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Posts Tagged ‘self-’

BRIGHTER THINGS

the wriggling of spirits
or the
mutterings of mitochondria
or
the pulse and heartbeat
of greater beings
upon whose breast
we sleep

or the echoes only
of winds and rivers,
a shared
but not immortal soul
journeying
the infinite spaces.

thought:
It a sign
that we are inhabited
by brighter things.

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A PARTICULAR DEVICE

When we look so close at life inside us,
it simply becomes a tree of madness
where ghosts host and catcall,
swapping bodies and their nightmare mysteries
( from which we have never, ever, recovered).
Such strange animals. So many hands.
So many dances. So many attributes.
A collective deity ( or a pan Demonium).
There is a clue in it all somewhere,
a clue, a clew, a thread, a maze,
a spider, a monster, an eater of the charming ones,
a hungry axis, a deliverer,
a coin on his eyes and on his tongue.
The rite of the Opening of the Mouth,
escaping gravity through the small angled shaft,
homing on the singular, most singular star.
Dust to dust. An assay of hearts
before the animal-headed ones.
We are Jongleur, kindly admit us.
Remove our head. Give us the bliss of love and asses.
Return us whole to the world without end.
And let us cease to burn.
Let our mouths be filled with the cool waters.
Seven rivers from the Garden.
A lascivious sprouting of leaves, a splayed, secret hand of fig.

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This land,
The land of the dead,
A second skin, translucent,
Golden.

At the centre of each apple,
The sign of love:
The fivefold mutable, son and mother.

Over mountains a cream and violet fog,
Rolled, undulous, attentively folds.
A mysterious union,
Somewhat secret and holy.

The sky, a long vowel, holding its light.
A fluent time,
A tickled, breezeless sigh.
Not so still as to be nothing.

For the tiny roar
Of valley trees, a whispered thing
Measuring miles.

Vaporous drop,
Drip, congealed,
A reflected skin of nothing,
A silver round fruit,
Womb, belly, dream.

This skin
Is our beautiful horizon,
An inner organ.
Our own birdsong:
A poetic heart.

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MIND STREAMS

(for ‘Book of Voices’)

There is a landscape
Knitted over with slim streams.
Bright and dark, loud and whispered,
Each, eternal threads worming
Stories of thought and thoughtlessness,
Stories of song and reasons and whys.
Whole histories, whole epochs, whole aeons.
A continuity of dream, a muttered heart.
A thousand voices vying for eyes,
A turn of attention, an immersion in,
An interpretation of, an affirmation.

Some sing, some skirl, some shout.
Golden chained, ear to tongue,
A merry dance, a forced march.

There is a dark, tangled tree.
From my tongue it pours sap
Through throat and lung,
Wrapped to rooted loins.
A lean language, tango Argentinian,
A whipcrack thing, sinuous sine,
Insinuous, inescapable, one
Of a number of souls.

(On the black hill, a scattering of snow,
The bare trees spell out the names
Of distant saints born from rivers,
All borne to the sea, a tidal deity
Coming and going, coming and going.)

I carry with me, pelican-like,
All the souls, black and noisy as jackdaws,
On the tree from the mother inhabited
Down to now, a flock of sharp eyes
And voluble tongue……

—-

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THE SUBJECT AS OBJECT,
OBJECT AS GROUND
OF BEING.
ON EDGES
AND BELONGINGS.

Tat tvam asi
(That I am)

How to merge,
how to remain,
how to see beyond corners,
in darkness wells.

In deserts,
the sand-filled mouths of raving saints.
In forests,
the still elegance of shadowed eyed.

How to merge, yet remain.
How to allow in,
yet keep clambering upwards.
I.
Mistaken identity.
The signpost as the destination.

Cleverness and guile all our days,
we forget to let go the tight bands,
corsetted edge, held in,
possessed and unpossessed,
apart, separated,
vulnerable to elsewhere,
withered by time,
an erosion of horizons,
alluvial plains, fluvial deposits,
drumlins, morraines.

The debris of becoming something else.
A knot, nor a net.
Next, betwixt, between.
Amongst.
A singular deception.
A swell, a tide, a sea, a surge.
A chorus of voices.

Solar mansions.
A circle divided remains a returning path.
name me and I shall vanish,
dancing around the fire.
Foolishly,
I know all things,
but have forgotten how to dream,
and so am rootless
awaiting celestial bees.

Meander.
The great river.
The sky roofed path.
Wonder of wonders.
Breath out.

Looking,
it eludes us.
Remain still, somehow,
forgetting skin.
A vessel.
Is it form, is it emptiness?
Neither, nor, not.
No lessening is it,
ever, ever.

—–

A roaming around ideas on Self, what is ours, what is beyond, where memory might abide, and asking why should there be limits to our wonder.
Stirred by “Immunity” http://manoftheworld.wordpress.com. I am always a we, a cellular empire. I is also a view, a sharing and borrowing of voice.

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NAMED

My name is
‘far from home’

My name is
‘forgotten, lost,
Misplaced’

I name myself
Under all the names
Others have bestowed.
I name myself the seed
The root, the star
Hid by cloud.

I name myself
‘moonlight on roofs’,
Hugged hollowness,
Footsteps echoing.

I name myself
‘mystery, scribble,
Equation’
Mistaken meaning,
A long road alone.

I name myself
‘roaring voice,
Bitterness, waker’
Too polite to manifest
World’s joy in wrath.

I name myself
‘uncertainty principle,
Void, precipice’.
Carrying a carapace,
A studied, practiced armour.

I name myself
‘foolish mirror,
Cascading breath,
Contusion of thought,
Knot’.
A persistence of error,
Circuitous conclusion,
Stumbled silence.

I name myself
‘No one is alone,
Wedded to their shadow’
Given form, formed,
Framed, fragmented.
By their shade
shall ye know them.

I name myself
‘rapture, remote view,
Releaser, pinion,
Branch, web, slurry’.
A cascade of chivied cells
Unconcerned, nested.

I name myself
‘shattered, frozen,
rainbow’
Shard spinning,
Glint and gone.

Each name an edge,
An arrived at limit,
A turning away.

Each, a thin ledge
Gratefully clung to,
A place to leap from.

I name myself
‘not object, not subject.’
I name myself
‘vowel’ with no
Restraining consonant,
A howl,
No glottal stop.

The sound of morning.
The sound of evening.
I call myself
‘remaining,
Abiding,
Concealment’.

****

( the sketch is for a silver pendant i am designing: dragon dance. Sort of sums up flaming throught the void that these words also evoke, I think)

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