Archive for category Around 2004 / 2005

Short love

 
 
It was dawn’s cool cusp
As moonlit mist
Drifted towards us
And horses stood statue still
And trees floated sentinel,
Misted vignettes against twinkling sky.

You clung to me, I held you tight
And stroked your slender neck
To soothe and soften
The pain of life’s fight.
Caressing hands, shy to touch,
Unsure of motive and loathe to hurt.

Unfair that in seeking affection
We need be wary of such deception.
That to be so gentle and close
Could be known as gross misconception.
I wanted love and you did too
And in those two hours we knew

A kind of love more sincere
Than many of those trapped together
By obligation not need.
We were human, alone in God’s domain
Of stilling dark with shimmering light
And we merged in scent and skin and touch

And tiny caress ’til lust and passion
Raised their smirking heads
With twinkling eyes and desperate hands
To manifest the other side of our desire,
To make complete our short love until,
Refreshed and human once again,

And in our guilt, regret and joy,
We went our ways, more complete.
That richer moment in our lives
Shall always be there to recall
When we, in thrall to loneliness
Relive that sweet and simple togetherness.
 
 

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Identity

 
 
I gorge peach becomes human.
I breathe air becomes me.
I breathe out my body.
The water that makes me
Once ran down the Nile,
Once formed a crocodile.

Where is the edge between this world and me?
All is contiguous,
One blended entity.
We exist as a drop of water
In the sea. No distinct identity.
Our sense of self then is immaterial.

This is the greatest proof
Of soul as a truth,
Which allows us to feel whole and discreet.
It exists like a permeable membrane in water
And contains us. Defines us. Each.
But the atoms and stuff of the universe we see

Flow through and between us
As we eat, live and breathe.
Our bodies are bubbles of identical matter
To the earth and the air and the trees.
It’s only our souls that allow us to care
And to know and to love and to see.

And when we move on from this liquid domain
And become free of illusory form,
We shall see what we are and meld yet again
To a more vaporous medium by far.
Where all of us join in one uniform sphere
Of pure harmonious joy.
 
 

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Echoes of a son

 
 
I took him back and he looked at me.
His eyes spoke loud and I sighed and went away.
Nothing I could say.

I live in this garden now.
But he still plays and races and laughs
And I can see him.

Is reality a product of my eyes?
Or is my mind  the true source
Of all mankind and all is what I need it to be.

Is time a process that belies the truth?
That my son still plays here?
My eyes lie but my mind knows better.

Time is just a trick designed to fetter
Our hopes and desires.
I choose to live when things were better.

 
 

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In some quantum space

 
 
In some small space
in time
sits a thought of mine.

Like a golden nugget
buried
in perennial slime.

Disconnected from the rest
and so unable
to truly form.

Part of some particulate
nature
from past or future.

And I am with it.
It is me.
There making what the world is.

Whilst even reflecting
on itself
in vicious spiral

like a black hole.
Beyond events.
Never to change anything.
 
 

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Emotional shapes

 
 
If emotions had shape,
They’d look like clouds.

Happiness would wander across deep blue.
Small and fluffy
With no grey hue,
Just bright and white
And light with the joy of it all.

Sadness would be dull and flat,
Covering all with deadpan still.
Heavy and low.
An oppressive pall
That stills and removes the reason for all.

Anger would billow up mighty and high,
Both screaming white and threatening black.
Flashing and roaring
And threatening the world,
Diminishing all in it’s track.

Love would be smeared across calm grey blue
Like watercolour smudged with tears.
With tints of orange, pink and red
As the fiery sun finally calms
And leaves us to be content.

Hatred would be roiling low
With turbulent tones of black and grey.
Rumbling past at tree top height,
Spitting and glowering
And dulling the light.

Jealousy would be hazy and thin.
Oppressive, confusing with Turner sun
Corrupting the light,
Distorting our sight
And leaving truth limpid.

Compassion would settle gentle and still.
A quiet white mist
On the valleys and hills
That makes us stop
And consider the ills of the world.

Hope would be high and textured and white.
Bright lacy ribbons stretched across blue.
Threads of potential
With definite shape
That hold new promise of change in the wind.

Fear would be fog, silent and dark.
Obscuring the truth, sly moving stillness,
Drifting around us to get round behind us.
Sinister spirits that steal our judgement
And make us like fools, lost.

 
 

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Other face

 
 
My other face dies
And I look on and laugh
As it shrivels.

Then a new one
Appears as I move
Through many mirrors

In search of the real me.
And then he appears.
And I understand

That all of him
Is just a bare reflection
Of what you see.
 
