This is so very beautiful. If you have the time, watch the gorgeously crafted video.
harps in the desert.
She bled the ache
for unplayed notes
on the horizon.
She tremored between here and there,
filled with a terrible,
that she was learning to play.
Inverted in space,
suspended in the north
with a southerly persuasion,
my heart grown in two,
I want to break off to keep,
but my weeping hands
sift the fractures in wrong places.
I hold on instead –
ached to this perfect petal,
floated away on familiar
originally posted 30th Jan, 2017
it’s in the title
or it isn’t
I probably meant that
or I didn’t.
am I awake now
or I’m isn’t.
did I mean that
no you didn’t.
where’s the pilot
don’t look closely
but we want that
(please stop eating everything.)
this was written after a chat with Tony Single. Thanks for the encouragement Tony!
that gibberish you wrote
on that napkin
if you folded it into a swan
or some other kind of origami
(the process of which
eludes and/or evades me),
then maybe we would get somewhere close
the mysterious grasp
(published March 1st)
how I rushed headlong into the un understanding
I wonder about the phones we made…tin cans on the end of string
your voice so clear
so why did we start playing chinese whispers instead
hanging the whispers on the string like ornaments…
A collaboration I’m honoured to be a part of! About one of my favourite things! Thanks Stephen.
he was afraid
the tenacious unspoken
in a thousand fragments
would crash down on him.
he was amazed the trees
were not bowed from the weight
of that thing they couldn’t say
and he remembered that song…
he looked up at the changing of the colours to paradox –
it would be the paper cuts
An old one, but a favourite. And I’m feeling a little old today.
I always thought
I could stack up my regrets
and one day
I’d dig out that really helpful ‘ten steps to freaking whatever’ instruction manual
and while holding it in one hand
kick the stack over
into the wind.
What a gorgeous day…
this self sufficiency shit really works.
But that’s my parallel universe.
I so love it there.
I ponder it
from the bottom of this deep hole my regrets
in the weaving waves
of sound sublimity,
the embossing of the
by the cerebral unity,
g(r)asped by incredulous senses converted
to heights of clarity –
the aching symphony
scaffolding the wholing
it’s always the same,
the way time travels through
my state of wellness, slow motioned
behind my lightening thirst for sensical,
my cells’ disarrayed dismay –
begging for meaningful placement
in the shadow
of this storeyed tattoo.
swirling and seen
as we drift into sleep.
so long in the past
our impressions were cast
our friendship to keep.
our young minds so moved
the lyrics manoeuvred
to capture the steep
rise and the fall
of broken hearts’ call
the standing that’s reaped.
Thirty years on
our friendship, blessed, strong
lament’s aura seeps
into sympathetic hearts
For dear Melissa, my friend from high school, the times we fell asleep to this gorgeous song. (I was so tempted, Mel, to write, “manooved” in the poem 🙂 )
And to those who struggle with serious addiction. My heart is filled with empathy ❤
(EJ, that mystical harmony channeller)
wakened by nightmare nameless
startled by unwritten faceless
moroseless blank, defy definition
emotions wired past recognition
cell phone spotlight scanning the condition
the corridor shrinks with a song…
tomboy in a tutu
achingly moltened by music
that conjures the swell
and spills you
my heartbeat craving to express
of cascade four dimensional
electrodes through to terminal
sated by chords of complex clarity
translated without disparity
in a child’s
(The seed for this post was planted by Yassy. Thank you!)
This wonderful poem
reminded me of this wonderful song, by one of the most remarkable poets, imho.
Nick Cave lost one of his teenage sons over a year ago. It was tragic, he fell from a cliff. I wondered at the time if something as catastrophically devastating as that would paralyse his art creating. But of course, I was wrong. We are talking about Nick Cave, after all…
The immutable reality of change
the longing to keep “before” in range
it’s cratered the cortex of my being
and reverse refracted all my seeing
my inner core blinded by the white
lasering the absence on my sight
the snow in sympathetic silence
weakening the contrast in my blindness
reaching for the knowing of the past
the sewing pain of beauty will not last
or the hope is, it will, in fact, diminish
and these lines, for now, remain unfinished…
with that prodigal note,
my heart falling to its knees
in the reunion.
First day of the year.
Evaluating movement through life’s substance. (Or is it residue?)
Remember when you told me Vaseline was made from gasoline, and here, have some for the healing…
Remember how we wanted that clown for the party?
(I tried to publish this three times and WP didn’t save it for some reason. Hence the title 🙂 …I thought it was just me. Maybe it is…)
The words of sages
supposedly wise supposedly.
Ancient repackaged as new.
The air choking with nuances amiss and/or askew,
complacencing my view.
The forest floor
thickening under my feet
as I run. (Is this running?
maybe walking. maybe crawling.
maybe breathlessly clawing.)
folding me in
until I’m sure I can’t be folded
Cutting in all those places
I don’t want to be cut.
Living in hope
of being taken out of this drawer
and being in the understanding.
in the unfolding…