the east coast arose today
and found itself suffocating under a thick, red, powdery blanket
that smattered itself onto cars, the footpaths,
my clean white shoes.

Whilst it was clearly not the apocalypse
(as suggested by a few dear friends)
it was almost as good a reminder
of the ubiquitous God,
who draws attention to himself
at the most inconvenient moments.

We say,
“the wise are those who hold their tongues”.
Now the snowflakes fall,
and those with young mouths, shameless and gaping
find wisdom runs deeper than courtesy.

My parents asked me how I was when I got up this morning (I live at home for another two weeks). I told them “I’m great at the moment, but will probably gradually recede into a really bad mood.”

Anyway, it happened within about an hour. Which was kinda funny. It fluctuated a bit like that all day, and on the way home from church this evening, I realised that I had absolutely nothing to be upset about.

Makes you feel like an idiot. Anyway, this came out of it. Another unpolished piece, but I was really sick of having a blog with nothing to put on it. And, y’know

 When we returned, your mum made oolong tea,
and we joked, and spoke of God and science,
Love and death, around that table, where
“so much of your life has taken place”.
That table,
which makes its way into all of your memories,
and few of your stories.

In that moment, I felt comfortable, loved,
welcome, and that I knew you just a small piece better.

I was at Blackstump earlier this year (it’s a 4-day Christian Arts and Music festival). There was a poet there by the name of Cameron Semmens, he specialises in performance poetry, and, whilst he can sound kinda corny on a CD (sorry Cam!) he’s amazing live. Anyway, his approach to poetry reminded me of Shakespeare’s approach to plays (as described by Ms. Elliot in 2007, thanks Miss!) – Shakespeare used every available technique to make his work relevant to the common person. And so, whilst I cringe at this piece on paper (it sounds heaps cooler when you have it read to you with enthusiam; it’s performance poetry) it’s a helluva lot of fun (and somewhat unfinished). Here it is: ‘Today’.

I’m finding
  -  sand in nooks I knew not I had,
  -  fresh pimples, pores blocked by a wanton lust for sunscreen.
I feel like my skin is shining!

And somewhere, not so far away, you’re finding
  -  that your belly button goes much deeper when you’re extracting sand from it.
And at the thought, my soul is shining too.

Give it up for writer’s block! It’s held me in its icy claws for the past…. gosh, i don’t think I’ve actually written anything really good since “In A Station Of The Metro” (see below). Almost as if my brain decided that I’d written one thing really good and that it didn’t really need to function anymore (I’m still quite proud of it in some ways). What’s been happening in the mean time? I tried to start ‘Rag Poets’ again (there’s only a few who know the story there… It’s the other half of where Read Write Prompt 3 led me. Somewhat deeper than the last. About sex and art and beauty and the way they’ve been horrendously taken out of order these days). Anyway, I decided that I really really really wanted to use the gifts God has given me to honour him; and hence, partially inspired by telmcg’s prompting to keep writing (he left a comment on my blog asking where I’d been, thanks telly!) I started work on ‘Rag Poets’ again. I kinda just never knew how to start it, I guess. Anyway (again), late one Friday Night I wrote this poem for/about God and for/about a friend. For my friend, it’s probably closer to ‘about’, seeing as she doesn’t know about it as I write this. ‘For’ in the sense that I’m sure she will eventually, and probably needs to hear that she’s amazing. I’ve been humbled a bit by the fact that my poetry has lost it’s characteristic rhyme and structure (way to knock me off my high horse) but here it is, in all its modesty: default.

you twain, who spend your days
teasing me out:

Brown Eyes, your subtlety has left to reside
in your window-sparks and your smile.

I guess Elune was praised as a beacon of the Sun
and best in her fullest graces;
and loved o’er all that kingdom
for boldy verging borders.

(And God, you leave me staggered;
please leave me amazed too.)

Annabelle spoke, and this held in my thoughts:
Her graces and passions stood out from her flaws.
In all of her plans, I found an enthrall,
And I knew you were there.

“Oh, to see the world as it were long-exposed,
and watch lights and souls trail paths across the nightsky…”

North Shore, Twin Waters, Queenland, Australia

I came here with
Hopes of knowing Eve
And as we lay
And watched the clouds
And breathed the stars
I found my lover one
Obsessed with shape and possibility.

This piece was written for Read Write Poem’s Prompt #6: ‘Get Your Collaboration On’. I was supposed to be collaborating with ‘why paisley?’ (http://why-paisley.com/). She provided a picture for us both to work from. The plan was to later combine the two smaller works into a larger one. I wrote this epic without quite realising that it would make collaboration very difficult, especially in consideration of my partner’s style. Here is my contribution. The collaborated work will appear later. For those who care, it was inspired by Ezra Pound’s poem of the same name, alongside Something For Kate’s album ‘Echolalia’ and The Mars Volta’s album ‘Amputechture’. The picture we used to kick-start our work was pstoev’s ‘On The Road’, from deviantart. The link is http://pstoev.deviantart.com/art/on-the-road-71333147.

She spoke lines, and ministry,
And every arpeggio another stroke,
I set to work a celebration
for all who spake mine tongue.

The city walls seemed much less tall,
And caste-lines seemed to all but fall,
In dreams. And as we talked I found
A truth in breath, and lips, and sound
But as the traffic pressed around
I knew it could not be.
Left, she now.

Still to my geometric mind
Her truths are subdivided lines
And reds and greens and blues

Apollo did now rear his head
And granted leave my dreams. Relieved,
I took the time to breathe again
And drunk I deep the atmosphere
And heard once more that song which lay
In visions grand but far away
And could not stand the pain!

I’ll paint a glossolalia
And in its pretty voids you’ll stand
Unheard and undisturbed.

My breath and mind in stasis lay
Til nightfall came around.
And as I craved her presence she
Was nowhere to be found.
And in this world of walls and lines
Where loves and truths kiss dead goodbyes
I knew no voice would leave me be.

I’ll watch and wait for night’s reprieve
And in the silence,
Remember you on trains.

So now, I sit, and heed the trains,
And lose my Juliet in the chaos.”