 

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Churchyard rainsound

 
 
I hear the dead whisper in the trees
As raindrops shatter on quivering leaves.

Dead buried beneath
Long probing roots in soft flesh earth,
Where the dead of man and plant
Merge in compound harmony,
Watered by the juice of clouds,
To rise skyward through woody sap
And raise their voices in sibilant rainsound
In praise of the God of life.
 
 

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Peach light

 
 
I saw peach light flow
Into sparkling silver brook
To run twinkling
Between earth and air
To nourish life there
With the fruit of the sun.

I saw clouds tumble roughly
Over rough hewn hill,
Drenching and quenching
With precious liquid,
Sustaining broker,
The source of life.

I saw limpid waves
Flow in silken grass,
To climb trees and rustle leaves
And dry the earth.
To lift the source
That it might fall again.

I saw flowers bloom of every hue.
Whose natural wisdom
Made one red and
The other one blue?
One living God comprising all.
Beauty, good and evil too.

I saw you there.
Of sun’s sweet nectar,
Earth’s rich texture
And sky’s cool moisture.
Stroked by the gentle hand of wind.
One living creature, one seamless creation.
 
 

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The man

 
 
The man saw with awe
The mountain high above him.
His lamp glowed brightly.

He set out running
With certain understanding
Of his direction.

Warm sun gave him strength
And his heart knew to conquer.
And the sun faded.

Head bowed to the task
Through hinting mist wet went he
And yet could not see.

The ground grew steeper
As knowing, he laboured on
In blind certainty.

More lamps glowed round him.
He sought not friends but to strive
In competition.

He was brave and strong.
His lamp was growing fainter
But he did not see.

Mist grew thick and dark
And he started to stumble.
Sure of his foothold.

And then he looked up
And saw sun where he was not
But where others were.

With lamps not needed
As his grew dim and fog
Said nothing of use.

He cried out in shame.
And the mountain stood tall still
Above him in awe

Of  his bloodied feet.
And he knew that the mountain
Was still high and strong.

And he cried the pain
Of those others holding lamps
For he saw their fate.

But he knew also
That to learn is to climb high
But the view is poor.

He faded away
And died knowing that the light
Of others grew bright.
 
 

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As I age

 
 
Well I know how they feel.
Those fish.
In enveloping
Cold water.

Like a straightjacket
That forms you
From freeform
Swaying slither

To pixelated proxy
Person who may
Or may not
Actually be.

Constant squirm
To move elsewhere,
But still
The slime clings

And moves with you.
You are what you become
And it grows as you go.
And you seem to have
So little choice as you grow old
And conform to the flow.
 
 

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Traffic

 
 
In some traffic
A man sits
And squeezes his steering wheel.

In sole train focus
he sees the world
So fraught and tense.

He aches with angst
And longs to be
Somewhere else.

And slowly, clouds roll by.

He sees himself
Somewhere to be
And not here now in traffic.

And no speed sufficient
To quench the furious fire
Of need to move his car.

And still those clouds roll by.

People pass in quiet moves
As he moves
In his world past them.

And they in theirs.
In quiet preoccupation
With cage frame mysteries.

And still those damn clouds drift.

Mechanical chorus as
Things change and move
Onward.

As slow drift nonchalant the clouds move.

And no one sees but him.
How he seethes with goal
Unfulfilled.

Yet still no effort by clouds.

How we try to make
Our lives
Yet they have somewhere to go

Already.

Like clouds.
 
 

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Dilemmas

 
 
I defy the dark
And see with eyes wide open
That this life is rich.

All I need is here
If I would just concede that
I starve to be fed.

But I myself am
As I try not to deny
The man that would be.

As the storm blows strong
And I bow to take the strain,
I stand and know peace.

Others cry with me
And laugh at the irony
Of such small gestures.

But mutual sight,
And in moving together,
We light the darkness.

Common dilemmas.
And alone we spend our pain.
Singular joy.

And sadness of course.
As wonder given to us.
Shines in the darkness.

Other’s light we see
But unless we think to know,
We love despite us.

So now Eden’s dead.
New man’s world is here instead.
We are such rich apes.

But we need to move
As one with the rest of  us
To learn to be still.

We don’t stand alone.
One life has many aspects.
Some are not our own.

Perhaps we’ll flourish.
But we may die in darkness,
In our brilliance.

Such dilemmas.
 
 

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The edge

 
 
In some boiling pot somewhere lies
Some bubbling guts and bursting eyes.
Remnants of some life spent
In malcontent.

I defy you to tell me
I’m destined to be down there.

I stand in some smooth green perfection,
Some field so green
And smooth
And punctuated by trees

And birdsong so sweet.
Yet there. Just over there.
Is that thin, dark line of cutting precision
That divides me from there.

