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Posts Tagged ‘vision’

trial3

A LOVE SONG OF THE MOON

sideways drift
long bones curve

surprising silk,
always surprising

sideways drift
lilt

dream eyelid smile
opening pale, lucent

slip slow
foam falling
drip,dribble

one drop
viscous, sweet

night falling in
acres: time blankets

enfolding white
silent gasp, always,
always

ever is
slightly vanishing

hidden, certain,
downwards

long-boned,
spine line
tingle-tipped

inward curve,
coved, curled

combed, covered,
feathered

sigh breathing
bell

snow cold
melting, settling,
melting

—-

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YANTRA

It is not is
It is not was
And neither
Is it will be.
A thrum throughout.
Wrapped, webbed, unstruck.
Root note casting out
Harmonic creation
That we are.
One chord excluding nothing;
One name with all sounds;
All faces, all gestures,
All wonderings,
All worlds.
Whatever sound you choose,
That is it.
Whatever name,
That is it.
Whatever explanation,
That is it.
Whatever denial,
That is it.
Her tongue
Wrapped around your tongue.
Her eyes
Through your mirrored eyes.
Of no form,
With no preference,
An orifice of taste,
A groan of delight.

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FILLED WITH BIRDS

Dawn glides in silence,
Settles
Crystallising
around purring cats,
(quiet watching eyes
filling each room).

This house:
A pebble set against
A river of wind.

Two days ago
The sun splashed spring,
A bright relaxing,
Filled with birds.
Now,
Winter has returned
To gnaw our bones.

Still, light is growing
At either end of day,
Stretched, though, and pale,
But welcome.

I am become an interweaving
Of days and moments,
A halting song
Made poignant
By strange harmony,
An old song
With new words
And a new tune.

Days
Filled with birds.
Nights,
Dream-filled,
Word-filled.
A pebble set
Against
A river of time.

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Atom – Heart – Mother
(Third object of transcendence).

Dark moon.
There is nothing to measure
The passing or staying of time.

A pewter plate, leaden glow heaviness
Is upon me,
Upon which ants crawl –
An incessant hunt
For meaning’s addictive
sweet crumbs.

No silver sickle,
No thin cold sharp edge to sever
Glutinous swags of thought.

Tedious, this circularity,
This inability to dive
Beyond the debris.

No owls,
No bats outside.
All opposition slain
To the blundering flight of our own
Monochromatic, monotheistic,
Magnificently naive self-appointment
As pinnacle and paragon.
The Mysteries and miracles,
Only annoying flies bouncing off
Dirty panes of glass.
The backroom boys of nightmare,
Gagged and emasculated
Now that we load
The silver bullets of rationality.
Stallions and nightmares, wild kelpies
That would drag us screaming
Below the dark, still, loch waters,
Consigned to flickering square screens.
Insanity banished,
The moths of eternity
Shattered, spiralling torches,
The quenchless fire of plutonium:
Endless yuga
Of sudden and slow, bright death.

Dark moon.
Nothing to see here.
Stars hidden
Awaiting Great Time,
O Mother of Darkness.

Clouds part a clearing,
A darker nothing beyond grey nothing.
A pause.

Travel down peripheral paths, abandoned, webbed, forgotten.
Away from the echoing vestibules and cavities trawling feckless thought.
Rooted through the feet, an anchoring of sober light.
With breath,
A river of acquiescence
Gravitates down
To our hidden heart,
soil,
solid,
matter,
mother.

A silver sewing,
A phosphorescent bond,
An electric blue tang
Of diving clarity.
An exhalation in the centre of stillness,
Stratigraphies of forgiveness,
Of forgetting, of remembering.

New wings spread
Flexed wide, descending
Upon the winds
Of interior light.
A song bursts upwards
That is a dance.

The three ways, the three channels,
The three poisons,
Become one tree
Vast and sheltering,
at once seed and fruit.
Branching senses interweave,
A galactic arch.
Subatomic tendrils reach sustenance,
abundance, belonging
And are cherished.

Sleep and the Sleeper
A moon in shadow
A silver tree ringing with light
A forest of stars.
Bitterness, a blessing
That wakes and warns.

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20120826-214348.jpg

Moon Dust.

Man
on
The moon –

Your footprints
In dust
Lasted longer
Than the dust
You borrowed,

Now scattered,
Now scattered.

Stepping
Through the mirror:

Another moon,

Another
Journey.

( in memoriam, Neil Armstrong)

———

( On the day Neil Armstrong, the first man on the moon, died I wrote a few words in remembrance. At the same time I was reminded of a poem I wrote a long time ago about three carved wooden masks of the American NorthWest Coast – Haida or Tlingit, I think. One of the Moon, one of the Sun, one that was called “Just Returned from Heaven”. Such a feeling of loss, of gain, of confusion of exaltation, of the impossibility of explaining, of the impossibility of sharing, was perfectly expressed there. The expression on the face of all those who have seen the unseen and returned…)

Returned From Heaven

I

Returned from heaven,
Face awhirl in changing jade.

Red runs under skin,
Not blood but power.

Between black brows
Is what he knows:
The wings of the hawk of heaven
And where his eyes look.

The eye on the world
Is an unseeing arc.
The keyhole eye
Knows what moves beneath.

The eye that sees
Is the eye of the hawk of heaven
Upon the broad brow.

The ears are shut in silence:
The mouth, falling slight –
Intake of northern air
Without knowing.

II

Moon is as it feels:
Cool forehead upon yellow wood –
A broad light that spreads
The red thread smile,
Looking down,
Broad with vision.

III

Sun mask:
Wild with heat,
His hair of rays and weaving.
Eyes: black-rimmed with looking fierce,
Forehead: white with knowing.

IV

Returned from heaven,
Between sun and moon,
Stripped of all.

The power runs
fast and sanguine
On the blue jade cheeks.

No guide but the broad moon,
No guardian but the sun’s sharp beak.

Knows nothing but
The wings on his brow.
Hears nothing from his shut ears.
Speaks nothing from his open mourh.

Lost in what has been –
Just returned from heaven.

——-

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