GHOST WORDS, HAUNTED WORDS
Do you know
What you are
When you are asleep?
Winter trees –
It is easy to see
What they are thinking.
A filigree of branches
The grey oaks
Wriggle their limbs
Between the long centuries.
Today I remembered
A dream of water
Perhaps from ten years ago.
And saying this
More some such arise,
Memories like dead poets:
Complete images in total silence.
It is easier to see the illusion
Of television
If the sound is turned down.
As if one entranced sense
Is not quite enough.
Awake whilst others sleep,
Somewhat like becoming a ghost,
I suspect –
Thoughts coming
In a different order,
And voices
From unexpected places.
What roads do thoughts take
When they have
Passed through
And left us wondering?
The fire is singing
Like an old man
Making tea,
Whistling a tune
Between his teeth.
Words Nest
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, boundaries, commentary, cosmologies, creation, edges, endings, existence, identity, Poetry, psychology, reply, words, writing on February 21, 2016| Leave a Comment »
But ‘we’ is not circled.
We have no edge ( though we think otherwise)
(though we think we think).
We think beginnings and endings,
we think words, breath, silence, breath,
intake the other, exhale the other.
cannot remember any moment beyond
a circumscribed horizon, cannot, even, the dreams,
nor the memories, for sure (was it, was, was it so, was it not?)
There are, of course, clues.
Vagrants, with a certain mildewed smell,
mutter slewed directions, their demon-bright eyes.
(but those we shun, as shadows,
as churchyards at night, as the insisting amoral voices in the mist,
peripheral, shuffled, ambiguous).
The long halls, the rooms, the chambers.
My dear Giordano, such equations, such equators.
So few and tired are the moronic habitual paths,
so broad the primrose paths
to Hell untrod, unstudied.
A rumour of damnation, like a roll of distant thunder,
a storm coming. Well, certainly, there is a storm coming.
From the edges to the centre, from the centre to the edges..
An ending ( of sorts).
And then it echoes around another’s skull.
Seed syllables.
The end of worlds.
The beginning of worlds.
—
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