Posts Tagged beauty
There’s too much sunlight.
The sky’s too deep blue.
Air sits still and glutinous
and the birds have gone quiet.
Passing tourists are briefly loud though.
Towels worn like cloaks and
obligatory American baseball caps.
Their swearing spoils my contemplation
of the pale blue painted beams
of my ceiling. Cracked old powdery paint.
The tourists pass and that barking dog
and buzzing hedge trimmer
also fade to far away abstractions.
In this extended space I swap the universe
for a calmer place where sounds are
distant and soothing sleep creeps over me
like hot fog.
The essence of all is consistent.
What adds difference
and lifts the plain to shining peaks
or reduces it to valleys dark
Beauty stands proud
as the mediator that defines mediocrity
and all that is foul and all that inspires
and all that gives life value.
It slows our time
and distracts the mind and the eye
and causes the soul to cry
and to laugh and to ponder.
If beauty be science
and the grandiosity of knowing.
Or the pause that knowing gives to observation.
And the gentle confusion that then arises.
That response we have
to a mere curve
or to a change that’s different.
Or some shift in balance between weights
that has some hidden mathematical rhythm,
or some subtlety that knows
real wisdom and causes us to falter.
Some subtle insight that speaks
of an embellishment to our view
and which stands just slightly out of reach.
That soothes our heart
as might the passing glimpse
of a friend who smiles
but who we don’t know.
It’s all too complicated. I’m tired of complicated.
I want to get up in the morning, attend to those things I need to do in order to exist, with respectful regard to whatever it is that provides those means, and then to go to sleep again.
I want space and time within this simple process that allows me to reflect on its beauty or its ugliness, and to express my responses to those in words and images. To have my quiet say.
And I want to know my place amongst others, and the world around me, and not to have to worry about whether I deserve that place or whether I understand it.
I want my process of existence to contribute to my context simply by virtue of its being.
For my love not to be considered but naturally emergent, and for other’s love to be naturally received, without thinking.
I want to be, and to understand naturally, so that I may move on with greater understanding.
Over drab hills held down
by scudding clouds,
a gap opened and sun’s rays shone down.
Splitting into a million colours
through a million tiny drops,
as the light of a star showed itself to us.
Its million aspects viewed with awe
by the only entity capable of seeing.
So see yourself in that light.
Moonlight sonata strokes my soul and makes me weep.
It reduces me to my basics.
I’m left vulnerable and open to the world.
And to the unthinking ways of people.
If you want to break me,
Then do so whilst Beethoven’s
Heart breaks also.
It’ll be easier for you.
From my window I see cars
Parked like soldiers ranked
On black tarmac that in
Street light is silver,
Whilst the sky above
Has turned black from white.
Silvered moon over the gleaming Danube.
Twinkling Budapest lights.
Where are you? Someone.
It would be good to nuzzle your lovely neck
Whilst seeing this.
Through air cold as ice they ran,
over pretty leaves of gold and brown,
crushed more dead by each soft footfall.
He caught her, laughing, and swung her round.
She saw his eyes and lent back
against thin hard vertical bark.
He cupped her face tenderly either side
and ran his hands gently up to course
her hair through his fingers.
Taking hold he pulled her head back
to show her beautiful neck
with delicate strain like his arcing cock.
And she looked up and saw the arcing trees
bending away towards the stars.
He bent low and kissed her throat,
and moved up to whisper in her ear
how sublimely beautiful she was. And she was.
As she was kissed, she watched
and saw amongst the wind drifted trees,
the silhouette of a flying bird.
She saw it watch her as she writhed
in silky analogue motion
that jumped with each digital phase
of the bird’s flight frozen
as in a freeze frame film.
And so she saw his passion granted,
as part of a universal flow.
She saw and gave and came
as the birds saw and knew.
She arced her graceful back
and squirmed across the face
of the man who knew her in his lust.
Flying up there with those knowing birds,
over the moonlit silvered trees
and through the star splintered dark,
she looked down in her ecstasy
and saw two people entwined
in their confusion and their
lust tempered by love.
Amongst the Autumn tawny leaved trees
With the oily, boiling Danube coursing by each side,
I came across the ruins of a Franciscan church.
Placing my hand on a stone embedded in one ancient wall,
My mind’s eye saw what the monk who built it saw.
Autumn tawny leaves with the Danube boiling by.
Things of real value don’t change.
The rest is ephemeral distraction.
Sweet piano sound
Drifts through the air around me
And yet I’m crying.
How do I train myself
To ignore that smooth silken curve
From neck to shoulder?
Those gentle swells
And that swinging curve
That slices through the world?
That sensous soft hair
Falling down her astonishing back?
How do I stop wanting this in her
Now that I’m of an age
That truly appreciates a beautiful woman
But is too old to be allowed
To know her?
I love you.
The way your arms bend in at the elbows,
And your incredibly small nose,
And cascading hair
That flows round your delicate shoulders
Like liquid gold.
And your larger than life eyes
That hold knowing and questions.
But then I see the lies.
The synthetic face
And the titillating thighs intended
To make desire a thing
You can play with.
As life flows by me,
I’m starting to know
The deeper water
From the vortices.
See your watching face.
Eyes musical dance sideways,
A mirror that lies.
Watching you across a red checked table
In a coffee bar.
Two cold coffees sit between us with
Scum hanging down the insides like fungus.
Grey wisp cigarette smoke rises slowly
From a black plastic ashtray in the middle of everything.
