Bizarre notions in polarity

It’s bright, so glaringly bright! Winter’s slipped
as day tumbles forth from night. Creatures dipped
in bronze melt all through my sight. Myna skipped
the fresh-cut grass, catching flight, as clouds wisped
past swathes of blue-tinted light. Ice-wind crisped
breaths healed by Ra’s molten might! Three ants nipped
across the page I’d soon write, darted, tripped
and fell to earth: a great height. Moods have flipped
from tight-clenched fists to delight. Beings tipped
from low to high, wrong to right. Minds equipped
with nature’s gift for insight.  Honey-dripped
days, praise! Loop this bliss-tinged plight with no script.

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In colony

the dream is eons long
we have been entwined
you and I
since forever

on certain days
I ache to withhold my truth
to show you how it feels
to listen to endless lies

on other days
I tumble to the floor and bounce
to show you how it looks
to act from the real and present

no bargains can be struck
in the market for shadows

that mind’s light is so full
it throws it’s own shade
to all that might detract
from it’s righteous narrative

your hand-me-down economy
avoids all mention of entropy

the dream is eons long
you know
the one where I play
the swiss-army-knife version
of a scapegoat
and you deny everything

on certain days
we see you hurling platitudes
while dismantling ecosystems
and poking holes in rainbows
again

on other days
we see you acting out our own shadow-selves
and then we fall about laughing
at your feeble attempts
to direct the wind

*

Cue: the wind

The wild weather
And the wild woman
Have boarded the same train

I am spirit
I am here, deal with it
I’ve kept things gentle for too long now

Everything rests
Everything is supported
Everything continues, each to it’s own nature

The whispering sounds
The roar and rhythm
The drawing of breath, embodiment of truth

I know, it can be a bit too much
A bit too powerful
A bit too chunky, bless their hearts

The forgivers
The aligners
The deniers. Let them flounder.

The sun shines
Water is wet
I am here, be with it.

 

News Feed

In the age-old tradition
of propaganda and repetition
we are expecting
perpetual circumnavigation
of the truth
peppered
with a percussive deluge
of obscurities
highlighted
in blinding succession
by incendiary instants
of infinite insanity
inflicted
upon marginalised percentages
of human populations
precipitated
by pandemically disproportionate
political photosensitivity
conducted
in indecipherable waves
of community-conscious pathos
punctuated
by an hysterical post-ethical
imperative to imperil
inherent critical faculties
with antithetical rhetoric
reinforced
by a dispassionate discourse
of preposterous proportions
among the privileged unharmed
and the righteously
unaffected.

On this day

This morning’s glance at the front page of the newspaper has left me heartbroken for the sacrifice of this boy… http://www.abc.net.au/news/2015-03-12/jake-bilardi-islamic-state-alleged-blog-radicalisation-journey/6306844

I am of the ocean
Hear me sing
Of all that’s passed my way
This day.

I have left the ocean
See me fly
Blind men and fools cry out
Throughout.

I dream of the ocean
Feel my heart
This truth-seeking missile
Exiled.

I weep for the ocean
Watch me fade
Beyond existence, my plight
Tonight.

If they could see what I have become
United in sacrifice
Glorious and deliberate
Calm and convicted
Alone and desperate
I will name this moment –
Grace.

On this day
I will exist.

*

What are you looking at?

What are you looking at?

The truth of me is not beautiful at all
It’s the story of so much blood, tears and mud
Seeping into crevices, drying out and cracking
Under a relentless radiant gaze
Rendering my skin transparent to the sun.

Look! You won’t find anything inside
It’s all out here in front of me. All of it.
The debris of inspecting and judging
And downcast eyes while turning away.

I’m too modest and too proud
For the mechanics and toil of beauty
Too tired of endless repetition
Stripping down to perfection
Carving and threshing and tweaking
Until we’re all wearing the same face
And my eyes have turned opaque.

Once I saw a young boy dance his vision.
Another time, you and I sat for hours together
Contemplating unity and the nature of water.
In that moment your life took form
As the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

Against a decoupage landscape of highlights and spotlights
Permanent looks of mild surprise and unfathomable ideals
Candid poses and so much inhumanly-toned skin;
Those magazine-TV-advertising-marketing
Members of the Brotherhood-of-Lies
Have arrived at an entirely different truth than mine.

*

desert_sunrise

This is the second “Missive from the scrap heap”. It was written in response to a request a couple of days ago but it turned out to be inappropriate for that purpose. What is most interesting to me is how I experienced the idea of beauty 20 years ago compared to this surprising response to the idea of beauty now.

The Shower Song

For those who seek
Of much they speak
Of near and far
And thoughts that mar
The ebbs and flows
But no-one knows
Which way is right
Or what to fight
Our natures deep
Our questions keep
A tangled knot
Of what is not
That’s held up high
But brings a sigh
To all the tears
We’ve shed these years
May peace begin
With peace within
Nothing to find
Except [accept]
_____ your
_________ mind.

*

I write a lot of poems in the shower, generally to some kind of rhythm or rhyme — I don’t really know why the shower muse comes by…

Old men read the lesson in the setting sun. Beat the cymbal and sing in this life, or wail away the hours fearing death. From the I-Ching