Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Autumn, blackbird, clouds, harvest festival, hills, landscape, mist, Poetry, rain, seaons, silence, song, time, valleys on October 6, 2013| 4 Comments »
HARVEST FESTIVAL
Cloud rests, winged.
Feathered, these upland mists.
Green grey the day along
Swathed and shrouded hills.
The still, one prayer, arcs
The scooped valleys.
(Pitted the stones,
Time-pocked).
A bell, a peal:
A gathered fruitfulness,
A hymnal of sunlit days.
In sainted, beached ship,
Sails of praise turn tides.
We become indwelling,
Folded,
The promise of rain,
The blackbird’s quiver-
Heart arrowed, liquid.
——
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Autumn, cities, emptiness enclosed, leaf fall, October, Poetry, rain, rush-hour, the lie of cities(ever empty), time-lapse on October 4, 2013| 4 Comments »
STILL VOIDED CITIES
How it is and how it seems:
The stuttered view,
Rain slanting in on warm southerlies
Grey, in tides, in waves,
A breath moist muttering
This first week of October,
(Shadows between green leaves
Turning purple,
Purple the ash keys, heavy
Beween wan, limp fingers
Counting the paling
Shortening days).
The engineer’s equations,
Crisp and sure:
The city walls
Disregarding season’s
Rise and fall.
Crystalline, always empty,
No shelter
( but a shell of concept),
Eternally still,
Void of heart
Where life slumps in
Sad blood rides,
Tides of melting
Soft flesh
Too swift to notice
This stark contrast-
Change and no change,
( the walls slow stain
With debris
Of swollen dreams
Fostered and forsworn
In these winded voids
And passageways),
These cities
Always silent, sublime,
Lit and shadowed
On a whim.
No place
For the slow dry arc,
The turning leaf
Falling in late sunlight
Lost trampled on asphalt
(The smell of new rain).
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cosmography, levels, microcosm, pathways, Poetry, systems, visions on September 26, 2013| 2 Comments »
WORLD TREE
( a local cosmography)
The tree of blood
The tree of impulses,
And finer still,
The tree of silver rivers,
The tree of memory and
The tree of possibilities.
Branching sight,
Branching sound,
The shape of light
Hitting solid edge,
The edge turned hollow
The hollow turned vessel,
The vessel filling with light.
Radiant fingers
Exploring being and not.
Holding and flowing
Magnanimous, curious,
Reacting. A central
Creating vision,
Hollow seed
Spinning
Golden outwards.
—
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, belief, drawing, dream stream, hidden things, meditation, mythologies, Poetry, psyche, sequence, voices off, yantra on September 25, 2013| 26 Comments »
WHAT THE GODS SAY
1.
These,
the ghosts
adhering to inner walls,
stains and smudge,
scribbles in haste
‘remember me’.
Words that leapfrog meaning, bray and boast their sounds, exultant cascades untranslatable, insubstantial, picked out, chosen, chaos bouquet, emphatically vague. They are summoned and summon yet more. A duty, to weigh the grains and count.
Enumerate.
Embody.
To be,
(that’s what the scholar said),
to be, only the purpose, the desperate clutch of the sliding mind, the seed to puncture shell, to push aside soil, to explode in cellular satisfaction,
only for a moment,
only a fragment spinning from sight,
(a haze of insect wing, moth dust, singeing carapace),
quick fizz of smoke
before a new
silent morning.
___
2.
The gods are talking and
who, now, will listen?
( except the still heads, still ears of cats, furled limbs, breathing soft).
The songs drunken with time, beyond reasonable explanations, beyond vocabulary, even.
A world rhythm,
geologic heart,
solar wind tatters,
a raiment of light.
Bruised and blue, bullied, subdued with belief, the weight of knowing, the want of neat ends. The jazz ravings disdained, we stutter, scatter, mutter into neat insanities, inexcusable attrocities, the most urbane deniabilities: accepted gospels, ( polite murmur, a scatter of slight applause).
Damned, chained,
not fit for consumption,
bagged, tagged, dumped.
Peeled back, flayed, hearts melted, livers liquified, bones removed, it rattles yet: the endless excuses, one more throw, red or black, no more bets.
Certainly, a certain outcome.
These flickering words dissappear.
Peals of laughter.
Exit stage.
Silence.
—-
3.
The giants, ensorcelled, (confined to the bitter end, the edge, paled and wan)
Believe they begin to believe they doubt their own existences. Instead, we have designed
Towering tree houses, worlds on a toothpick, serpents performing charity,
Clever monsters spruced up, natty dressed, elocuted, certificated
Charm themselves into, insinuate, invade and invalidate the belated wakers.
They are now the boys in charge, elegantly rewriting memory,
Railroading necessities. The taste for giants long past, evaporated ice.
——
4.
