Immediate access code

I don’t know all the names
by which you are summoned.
Sensing the many-layered resonances
in the stillness between
this heart-beat and that nerve-pulse,
where the breath lies empty,
time is even weaker than gravity.

Wading through the torrential
outpouring of carefully cultivated
bits of data, coalescing into
a category we might call news,
I am becoming as one attuned –
the seer of mysteries and
the oracle of plutocratic expediency.

The keystone for every good joke
is misdirection, like that time
they drained the oceans and provided
desalination-in-a-box kits for arid lands,
quiescing the climate protectors
with seven generations of indenture
for the privilege of a drop of clean water.

The drunkard, drowning in a deluge
of his own illusions will do anything
to extract one last drink, ad nauseum,
spewing out slack-jawed solutions to
supply chain problems – fracks himself
some lubricant for the road to annihilation.
Mate, we’d better hide his bloody car keys
before he kills us all.

I don’t know all the names
by which you are summoned.
In this bottomless cycle of avarice,
the accretion of our histories is forged
in the bodies of children and tattooed
inside our eyelids. No matter how we’re
chained up, we have always been free.

Our immediate access code,
the soul-memory of our ancestors,
is written in the blood of love.

!

Advertisements

It begins and ends with awe

The earth people keep calling me
The sky responds with my voice
Water passes everything along

The sun people are blinding me
The stars look through my eyes
Fire is making everything dance

The wind is refashioning reality
Seeds, cells and leaves go on a world tour
Weather is transforming everything

Too many ways to enumerate –
Existences, vistas, vibrations, echoes
Cracking and snapping weary worldviews

Impossible to remain connected to one idea
When every particle of life is radiating
Infinite waves of mystery in it’s wake

It begins and ends with awe.

Suddenly I’m doubled over with laughter
Clearly nothing of any value
Can ever be taken to the bank.

The 21st Century Cave Man

There’s a tiny cave behind
All those igneous rocks
Surrounding oneself with
Protective square blocks

Peer past the cliff-face
Into the chasm rent with pain
At the edge of this vision
Sediment flows with rain

Enclosed in illusions
Hard surface all around
Layer upon layer
Particles form on the ground

When this was your choice
To be firmer than air
Do you retreat to your pedestal
Or your safe little lair?

Dusk calls to the spirit
Miles and eons below
Dawn will be here in a minute
We contract, then we grow

I find no true home enclosed
By the igneous or sedimentary
You’ve got rocks as your battlements
So purposefully rudimentary

Yet the metamorphic forces
Yield solid rock at my core
My light floats to the outside
In bright space do I restore

These rocks hold the memory
Recording what’s transpiring
– Your haven that will cave in
And suffocate what is inspiring

– My preservation pillar
Of what’s constant, true and timeless
– Man only needs a cave when
The rest of him is spineless

Go home to your pedestal
Go home to your fortress
There’s no line you won’t cross
For the souls you would possess

Yes, build up your fantasies
About goodness and hate
Try and mask your soft core
While you stride and berate

The bereft are mostly free
Pride in all colours and races
While you perpetuate still darkness
With the lightest of all faces

Though little might survive
When nothing’s real inside
Blast those walls to kingdom come
On this you could decide

I know that you’re stuck
What you need is space
Climb past the debris
Walk into your grace
*

Nature = diversity

When I think about
The unstable equilibrium
As defined by all.
The ubiquitous references to nature,
Be they physical or spiritual…

The collision, consequence, manifestation;
The actuality of real and present
Order meeting chaos,
Or chaos dancing with order –
However you want to see it.

This,
This I believe in.
It defines my reality.
All adjectives aside bar this one –
In nature, diversity prevails.

Eclipse in Scorpio

Today, I have two posts that are essentially “Missives from the scrap heap”. They are both on the topic of beauty and they have both been rejected by their original audience. I’m publishing them now because they do in fact pass the secret “What is my truth” test, so I’m happy to reconsider them as – yet to fulfil their purpose or find their true home.

“Eclipse” is not meant to be about sex. So far that’s what everyone seems to think it’s about. These days I can take it on the chin and find new meanings from such contrasts between what I was thinking when I wrote and what the reader hears. It’s potentially where the magic lives. So in the spirit of – take it however you will – I set this baby free!

4th November 1994
Eclipse in Scorpio

There’s a waking dream
Dormant ’til I felt true
And now my lighter is out of gas.
Don’t smoke this dream.
But I want this to float away
Up high on the air
Leave me down here with the ash.
Too real, too real –
Find matches quickly!
I think it’s gone now.

I open my chest
Golden light rainbow brilliant colour
Streams out and hits you in the face.
Then I open my chest
It’s grey and dead
I’ve taken out all the good bits.

Death and life
I want my skin off
So we can touch bones
My muscles to shrivel
And peel away
My organs inside this
Unbidden fortress.

I’m trying to think of
Beautiful words to say next
But “touch me
Is all that comes to mind.

I don’t want to be clever,
Say the right things,
Do the right things,
Be what you want.

No clothes
No desires
No trimmings
No trappings
No wishes
No mercy
No needs

I want to shine on you for an instant

And you’ll leave an echo
And you’ll journey with me
And you won’t remember.

I wish I could paint this
I want you to know me.

*

Power and grace

Panther

Photo Credit: aarrgh via Compfight cc

Encircling the vine
Panther eyes gleaming
Surveying the air
Each whisker twitching
With felid foresight
Stealth-hearted breathing
Languorous of limb
Velvet paws prodding
Solemnly wide-jawed
Yawn into dreaming
The ghost of the night
Sleeps after the hunt.

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