So close. Where’s my way?
I tell you that line is a small thing.

It just needs acknowledging.
And you can stay green and free
And dance the wind with me
By seeing how close the edge is.
 
 

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Open space

 
 
Open space sense
Washed my weary mind
Of city crowd dust.
Focus flew to join the clouds
And drift soar
Over endless blue.
Sweet song of nature
Flowed through to
Calm and quiet and sooth.
This real is now.
Vague future no more
Lost to some hazy horizon.
There’s reason to be glad
 
 

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I saw light

 
 
I saw the dark once,
In the light
Of day

And saw two halves
Of me.

In shadow I hurt,
In light I rose
To see all as it really is.
 
 

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Waking

 
 
I woke this morning as the white milky light
Was turning to butter
And the air was thick with birdsong.

That buttery birdsong drifted over my quilt
And soothed and refreshed me
With sweet air I could taste.

I was drawn into the world
From dreams disturbed
And was calmed when I saw this truth:

That the world carries on and is beautiful too
What ever my mind does become
In the depths of the night, with fretting and fright,

The sun and the air, the beauty everywhere
Can chase those ghosts away.
We’re all so lucky to be able to wake

And see this natural way.
That nature renews our life each day,
And that nothing is sure as we plan our way

With so many assumptions about each day
That ignore nature’s nature
To give us a new chance

To start things right again.
Every day.
If we’d see that each day is brand new.
 
 

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Wineblood

 
 
Funny thing wine.

Red as blood it moves
Through the veins
Like a robber
Stealing your senses
And persuading you that
Life would be better
If it took up permanent residency.

Like a mother.

The bazooka of reason it
Commits treason
And leads you into
Ways that you
Wouldn’t normally follow.
Folly? No because I like it so
And can say what I feel. I think.
 
 

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Life wish

 
 
I’d hate to think that on that day
When I lie there dying I couldn’t say
That I tried to know the right way
And I did my best by all I knew
And even those who’s plight I knew
Little of gained from my insight
As I made my gift to the collective
Effort of the human race
Making it’s way through time and space
Whose domain I leave with final vision
That we needn’t worry about this illusion.

That all will be fine as I die and I know
That it was all a test to see if I knew
What was right
And what was wrong
And I did my best and passed.
 
 

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Flight

 
 
I wish I could fly
High above all this stuff
That seems so grounded
And dull.

To rise up above it all
And look down and know
What it all is.

That would be good.
And would help me to see
What’s worth being this way.

Because I don’t like it much.
And it irks that my blood
Should be ticking my life away
Whilst I’m confused.

I’d like to know what to do.
A higher view might help me to see
Where I am and avoid me
Being damned by ignorance.

Wisdom you see
Would let me be right
But to gain that golden fleece,
I need flight.
 
 

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Music

 
 
What is music?

So strong it can right wrongs.

A sound or a way of seeing?

Some harmony that stops us being wrong.

So small
Is birdsong.
Yet so healing.

The rhythm and ups and downs
Of life are mirrored
In it’s wordless explanation.
 
 

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Old wall

 
 
There’s a wall outside my place
That’s old and crumbling but strong.
It’s made of earth and stone and things
And I look at it and I think

How I’ll become that stuff one day
And how good it would be to look down and say
That at last i’ve become strong
And something with character

That serves a purpose.
Life is cyclical. We go
Round and round.
But at least we’re able to see this

As people, in this state.
How would it be if fate
Declared that we should only be
What we perceive ourselves to be?

We can be so more in this life
And after. Why wait for walls
When we can overcome what we see
As strife and know
That we have the highest perspective?

Our bodies remain
Like sediment in a drain.
But ourselves can understand this
And rise to gain

An understanding
That passes all this by.
We could be God
If we’d only try.
 
 

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Observe

 
 
There are times when I sit in my car and watch
The world move independent of me
Like a documentary on a TV screen. I see

The world as one, disengaged and remote.
Things are silent and just happen.
Random yet interdependant.

Trees twitch and cars move and clouds float,
People walk past each other in their own worlds.
And it all happens without me.

I’m detached.
Where am I looking from?
Where are they now?

Does each participant
Know only their own world?

Have I achieved something
By being able to watch them all?

It’s a delicious feeling.
Unconcerned. Not responsible.

Quiet. Calm. Placid.
But unable to impact.
Like being a ghost perhaps.

But I’m able to be
Anything I want to be
By being outside.

Not making reference.
And the clouds are so beautiful.
My life shall be like that.

Formed by things not subject to some format.
Taking shape according
To an unseen force that knows right.
 
 

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