Shall I list the devatas, the demons and angels, ( who bear the identical of names, who bear the burdens of our blame). Pinned out, wings splayed, members politely erased, genders hushed up. Who strode worlds: now only the names of new cars, lines of fashion, confections. Reincarnate as pet dogs and cats, the endless dreaming of glories, biding time.
—-
the images are taken from a longer sequence of drawings, yet to be titled and still ongoing, an animation of stillness, a shout of silence
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged abstract, being, drawing, fooled by randomness, graphics, moon, movement of mind, night emissions, of seasons, Poetics of space, Poetry, sketches on September 24, 2013| 8 Comments »
MOON RENDERED SAVIOUR
It drifts, it slips, slivers, divides, diminishes
Slides, slides
Though the sky moves not,
Though the silence remains.
Heart’s division
An ache, a season,
A mist, a smoke of lust
Unslaked, bitter as ivy.
No reason, no recall.
A habitual residue
A dust of sorrow
A settlement too familiar,
Mica, clay, chalk, bone.
Shadow moons, blue lifted light,
Relapse, rapsody, requiem.
A heavy ransom for gold,
A skirl, spiraling chill.
But this song, abstracted,
Extended, drawn out, attenuated
A nerve or a vein tampered,
No remedy but to feel more
Not less, not, never, turning away.
Control, unfurl, unfold,
Lips and fingers unpetalled.
One moment silent
Naked eye, naked ear.
Stand upright, balanced,
Worthy on the world.
______
Rather abstracted and sketched. An impressionist or expressionist, or maybe symbolist….a translation from the movement of inner zephyrs…..a little of something, though I know not what….
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art prints, Autumn, Haiku-ish, landscape, mandala, Poetry, seasons on September 21, 2013| 5 Comments »
As it is almost Autumn Equinox, here are two short seasonal pieces that arose recently.
FLICKER
He cools the air, calling crow,
A rasp of drift, the crisping leaves.
All things desire to sink earthwards
Towards a fitting sleep.
The sky left more void, blue, vast,
Scraped clear – the circling cry of buzzards.
It gutters, flares and flickers:
The nub of summer.
We become atmospheric, vapourous.
We are tumbled down, crumbled to autumn.
Made old, aged again,
Circumscribed, hemmed in
By hours of darkness.
—–
RETURNING
Light pushed at day’s end,
A cold, blue edge.
All hearts, filling, emptying, filling.
The year grows small again,
Summer’s passion eases.
We can go home,
Look inside,
Light fires,
Dream dreams.
—–
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged flow of thought, handmade, handwritten, joined up thinking, manuscripted, pensive, Poetry, scrawl on September 20, 2013| Leave a Comment »
CURSIVE
Once only this voice,
This line of sound.
One unto another
A flow of, a push of,
Outwards reach,
Mind to mind reaching
Like a tide’s reach
Stirring sands
A finger’s breadth
Beyond the possible
And then on again,
Another and another,
Creeping upwards
Into new land,
New not-self.
Rolled out, dragged,
Shaped, explored,
These sounds
Eroding the silence
Of the white page.
—
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Autumn, diary, fleeting flitters, gestures, Haiku, landscape, mind weather, momento vita, penmanship, phrases, Poetry, ruins, short poems, William Blake, word tennis, writing on September 18, 2013| 7 Comments »
INVISIBLE FRIENDS 6
Time for a new batch of scribbles inspired by other’s words here, webbed together catching jewelled flies, eating or storing them for colder, frosted mornings…
OBIT.
Terse words
for a long peal of time,
a good,
an only, place ,
for such as he to rest.
—-
GIFT
Even so,
beautiful writing,
a dove released,
vanishing into cloud.
Knowing emptiness is,
at least, knowing something.
—
ASANA
My tongue,
a bookmark,
syllabub syllables,
sutras,
plough with brows furrowed,
let us lotus,
pray pray away,
body buddy bodhi,
enlonged lungs,
a crack of knees
( not a new noise, yknow).
A sound stretching out.
—
CASTLE WALLS
The draw of ruins!
What is it?
The harsh past crumbled back,
mulch,
earth music…..
—-
GHOSTS, FLEAS, A MUSE.
We,
Ghosts
Of poetry,
Stumbling lines,
Echoed,
Staring far off:
The effort
To recall.
—-
HAY BALES
Wheels fallen off the sun wagon.
It falters and droops
towards a fall.
——
COMPOSITION, DECOMPOSITION
A dance in slightest sound:
first mind rolling mutters,
then quiets as pen flows scratching,
the silence between words,
a rush of voices.
Silence is not an absence of sound..
—-
THE GREAT WORK
Selecting or not selecting,
wearing a mask,
choosing a mask,
revealing, hiding.
Dipping in a toe,
how deep these black waters of self?
How fast,
how airlessly drown,
out of depth,
no one watching.
—-
AS WELL
As well as can be.
When we fray thin,
with time or weather,
it’s only a sign, perhaps,
to deepen roots
and not mind the storm winds,
nor the thoughts
circling laments in empty skies….
—-
