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Posts Tagged ‘writing’

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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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The long rain, grey,
Has dissolved a fragile distance.
With the wind, it comes and goes.
A silent room, a flutter of words.
A curl of incense, a bitter tea, warms and dries.
Perched above joy and sorrow
A ribbon road turns endless,
With only two steps,
Left and right.

A monk dips his quill.
He has become half-uncial.
A steady curve delights,
One syllable at a time.
A river of knowing
And forgetting.

Though the skin he writes upon
Is his own,
A compassed scratch,
A foliate curl,
Heroditas, Avicenna, Merlin.
A history of mirrors,
A rotated wheel.
A willowed sigh,
This river ink.

—-

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GATHER YE

Stealthy as a cat
Night stalks a low moon.

A philosophy of cloud and rain,
A savoured language
Where trees and rocks
Become long, slow vowels.

The wet and fallen tongues
Of petalled roses
Cleaved to bough and path
Melting into something else.

Into the night,
Peeling words
From shape of vastness
And the thick, still silence,

While this world’s half
Dreams and settles down
In a bed of time and skittered light.

Cool along with the living
And the dead, all equal
In shadowed starlight

A tide of slight passions.
Rolling tongue, a roaring
Back and forth

But not so near
As to quell
The simple comfort
Of flecked
And flickered night.

Within its quiet purr
The padding cats
And careful mice
And white flow
Of owls

And the eternal rope river
Hurrying down the valley,
Tree-clothed and glorious.

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Hesitancy on the road.
Many paths, choose one and run, or
choose none, still taking one,
’til it bursts to flow,
making itself, self-born,
isolated in shattering glory.
Language rivers, language
rattles, a trance of noise.
Teased by meaning (there or not).
A sequence,
simply a sequence of breaths,
dressed in rhythms of night and day.
Stripped back to the bone,
it is all only, ever was,
ever will be,
song (toes dangling
over the cool void, home of dear silence).
Emergence, enfoldment.
A certain expansion,
a sure rotation,
a welcoming collapse.

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CONVERSATIONS 15

REWRITE
Convincing ghosts rewrite our certain pasts,
or bitter to the last, at least try to inject their dying voices,
inject their reasons, their stories.
We all, full of hunger, scurry for validation,
deny our small wickednesses, rewrite, remember.

SHADED
In that
Green shade
We are made
And unmade.
Click of insect moments.


COUPLET
The demons of eloquence
are not always right,
but their arguments
should always ruffle and delight!


HARMONIC
What each we are,
A note plucked once and dying.
Attack, sustain, release, delay.
That harmonic wave is what we are,
How we intrude,
How we linger.


SMALL
Over that hill it is always dawn, always midnight.
The smell of dew on hay,
The rising insects floating silent.
All this is uniquely ours –
This dawn, this sunset,
A moment fashioned and nested.
An egg of memory, in this small circle.


SUNLIT
The pillars of the sky:
Skylark’s song.
Morning stillness.


NOT QUITE
In you…
Nothing moves
That is not world’s spin,
Past’s voice.
A wind’s will,
A wisp,
Not quite a nothing
Not quite a quite…


EDGE
One star remaining
White edge of the summer night
Rimmed, restless, drawn out.


BINARY
Alert
Or asleep, on
or off,
The eye
Of the I,
Blink, unblink,
Blink.

—-
VALEDICTION
The vale of now.
We move in and out of it
Hardly touching,
So caught up we are:
The sounds of our own echoing,
Fading footprints.
Mouthing alphabets
And times-tables.
Numerate, literate,
Dust dressed in story,
Veiled whisp, regardless.

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ANGEL FALLS, ELOQUENT

Dropped
They fracture,

Crumble,
Separate seconds
From stillness.

Meteor words
Burning fast

A lever
For omens,

Simply
The gravity

Of bodies
Too heavy
With burning heart.

Golden alphabets

Spilled
Tumbling
To flagged floor.

To carve
A sigh,
A cursive line.
(Improbable
Evolution as ever).

Descent into matter.
Dissonant mutter.
Disowned stutter.
A step
Hitched,
Syncopate.

Fabric of time
Glazed pattern
Wingbeat.

World
Whorled
Whirled.

Blake,
Startled awake
Mouths
Eyeless,
A ghost
Of muscle,
Vision sinew.

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CONVERSATIONS with invisible friends 7

RIGHT WRITE EXPLORE IMPLORE

Defining our sense of edge:
where we withdraw, pull back.
Where we push through, straining to feel more.
Explorers, pioneers,
saboteurs, idiots, meddlars.
Subversive, perhaps,
because it is or is not art,
is or is not significant.
Itself. Ourself.
The interior of the earth.
Ignited cognition.
Will-o-the-wisp, ignis fatuus,
holy spirit, holy fart.
Tat tvam asi.

—–

KINDLING

Mind is saturation soup,
one seed crystal: emergent song.
Forked paths tuning.
Tallis motets up spiralling chimneys.
Drowning out, diving down,
profanity, cacophany, epiphany.
But, but, but,
to do it all unplugged….!

—-

FICTIONS

Camouflaged as no-nonsense,
the words pile up,
identified,catalogued, measured.
You look behind, simply to check the heap,
to review.
There is a horrible vacuity.
There is a revealing.
There is a snigger.
There is a challenge.
A virus, innocent,
infecting imagination.
Something placed that cannot now be removed.
Fiction?
A word that the deluded only employ.
Chased lines decorating mind, clothing real and unreal, weighing souls with feathers…..
—–

MINDLIBRARY

Admiral Psyche and the Wave Harvesters

His Admirable Psyche, Shades of Hades

The Admirable Admiral and His Frayed Hausers

The Fleet of Whales and The Ship of Fools

Kit and Kaboodle Cross the Equator

A Compass Never Lies

The Shaman’s Electric Fire

Return of thr Comedy Kraken

Shades of Misspent Chemicals

The Forked Tongue of Sunlight

Newton’s Little Secret

One Prism Too Far

An Elegance of Frozen Photons

That Insistent Voice.

——

REED

I, standing, upright,
Swaying
against a gale
Of word,
Buffeted- the squalls
Of intent,
The flay
Of image on
Image,
Somehow comforted,
Disconcerted,
Peeled open,
Warmed
By the existence
Of another’s breath.

—-

BLOOM

Your mind:
A city of flowers,
Drifting petals.

—-

EMBODIED LANDS

Bone remembered
Percussion,
Rock,mud, mulch.
Lung filled skies
Cloud shade
Blood song.
Step by…
Step by…
Winged,
Adopted, mapped,
Tasted.

—-

FEATHER TOUCH

Barb and barbel,
soft down
these weighed words,
noted, masked,
a slow cooled river,
our estuary minds.

—-

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SERRY

What is said,
This moment,
This word,
Is real, torn, squeezed,
Extruded
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
Tongue-tying,
Strident
(Though even whispered).
Time bomb.

We sing in chords,
In chorus.
Drum on flesh and earth
Together,
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
Notation
Reminders
Remain
Only.

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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WORD

Paper planes:
Some glide,
Some crash.

The subtle folds
Lilt and stomp
A trial by word,
A swoop, elegant
And pointed.

Hitting and missing
Of targets.
Languid language
Airborne,
Unconcerned,
Once born.

—–

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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….

—-

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