Tag: Relationships

 

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

 

 

these…

harmonies pierce
with an arching linger

from those past knowings
we haven’t spent

forming familiar sounds,

floating

on to hushed hearts
in aching newness,

hands clasped while treading,
paths parallel but converging,

as deep translates
the haunting of melody

 

 

ebullient decay

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…

 

 

 

i love you. life is short.

the inner circle

of my mind’s eye

likes to think that they are friends

my inner ear

with the binds that tie

is pondering these loose ends

of the things you have said

that I don’t understand

the hands of the clock

are made up of sand

if you’ve noticed

grit flowing

refining my thoughts

into panic

and fun things

the calendar has taught

please excuse

squinting ears now

 

they’re impatient.

 

 

 

 

 

“adam and eve”

cropped-img_20160624_1549365683.jpg

 

crocheting continuity

in the weaving waves

of sound sublimity,

 

the embossing of the

dimensional trinity

 

by the cerebral unity,

 

g(r)asped by incredulous senses converted

to heights of clarity –

 

the aching symphony

 

scaffolding the wholing

of peace.

it’s January second afterall…

Confused by the vapid voices of renewal that languided out of the new year cake,
they did used to jump, she recalled,
she thought it was time to do something.
Something had to be done with this pile of the unsaid.

She searched for that wisdom file, the one they’d all spilt wine on at the new year’s eve party. How they laughed. Such a good night.

She wondered if she should rake through those coals over there. Some were still smoldering.

Melancholied by the cold she had a better idea.
As she cast the pile onto her knitting needles, she was struck by how colourful it was…

 

 

could you please stop tilting our equipoise

Remember that time we had an original thought?

 

Started by his voice

she put down her book.

The book with no pages.

Removing her glasses,

the ones with no lenses.

Her mouth stinging from a memory she couldn’t share,

the one she kept in that book.

 

Started by her inner voice

she paced towards him,

measuring the equidistance between them

to that thought.

Still right where it should be.

 

I must write this in my book she posed,

right after I find my glasses

 

originally posted Nov 22nd, 2016

 

pretty sure my mouth is shoe shaped

 

so, is it my mouth

or my soul

shaped this way?

 

or is mind

in sibling rivalry

with heart?

 

vying for the approval

of discordant voices,

the lens of reality between –

cracked,

distorting blood.

 

I look at the music

pooling at my feet-

the beauty of its reflection

tearing my comprehension,

sweetly serenading me

from the red of the truth.

 

what the heck do I know?

The older I get, the less I know.

Here’s what I do know:

sometimes

there isn’t a deeper meaning

sometimes

the layers are on the same plane

unzip your paranoia for a moment

and maybe I will too

but I’m pretty sure yours will take longer

so I’ll give you a head start

because

I know there are layers…

 

I’m not sure where this is going, or at what speed…

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.

2.

so who turned it over

this un snow globe of ours?

is this up?

under the boat

i ponder when the air will run out

i ponder where the air actually is

this friend/foe shield of my likely imagining

protecting me from what?

the water around us

no conductor.

you knew.

you replaced it long ago.

 

(part one)

 

 

hikikomori

I had the most interesting conversation with a dear, elderly friend recently. Every time I do, it makes me lament even more how our culture doesn’t value the wisdom of the elderly. There are times when I truly grieve over stories lost forever.

We talked about the fear of man…

the fear of God…

the misunderstanding of the fear of God and how radically it is exacerbated by the growing fear of other humans, the context being, that we believe humans were created in God’s image.

The astonishing kindness of anonymous bloggers, their anonymity injecting poignancy straight into my veins.

I told him about the phenomenon of hikikomori which fascinated him, but he immediately responded with words straight from his mature, listening heart, ‘no wonder people are afraid of God. We are forever doomed to create him in our image…’ or something to that affect. Ugh, my awful memory does not do him justice.

And this post does not do this issue justice. but I want to get in the habit of writing more regularly so this will have to do for now.

 

Post Vocalic Stress Disorder

lake bonney

Disorders. We all have them. One of mine is that I am an Australian married to an American. I kid you not. The exact nature of this disorder is a conversation for another time.

So we met at the seminary he was attending a few (cough) 20+ years ago, and what ensued were years of discussing the ‘problem’ Australians have with pronouncing post vocalic ‘Rs’. To say we are still in pretty intense negotiations over this, well…

But it seems, the whole world is suffering from PTSD.
And yet, we continue discussing things that don’t matter quite as much… like PVSD. (Especially because we know I’m right about PVSD…)

So really, Basil, my blog instigator, is about balance. Or, at least, one of the things he is about.