Wednesday, 6 May 2015

at any one time

i am thinking about what's to come and all that could have been and was, about the way the night lifts up her silver skirt of stars to herald today, about well crafted standards and cerebral souvenirs, of the shapes a body makes during sleep. i am thinking how beautifully the right angels white frame the view and the way so many people are so eager for everything now, about rules and niceties and language that would continue to come even if tongues were cut from mouths. language in all it's ragged and impolite glory, in all shades of red and beautiful. language - as though it were everything. i am thinking about instinct and allegiances quietly pledged to the heart of green and blue and gold, thinking about the strength and fragility of the miracle of our bodies, about the way she knew it was time to go and wasn't scared. i am thinking about breath and reconnection, of slipping less freely into costume and character concealing darknesses tucked in secret corners. about containment and contradiction, about the way your throat gets sore from everything caught there scratching to get out. i am thinking about our failure to learn from history. of our failure as a whole to 'get it'. i am thinking about the physical sensation of a body fighting for a life it's growing, about the magnetism of the deep shades. and of the reassurance of the push and grab and perpetual tides that come and come and come.

Friday, 24 April 2015

..from the next room the sound of the clock's constant counting, both taunting and reassuring in it's always. the window frames the image of the spire armoured in geometric patterns like scales pointing to the sky split into cardinal points. a sky the opposite of yesterday's vibrance. contemplative in it's lack of colour and befitting of the mood. bare feet firm on the ground three flights up as embers are stoked and intentions in silence are set...

Thursday, 23 April 2015

everywhere all manner of circles

crossing over. liquid shimmer.
destined. determined.
 
what bliss the passive riverbed must feel,
ecstatic from the water's constant silken caress.
beloved.
 
the pungent scent of wild garlic stains fingers.
winged ones dance in colour.
trees sing in different voices.
a welcoming. all the births.
from non death bursting forth.
green unfurls in moist newness.
 
everywhere all manner of circles.

Wednesday, 22 April 2015

from the beginning

in a place where night barely comes
the crowned heart in all it's vastness.

relentless dismantling of measurements
between earth and water
yet submissive to the elements.

force of nature, wild and untamed
speaking truths
that fail to make you wince
and of things that do not die.

on the ground strewn skins
scratched with the words
DE NOVO.

the sun sits on shoulders broad and strong
making itself dizzy.

beads of sweat
gather in the curves of backs.

skin sticky and seduced
by the idea of all that waits
in the growing shadows and abundant light.

skin that mostly holds us
inside it's outlines
and thickens
in the healing over of old wounds.          

but still
- bite hard.       

a thousand years ago and to come
the names were given
- flight, knife, breath, fire, swell,
knot, she, earth,
black, stone, blood.

hollows carved in chests
to make room
for the clouds and seas to part.

a perpetual becoming
forever at the threshold,
the edge of chaos,
poised to break the membrane
and blow your own mind...

Sunday, 19 April 2015

a spiritual union requires no permission for the intimacy shared between the changing shape of distances

campbell said that the unpardonable sin is to not be alert.
 
pay attention.
 
morning.
closed eyes heighten the sensation
of twisted ropes of water
tracing the shape of the body naked. 
the sun bright behind eyelids 
soaking the day with the potential
of all the possibilities whilst casting shadows.
 
keeping the balance.
 
it is said that all roads lead to where we are meant to be.
I say the road is where we're meant to be
 - the point is the process. 
the enrichment of a life in motion.
perpetual growth. strengthening
of body and soul.
 
the body as home. 
a gift.
made in and of love.
 
but the coming together
of two kindreds is the arrival,
all dirty feet and ecstasy, 
at the temple. the watching
of two suns rising to dance
in the light of their own creation.
 
the place where gods are born.

Friday, 17 April 2015

here is the inbetween time,
measured by the throbbing of pulses.

blood moves with such purpose.

apples fat with their own juice
balance precariously
in a blue bowl that's too small.

the white orchid is blooming in abundance
but startlingly still able to hold her own weight.

picasso's constellations scratched on the floor boards
because it's all about interpretation
and I want nothing but to dance amongst stars.


*


(what if I were to ask you to hold out your arm so I could taste the salt and sunshine of your forearm, write love letters on your hands?....let the clouds roll in. we are each of us pilgrims and I have the ourorboros curled at the base of my spine sitting in comradery with the scarab around my neck and we're all moving ever higher and closer)

Wednesday, 15 April 2015

and then a voice you've never heard. familiar. calling you back

I press myself against the glass,
relish the sensation of cold on my skin.

below lights and colour splash
and shimmer on rain soaked pavements.

tonight i'll sleep with the window open.
welcome the night sounds
penetrating my dreams until morning.

one sweet dream
and then baptism by light
through that same window I held my body against
the night before.

searching
for the way in, for the en-trance.
through the tangle of sheets and a body
heavy with the weight of want i'm trying to shift.

always burning.
our selves,
our fingers,
our blessed sacred hearts protected
by the golden swords at our breast.

you are more than the sum of your parts,
but what can I do
but unpick you piece by piece.
pluck your petals one at a time,
admire then press them safe between pages
until i'm left holding nothing
but the stem,
which is the route
between source and beauty.
the point
where we shed our skin and reveal ourselves.

a different kind of holy.