How are you

Treading water in a tsunami,

closing your eyes

and singing

like that changes anything at all

Its here you’ll meet your other self,

the one whose expression won’t change

while your insides are being skinned,

whose tone remains even

whilst your face is stomped on by heeled boots.

This valour will go unnoticed,

though alienation can be a blessing.

You might be empty right now

but you will remain

you may not be able to feel

but it will transpire through you

you may not be able to cry or laugh

but strength is your constant

there’s no happy ending here

but there’s no ending either

When faced with the inconvenience of unreciprocated passion

Let it become just a daydream,

let it slip away,

to the place where clouds go.

Lay it to rest, softly,

in your heart, undisturbed.

Not in a corner you’ll visit,

but don’t try and destroy it,

you know well that you couldn’t.

Cocooned by your warmth

it can remain light there.

And if you fall upon it,

you’ll witness its dissolve

gently, into nostalgia,

rare fleeting thoughts,

and smiles to yourself.

It will lift off your shoulders

float into the clouds,

you won’t be sure you saw it

It will become just a daydream.

Jeff Buckley

Will sing as I go
black wolf river harbour
to never return

the allure will pull
my breath removed below
I am torn to shreds

let my body rot
breaking into the space
atoms into waves

wave break crashes on
reminder love is strong
too my lungs collapse

close and rest my eyes
I’ll meet my angels here
leave the walking dead

to be spat ashore
a grain of millions
all I ever was

Scene Ocean At Night Beauty Night Beach Water Life

Daydream

 

What is that?

That warmth in your chest,

spreading to your stomach.

A hand lay there

to make you smile

 

Advice.

To write without ego is to write in rainbow. Glitter.

Iridescently, vibrationally, seamlessly, flawlessly,

following ripples which themselves leak from existence.

Uno, brahma, todos.

The mountains can always reach the sun.

you already were.

 

Lost in people, lost in thoughts, lost in writing,

Lost in nature, lost in it,

The sea, the waves of it,

The sea,

The waves

 

Study yourself.  Your Akashic records.

Purging, cleansing, detox, scrub, sift.

thoughts, loves, traumas, fears.

– and you will return, squeaky clean.

 

They swirl as spirits, spreading, like blotted ink. When was the last time you had a day, to yourself, to watch the clouds?

Forming dragons, making hearts, your breathing breath and heartbeat slows

to the pulse of the earth, and all else does cease.

 

You’re angry at the world, but this is the world too.

16/08/17

Something sweet

It’s okay, I’ll see you soon,

an island somewhere,

perhaps the moon.

Those you love are never gone,

they’ll just appear a different form.


When you miss them, even your cat,

go somewhere you love,

 and that –

is how you’ll feel unalone,

and gain the sense all love is One.

The Wanderer 

O wanderer,

you have finally found your solace.

It called to you at midnight,

through a lone man

filling a valley, with sacred melody.

His music

his heartbeat

They’ll tell you the world is beautiful,

but they have no idea,

what it is 

– to be the sole audience

in a performance of the soul.

Matter subsides,

thoughts dissolved with each leap of his fingers.

The puppeteer,

showing you 

how to play the song of life.

The Forest

Through empty black eyes,

they watched on.

Shadowy, hooded figures,

whose limbs leaked with the smoke of clouded opinion.

 

Standing as tall as the trees around,

dark, circling a blazing fire.

Together they could almost present an image,

or at least different versions of the same dread.

 

Their thoughts were too numerous,

too melancholic, too paranoid,

yet fluid and clever,

as the fire’s narrative unfolded.

But what was the point?

 

The fire, regardless, remained true,

Pure

Independent of ego and thought.

 

They shuffled together, hissing and elbowing each other,

moving nearer.

 

They had been there before.

Creatures of unfortunate habit.

 

The flames snarled and spat,

yet still, they longed to touch them.

 

Not for beauty,

they sought to distort what was perhaps once pure.

Only to meddle,

to destroy.

 

They edged closer, until they were no longer themselves

and reflected the fire’s story.

 

Their arms reached toward it in unison

and then –

all figures shrank,

and merged into one.

Leaving, Her.

 

Their trace lingered

in a final gust of obsession, futile thought and lust,

nearly bowling her into said impervious flame.

I must leave here now.

She turned and ran.