In poem on 8 March, 2014 at 15:02
For a good friend
The thoughts are grand that tie me down.
There must be better way of dealing with a
child crying its perfection every 15 minutes.
Yesterday you and I spent two straight hours together.
I have held your hand
but you refuse to hold mine
or do so grudgingly.
You are witholding your respect
until I can prove myself.
I wish I could pierce these primal laws
that dictate your jealousy of my freedom,
my desire to support
and the utter hopelessness of the task.
I can barely hold myself.
I will walk, but the road I choose is my own.
If you want to be supported, let me choose the road
and method of transportation.
I am tired of pressure.
A walnut cracks between mountains,
and I am barely a seed.
I need your hand, that is all.
Here is a comfortable place to sit
Here is a basket for clothes
A hamper for food
And our child, well wrapped, for you to hold close.
Sit down there, feet tight into the footwell.
Pack yourself in amongst the cases.
In the morning the wind is coming
and we’ll need to make some headway
whilst it is still night.
In Uncategorized on 23 August, 2013 at 12:44
The lion roars and settles back down into a comfortable sleep.
There is power in non-movement.
Days fill with excuses and postponements and the undone things gather around me like a cloud. They will remain undone.
A blank table lies in front of me with an almost-finished coffee and a plate dotted with toast crumbs. These universes will not collide and re-complete themselves. They sit pregnant and purring as the lion’s lungs rise and fall, refuelling the body for the night-time hunt.
In Uncategorized on 11 July, 2013 at 14:17
I have felt, in these last days, a symmetry of awakening
The light of trees remarks to me of a wholeness, a beginning.
The furniture of insight is made plain in them
The shapes they cast on these starlit eyes
Cheapen the breath.
Read the rest of this entry »
In Uncategorized on 25 May, 2013 at 17:36
We’re not allowed to go there in the grey zones where bodies merge with faces and eyes hint at moonlight.
It is forbidden to sit with swirls of the night’s memory smiling back at me
or the wish to linger in a swoon.
The bed is comfortable with remembering of you. The night lives behind my eyes
as the day swirls in a cold, bright wind.
Watching TV relaxed as movement echoes through me.
In Uncategorized on 12 April, 2013 at 22:16
it is that thing which binds us into the world.
Lets us see blindness and obscurity and
how these are powerless to mystery.
We surf as slaves on a stream of her imagining.
She invites us to become the stream and the imagining and to become unto her.
Through softer streams of hair and rivulets of wounds,
tightly wound within and into one another,
a delicate tread.
Her mouth is open and receiving.
Are you suffering to love?
Or is she already moving through and for you?
Have you coped with the boundlessness of every desire
curved infinitely and washing through you,
an exquisite dream?
In Uncategorized on 30 December, 2012 at 15:38
I could write and begin to deluge you with my desires. Involving comfort and relaxation, how I wish too much, how my wishing is an avoidance of pain. Though I am still given to dream and see starlight moving across your face that I have the sensitivity to touch with grace. I hate the feeling of not touching, of falling short. I hate the feeling of you not being near. I dislike that you do not know who I am, or not yet and that it might be a grave disappointment that you should. I feel and know you inwardly but such a crashing grace could cause you to run and leave me alone again. I cannot stand to be alone. Or can I? I can stand. I am alone and the particles moving between us are testament that Will has something other than what I expect in store. If only I would stop clinging. If only clinging were a release and you were given into my arms. I am perhaps better away from you then, to know the comfort of solitude. I have never relaxed fully into that. Always slightly restless, avoiding a pit my psyche equates with death. It can never fully rest. Or not yet. I have been walking the same patterns and lines and my last desire crowds in on me. Stubbornly it refuses to go and so you haunt my thoughts and melancholy. You are a boon for me, a gift. A love. I love you in my heart and yet this is unspoken. Sincerely, I love you. You are a part of me and my life is moulding so I can be within you. Naturalness now, expresses itself, the desire has grown faint and I can express clearly that which I want. You, whole and total. You, extinguisher of desire. You, plum-shaped reservoir of my thought. Angel in a thin silk dress. A nymph balanced in sprinkling rain. Kind of heart and broad wings encircle to devour me. I die in you who does not know me but gradually breaks open the cavern of my heart.
In poem on 8 October, 2012 at 00:34
In that delicate night
You and I were
In Uncategorized on 8 September, 2012 at 18:06
These passing faces speak to me of kindness and social mores
They seem so competent; I am less than.
I get by through a progression of chewing on inconsquences
And then, in one of these conversations, a story opens
And the space between us vanishes
This pearl diving through swamps – concerts, meetings, work situations, storytellings –
Yields so much comfort.
The minerals of life ebb and merge through, finally.
In poem on 18 June, 2012 at 15:14
If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure it. I will keep still and wait like the night with starry vigil and its head bent low with patience.
The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish, and thy voice pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky. Read the rest of this entry »