ebullient decay
philosophise me
unhelix my mind
and then chastise me
rhyme my poses
retime my proses
snap my beak
rethorn the roses
alphabetize me
file my shadows
then ostracise me
crime my creases
frieze my freezes
face me in to
comb with tweezers
must be those klutzy shoes…
The grey sky and sea are one today.
The only discernible difference,
the texture of the latter.
The encumbrance of the matter
in mind’s funnel
distracts and disturbs.
Protracts and perturbs
still the distilling,
the stone at my neck
is blunt from the milling.
I ponder this song about addiction.
Another one I’m addicted to.
The frictionless sky
and the turbulent sea,
I sway between
the knowing way you look at me
oh mind’s eye,
and the mystery of unease,
the sky gets me there so soon
compared to the past,
on the sea,
in a tempested moon.
(photo credit: my brother)
toxic fumed bathing,
clarity blooms from dark, the
coloured light haunts my
imagination.
Memories developing:
my jukebox romance –
cigarette, beer in
one hand, the other rests on
sound waves lovingly
Sometimes, I just need Nirvana.
“if you ever need anything please don’t
hesitate to ask someone else first,
I’m too busy acting like I’m not naïve…”
Gold.
when he looked at her,
his eyes
carrying the caveats
of a thousand dreams,
and in just the right light
when she angled her perception,
her kaleidoscopic-ed name
he’d arranged
as invitation…
“…how rare, and beautiful it truly is, that we exist…”
~
and how quickly this year has gone. It was lovely to watch this beautiful video again. Life IS precious
sifting spurious
screams “sacramental”. Tender
Word. Sanctuaried.
October
memories bare
reticulate stair
what do I wear?
October
symptoms rise
and symptoms fall
please
go on
this error in heart
sight – chipping your hieroglyphs.
sharp, ironed grief bleeds
(originally posted Dec 2016)
~
attempts to alienate confusion
decaf, a necessary intrusion
I miss you.
float me past the contusions
the knots in my shadow crave fusion
I spill you.
the fragments in frosty perfection
arranging the shards of reflection
I see you.
memory’s space incandescing
cauterise weds convalescing
I place you.
the pieces not lifed in competing
the peace not in ice but the heating
tapestried sensed in the meeting
I love you.
in lost.
Willing sacrifice
to the haunting of nature’s
ephemeral linguistics,
so lovingly stripping
mind’s creases,
ribboned into staff –
the soft landing place for notes
beloved by two
abstractly wooded dreams.
Spring shoes of eucalypt scent
skipping through snow
and leaving imprints
I don’t want to follow home…
(PS. this video is mesmerising in full screen)
“Your iron is low, oh so low,
just take this supplement, it will help the tempo
because you’re not losing weight as your thyroid is slow,
so if you just lose some weight, you’ll help yourself glow
with vitality, and something else French sounding…”
no, wait, that was my mind screeching
to a day dreaming side step
and I have a few questions now, about the sound of us pretending
we have the time matching
this fee that you’re charging
to “bedazzle” me with reasoning
cyclical
while just reading something
from the back
of a sample drug pack
“why is my iron low?
Is it because of my liver, that it just doesn’t know
that my thyroid is struggling
with what doesn’t grow
our minds and our spirits,
and I would go on
but I’m tired”
the reckoning and the reasoning and the ripening and then the sneezing
the forces unmeasured in the revolt and then the squeezing
of the music into lifelines that drip with hoped unheeding
and she’s covering her ears so no one sees the internal bleeding
with the streams of the thoughts she cannot appropriate
and the dreams and the oughts that she cannot estimate
within her fevered running soul that’s forgotten where it’s been
the itching of the scratch is not at all what they said it’d seem
and she holds the words in front of her in hands that shake with dread
they’re in her own heart language but unrecognized instead
in their current configuration that has come from somewhere other
and if only she could sleep now…
He was on his knees
rowing around her,
tears pleading,
she floating,
her lips silently
moving
composing her symphony and compiling literary
moments he was desperate to understand
the ache to the point of unbearing
but she knew he just needed help hearing/hearting/breathing…
she ever so gently
throws the life ring
(How perfect you are, o purveyor of artist’s soundless voice
to express my utter bewilderment at humans’ flailing choice-
s…)
No, you are not a divinely appointed player
to use and discard “toys” as you see fit
the creative souls in cyber land
to pluck as you cry, “I quit”
while winking at another
fingers crossed behind your back
be creative with your score card –
notches? or marks scrawled in black?
O precious souls so broken,
your self worth is left in tatters
I know you crave deep healing
but this is not what matters –
to be “chosen” by a phantom
when your worth is beyond their sight
you matter just in being,
their attention – darkest night.
Take the hands of those who care now
the lifelines that they offer
protecting pride is useless
when it’s safety that they proffer.
Humans, look what we do
when we confuse the tools we need
to really see each other…
And while she was
clawing out
the sub conscious ponderings
on definition a, b or c
of her defeated-ness,
she saw their labyrinthine thread
had finally severed.
Her heart stilled,
begging for calibration,
a gentle reworking –
the intricate cut-outs of their pain
into simple shapes.
(this beautiful song, and video of estranged brothers reunited)
through her mind’s thesaurus
she searched for other words for her wrists, singed
her edges smouldering, smoke fringed
internal edges, that is.
Scrambling through the messages in his eyes
he finds the one he wants to send her, hopefully
she’ll read it without doubt, earnestly
not doubting him, that is.
The other he, she should be doubting
he holds that glass, sun’s rays re routing
to warm her, that is
what he’s always told her…
your music
velveting through my mind
into that past
I always loved road trips
but I can’t make out the
lyrics anymore
I’m too busy with my new
thing
looking through flowers
the air has turned cold.
my thoughts turning, unfold
and you turn,
as I’m tugging
on the ontological thread
that glistens in the tread
of your psyche.
the air has turned night
and this thread
warms me alive.
(Marble image and wedding image from Pexels.com)
rightly
and wrongly, adroitly
and strongly, we
belong but perfectly
in weakly
O poor Heart
lay your weary ears down
and tilt emptied ducts
to be awash with Inchoate
and swell with a different song
