearing the dead leaves from the gutters, falling on the wolves of the forest,
Etching natural mandalas across the wilderness plains.

Show it to me again in dawn’s first blush, perfection breaks the hallowed canopies
Of the smoking village elders.

V
Maybe I’ll start wearing hats, take a vow of some sort;
Turn the grist in the internal grind, draw the white line engrained
Too far in timelessness;
Trace these migratory routes over rolls of red tape and wire fences,
To surely witness the making of an angel without crimson needles,
Dripping mania.

You can’t read about Picasso, take one snowflake at a time.

VI
When it’s your time you won’t feel the pain and your father will fall
Silently on one knee. Freedom falls beyond deaths shadows,
Where young hearts forever roam imperious.

Old sun, richer; sweet morning quality of being,
I’m drifting still in melted mind puddle.
No thoughts in my cave, buried alive by mundanity,
This material mutiny must be crushed.

Pictures behind closed eyes tell me more,
First real talk with my inner child, first time I loved there.
There’s fighting to be done, a war at our door,
No peace to be found until the last doubt fades
And the oak groves reclaim this island paradise;

A green revival trickles steady, drawn from the truth seams,
Scrawled jagged, ancestral, blackened minerals of fossilised wisdom.

For upstairs, wild mountain; in all tomorrows parties freedom comes,
In perfumed silence over purple heather clutches,
No one can live right steeped in senses.

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Caught in Bliss

Old Town Bikaner, Rajasthan - January '15

Old Town Bikaner, Rajasthan, India – January ’15

The layout of my life seems creased,

When the universe breathes

I release.

The twisting rhyme and song of the

Wandering Celtic minstrel

Is what loosens my ties and leads me

Deeper.

The look in the eye of the lonely desert guru

Leaves me captivated and bereft of reasons to ignore

The call

And shirk my weary self.

The battle lines are drawn in sand caught up

In a peace profound

And falling face down into bliss seems the only way

To land.

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Shelter from the Storm

Rose Valley, Cappadocia, Turkey, 15/11/14

Rose Valley, Cappadocia, Turkey, 15/11/14

My heart is sung out,
But to where does honesty carry
The buoyant caste.

Metallic clouds ring the sky
With grey,
Circle my stilling mind
With a heavy halo.

Lightning strikes the village pond;
Lashing black striation
Of awesome calm and power,
Baby frogs take cover
Beneath the blades of quivering grass.

The fields sway in controlled ways,
The well rehearsed bird song unfolds;
The reason we are reaching out
Only to return to centre.

All things that flip and flow
Off centre,
Balance redressed when gaze
Turns back;
To the source of heart and soul,
The primal clicking of some things
Unseen; some more,
Without cause or measure.

Where once we rested
Naked in the dark,
Small bells tied to our ankles
In a cascading melody of calm.

Drops of storm rain cleanse
The silver mirror,
Slipping on over surfaces; snagged on
Rougher edges,
Lost in the engravings of the
Ceremonial plate.

Cappadocia, Turkey 15/11/14

Cappadocia, Turkey 15/11/14

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Dusted Nostalgia

Is loving you the right way
To tangle my beard in the ceiling fan?

Things turn to black when old times
Crawl over your skin,
Legions of nomadic dreams.

And dusty the trapdoor,
Fingers that extend into my heart,
You touch me
And the world is kinder then.

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To the Island

Bardsey Island, North Wales

Bardsey Island, North Wales

I swam to the island to sit on the rocks,
Exploring my physicality
I dissolved into the ocean as salt.
A simple organism awash with instinct,
Riding breakers to the shore.

When my pencil is tied to the mind,
It is stifle and contrived; no moon strung current.
Emotions torment expression and
Dead ends are easily unearthed.

So, to the islands I will go,
There to cultivate passionate uncertainty,
Turn and stride in opposite directions,
Unshackled from corrugated corruptions.

No fear of excommunication or radical peculiarity,
The human pack is easily dealt,
Material ghosts haunting the spirits of the ancients.

I shall sit with the stranded seaweed
And interpret the coming of a bleak autumn noon,
My propositions seem at home in this roaring wind.

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Riders on Light

Riders on light
All bonds ease,
Knowing subsides.

An immaculate fancy
Perceived beyond reality,
With room to explore.

Arrival fully formed,
A journey in rare movements
And penetrating peace.

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Insatiable Absolute

I
Embedded in flow
One diamond reflecting
The constant stream
Transparency alone
Breathes light

II
Interdependent states
Never warring
Peace the conduit
Filling space with hope

III
The insatiable absolute
Blissfully unaware of
The theory of life

IV
Mind arrow falls freely
Trajectory very natural
Razor edge cutting boundaries
In flight

V
Beyond the opaque
Sight settles in rhythm
Illusive crystal
Emptiness full

 

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