You rest your chin on your hand,
Slender fingers splayed prettily across your lips,
And you watch me closely with ocean deep
Blue eyes peering into the depths of my mind.
You smile and the world congeals.
All through that night,
As the curtains billowed inward on warm wind,
My fragrant love lay draped
Across stiff linen sheets
And sighed as she turned.
Through the open window I saw
An owl fly across the mellow yellow moon.
Did you see that?
Against that rough hewn hill
Of rough textured tweed colours,
That swooping sliver of bird flesh
Slipping through grey swept skies.
On wing feathers spread
Like the fingers of a Japanese dancer.
I look at myself,
A body unused
And full of want
For what it doesn’t
Deserve. Ah that too!
But I’m too lazy and
Like food and beer.
And my bod does
think the same.
Was it the golden Sahara sands
That flowed around me?
Or was it the sighing soft wind?
Her voice flows fluid
And languid and liquid,
Caressing around the curves.
Was that really the simple sound
Of a woman singing?
You don’t need to cry
In a world that’s made by you.
Just see the beauty.
The problem is that things that have no significance
Have overtaken those that have.
My phone bill sits here in front of me
Whilst soft rain falls outside in pashy drops
That shake bright flowers
And sends them trembling,
And small creatures run for cover
While I sit here watching and smiling.
I find my life is made small,
Like a leaf being whirled on a whorl
Of water spiralling down.
But then a warm wind blows through my hair
And thunder rumbles and rain falls
And something of a natural order
Passes by my place.
And in the aftermath
I ask why that felt so different.
So much better.
How could I live with a woman?
They take over every room and habit
And everything I do
Is subject to
A kind of long cynical criticism and moaning no matter what I did, without any discussion.
And then there’s how I snore
And they don’t. No really.
Or fart. I’m forever forgiving
And forgetting and being chilled out about
And not seeing how her excessive makeup wouldn’t look good on a trout.
And don’t get me started
On the constant insistence on being part of
Every aspect of my life
Even though she professes
To hate and despise all of it and not like my friends or my drinking habits.
And then there’s sex.
All the faffing about getting her going.
Stupid things like candles and
The right sort of over priced restaurant.
And being treated like a lady even though she’s a feminist and everything I do is always wrong.
I’d rather the company of blokes.
Tell it straight. Joke or no joke.
Be honest and accept each for what they are.
People fart. That’s the way they are.
No constant reassessment of who we are by the moment according to where we are.
Women meet you and like you and then
If you’re lucky they love you and that’s the end,
Because they’ll then devote themselves
To changing you into the someone else
That they really wanted but couldn’t find but you had the cash and seemed malleable enough.
To watch a pretty woman work her wiles
Is like watching the sun rise over a beautiful landscape.
As shadows rise and fall and colours wax and wane
And wide eyed glances undermine any pretense of mine at defence.
I confess I’m a complete sucker for a pretty face.
There’s nothing I can do.
Women rule the world
And us men are mere putty
At the sight of creamy thigh
Or breast, and all the rest.
So who’s the fool?
Such white is this
That I don’t deserve.
My soiled life does dirty this snow
Wherever I put my feet.
Wonderful that I
Should be allowed to know
Snow falls quietly.
Trees and land become silent.
A bird sings its love.
In shimmering sun splashed green today
I saw a sultry purpose rise rebellious
And quietly loud in a sexy way.
Blossom that sought to outplay
The general green lushness of everything else.
And then a bouncing robin plied its way through
The increasing volume of life
Just making some goal of the moment
But playing its part in making
The most magnificent of paintings.
Worth nothing apparently.
And the crows cawed their silly noise
And the trees moved in sympathy.
I lay there and watched and wondered
What part I played.
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.
If we’d see that each day is brand new.
On this cold and frosty night
I walked through twinkling fields
And saw an orange moon rise
Like a goddess peering over the edge
Of the bed that I lay dreaming on.
As I walked alone through
Frozen land of still sheep,
This goddess rose slowly
Over the world,
Tinting all with her golden light.
But as she rose and came to know
More of what she saw,
She started to reveal her
And it was silver.
And as cold as the grass.
Today I did an uncommon thing.
I moved slowly through
The English countryside
On my bike.
It was only six hours ago
And yet I look back on those views
As though they were an age ago.
Timeless fields and small houses,
Homes and sheds
Discreet from everything,
Passing by shimmering
In the afternoon sun.
Then the evening pub,
Talking of too much commercial nonsense
Pleasingly terminated by
An insight into
The actual nature of God.
I saw a swallow dive tonight
For a fly that it needed
It dived against
A backdrop of swirling clouds
And cerulean sky.
It lived the life
Of a swallow
Without caring why.
This is all bollocks isn’t it?
All crap and bullshit.
I mean, you’re not telling me you take it seriously?
The mortgage and the bank balance,
The terribly so dinner parties,
The right sort of suit.
The right badge of car.
This is your life?
Or are you perhaps more earthy?
Your domain is nuts and bolts and things that work,
For other people.
Earn a wage,
Don’t make money.
More honour in that perhaps.
As those sparkling stars turn slowly overhead,
And small birds sing their small part
On quiet, still misty mornings,
And all creatures wake and do their thing
Is your contrived vision really worth their beauty?
What are you doing? And why?
I don’t think you know,
And if you did, you’d surely cry
If you had any awareness of the place of your soul
In the many dimensional universe
That you think you know.