Posts Tagged ‘pen and ink-ish’


Cradled in sound.
Cradled amongst the ins
And outs of breath, of heart.
Cradled, covered, rocked.

This certain skin touched, warm.
Cradled with word,
Cradled with song.
Cradled in longing,
Cradled in dream.

This long voice,
This sunlit unfolding,
This silken morning air,
These slow, precise moments.

Voice is not
The only voice
(Says the world).
Heart has not
The only song
(Says the slow dusk).

Peace is not
(Says the river,
Says the floating trees,
Says the flight of wings above,
Says the silence of their passing).

The living sleep, the sleeping dream,
The breathing pauses, the song resumes,
We melt and merge, swathed and cradled.
Delicate is the rainbow,
Impossible to catch.
Delicate the dance:
The balance of remaining.

Cherish and sustain
Uphold and move on.
So little, so few,
A heart to hold all,
A mind of whispers.
Gently, gently,
No lamp flickers.
Scent of evening.



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As if holiness
Were a subtraction
They would have us
Feign goodness,
These bullies of belief.

Tracks of sparks in pathways of desire,
This darkened room, these walls and doors,
Appearing, disappearing.

A space to move in, a sudden halt.
Sparks and glimmer in the dark,
Sparks on roads, these gods, these equations.

This electric touch, this love glow
A scatter of sparks.
This blackbird in the morning,
This dull thud of bombs,
A scattering of sparks.

Sound and light
Sprayed along roads
Falling golden.
Configuring this dream.



continuing the themes on the nature of thought, the real, the truth, the seen, the unseen the creation of matter and the creation of meaning,

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What is said,
This moment,
This word,
Is real, torn, squeezed,
From heart and breath
And world.

This sly scribble,
A snake that curves
And curls tight,
Brain deep.
My thoughts
In your voice,
A mask,
A masking.
Laid down,
A trap, cunning gin
(Though even whispered).
Time bomb.

We sing in chords,
In chorus.
Drum on flesh and earth
Drum with feet,
Drum with tongues.
Together ululate,
A stampede, a flock.
Syncopate pulse,
We merge.

Never this
String of thought,
Tugged out to tie senses,
Alone, locked on paths
With no cessation.
A spell, an enchanting,
Mazed: ink and electron
Dancing grim tango.

Entangled, entangled
In mind or mouth,
Striving to know escape
Or to know belonging.

The mute language of skies,
The sing of cloud dissolving.

Being nothing
But ourselves
We dive down
And drown.

What i mean is
What eye can mean
What mean is even tranquil
What line dances
What dance thrills out
Worlds words
See spy the key

A cool breeze lifts the poplars
A cool breeze learns sound,
Then passes back to silence.


Sparked by a pile of books, a passage of time.
The title, originally ‘Orality’ ( a new word to me, precise and useful but somehow ugly) I changed to ‘Serry’, a very nice concise, old word that sums up both restriction and unity….( I randomly found it whilst checking the spelling of ‘cessation’!).


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Such as it is,

(All immanent),

It fades, fades, flies, falls.

Our art,

The only way

To catch the present moment,

Reflected, mirrored

On this moving, rippled

Lake of memory.



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