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)
Photo by Pixabay on 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
WP synchronicities…I was feeling an overwhelming desire to play the piano, which I haven’t done in a very long time, then this was one of the first posts I saw just a little while ago when I got onto WordPress. What a beautiful song, thank you for sharing it Stephen!
(no one knows me) like the piano in my mother’s home
Oh burdens,
I see you looking at me, wondering what I will do with thee you
getting back to the start of see
and the art that shrunk inside of we
the dancing child on a whirl of glee
escaping truths that stifled three
layers of self, intrinsically
defensive, now the wired psyche
is unravelling
ever so peacefully
So Nigel, has done a lovely thing of reading a few poems, including a couple of mine, to honour the contribution to the poetry world by women poets. I love how he does his readings, and feel moved to be a part of this beautiful post (with a dignified giggle at the end 🙂 )
My dear friends, I have today for your delectation something rather special. It struck me how many wonderful, famous and celebrated poets are women compared to say artists in the world of painting.
This is something I’ve also noticed within our own circle, and so I feel both honoured & privileged to have been given permission by the following poets to recite their work. Below is just a small sample of the amazing art to be found and enjoyed.
If you’ve a favourite piece you’d like read I’m always looking to expand my ‘Alchemists of word’ section. Don’t be shy or humble for I’m not a critic or academic, just someone who loves the written word.
VIKTORIA AT MY BLEEDING WORDS
Ashes Ashes – by Viktoria
The dimming cinders of my spirit
Lay glowing feebly in the night
The smoke escaped my every merit
The arsonist: life’s pain and…
View original post 509 more words
Rain, rain, come and stay.
My heart’s membranes need your weight,
life’s numb perforate.
harps in the desert.
She bled the ache
for unplayed notes
on the horizon.
She tremored between here and there,
filled with a terrible,
beautiful, unknowing
that she was learning to play.
I’m sorry, I can’t read
your long soliloquy
And I know this wants to rhyme
But it shouldn’t.
Maybe sometimes.
Because now my mind is
going through the racks
of the vintage store I loved, years ago.
Sparkly and kitsch
eclipsed by the pitch
black of memories in coat pockets
and the spark in eye sockets
as they held my joyous orbs
of sight.
(It took time and care
to find the gems there.)
There are many ‘clever’ souls
refining our fright,
our ear muffs on tight
as we step back in night
with our swords drawn.
But in this tiny blog space
there can be only one
tribe, that is.
If any at all.
And in case you were wondering,
it’s the human one.
I wish Tootsies still existed.
The craftsmanship was something to behold, and enjoy, and get lost in
(of varied conversations, I mean.
The clothes were rather beautiful, too).
I typed my thought in
to the search bar of my mind
and lo! it timed out!
~+~
My brother and I were discussing the Beatles, and I reminded him that in an interview, Paul McCartney was asked what it was like to be the best song writer in the world. He said something like, “I don’t know, ask Neil Finn!” Thus began another CH listening spree.
This song was, firstly, a Split Enz song, (1984) appropriately recorded at the end of their life as a band. Then CH re recorded it at the beginning of its life. It was a big deal (the dissolving of Split Enz) for Australia and New Zealand.
This Easter has been a time of new beginnings for my brother and me. Can you hear me smiling? And, as much as many talk about walking away from toxic relationships, or people we just don’t like, or maybe, we are just spoilt and things aren’t going the way we think they should, for me, this is about walking away from the terrible thought patterns I had developed over the years. I honestly can’t think of anyone I want to walk away from. I would much rather walk away from the bad way I have handled some things.
Here’s to new beginnings. And to wiser loving. Of others, and myself.
it’s funny isn’t it
the way we nod with our eyes
but disagree with the size
of an unspoken epiphany
and all the snips and the clips of we
trying to gather themselves up
to be examined
in the light bulb moment
that might change on the morrow
the nuances of sorrow
and the other venn diagrams
we find impossible to share
as we try to bear
the broken glass of the light bulb
in our hands
in childhood.
Those tears –
crystallised
in hovered cadence,
unspoken
epiphanies’ radiance,
beyond the reckoning,
the reasoning
of fractured eyes
and thwarted whys,
bursting up through the belies,
the linguistic instant
of heartfelt cries
angelic.
(I remember seeing this on television when it was first performed. and the music wrecked me (no pun intended). I am not Catholic, but this small section was my favourite part. For those of you who practice it, God bless your Easter meditations.)
Originally posted: April 15th, 2017
(Just discovered this video no longer plays here, and likely other places. I found this one but the quality is not nearly as good, unfortunately. The snippet I loved is between 6:50 and 7:35.)
Summer stretches out
the viscous my mind’s pushing
through, enticing me,
to take a dive down
into the undulating
clarity telling
myself that it is
possible to take with me
what I know now and
swim without any
paraphernalia, (like
er, oxygen tanks?)
No, that’s not what I
mean. So I should take a breath
and when I find me
down there thrashing the
life I think is unique to
me in my naive
(but adorable)
youthfulness, I would say, “HEY!
You need to hear Dwight.
And wear these goggles.
(And don’t open that email.)
And trust me. I’m you.”
originally posted, March 21st, 2017
These rules baffle me,
makes grammar seem so grammar-
ly, while habitat
poetic should not
be stoic-ly honed, watch me
analysing some
prosetry there with
crossed toes, and spaces filling
not where they should be.
I’d rather splash ’round
before diving into this
language embrace of,
of finest syntax
enveloping me, bathing
astonish-ed-ly,
your words of divine
crafting, filing pieces of
your soul. Absorbing,
inspired, what I am
trying to say, is that my
heart has grateful eyes.
If I throw out these words, will you arrange them?
If I scour these flakes off my thoughts, will you x-ray them?
Am I lazy, or just tired? So tired
I want this pain psychosomaticly fired. You’re fired.
It’s time to find
the coloured pencils again,
and I want those ones
with the erasers on the end.
Is that a thing?
It should be.
But maybe, instead,
a soft, downy bed,
and catholicons that rhyme,
making perfect the climb
out from cellular breaths,
releasing those deaths
that long to be free.
(Good night ❤)
passing around
these truths like hot potatoes
coming aground
on sooths from tenured sayers,
this chartered territory
is predictable and free not free
let’s try this other fork
in the road, forest, desert, Wiggles song, social media
mind map
to our lungs…
I, oh so love, that Murray is in this…
Lyrics:
this rake isn’t as heavy as I thought it would be,
I feel your suggestions as you’re watching me
make these corrugations –
portal permutations,
at least,
they were in my dreams,
the ones
bursting from the seams
of my mind’s eye.
From here below periphery,
silent door’s epiphany,
you hear my eyes as you look at me…
one of my current ear worms. if you need a little energy boost, or a push through a portal or something…(and if this video doesn’t play for you because you don’t live in the best country on earth 😉 there is this acoustic version:)
Lyrics:
So after FFP and I figured out how to share this, because I am a bit share illiterate, and we are staring at our screens wondering where the ‘reblog’ button went…I am giving this a go…
If you are so inclined, click on this. I thought it was a gorgeous piece. And by piece, I mean the poem, as lovely as the artwork is.
LOVE it FFP!
(Also, I love that it’s not on Valentine’s Day).
Enigmas like this Don’t come ’round every bend: How best he be told, (In language aptly bold) Of the love, The constant LOVE I have for the storm of him? My impassions brimmed, I aim at words to tell it all, Make other love-claimers ashamed, Inadequate– Though even my claim is not Commensurate To the […]
via Alp — Fitful, Fearful, Phantasmal
