Posts Tagged ‘love’

Today (31st Oct 2008) [Part B]

2 November, 2008

 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.

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20 July, 2008

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.)


Peace, love to all.

In A Station Of The Metro

27 December, 2007

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.


The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

– Ezra Pound

Pstoev’s ‘On The Road’ (deviantART)


“Midsummer:
The stifling heat of the city filled its quiescent nights,
But once, she came near
And swelled inside me
Song – and seemed to calm the air
For envy of my soul.

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.”

The Trick

1 October, 2007

“The trick,” she whispered to me, “is to shut your eyes, shut them tight, and open them only when it’s so dark that you can’t see properly anyway.”


“The trick,” he whispered to me, “is to open your eyes just as the sandstorm hits. What do you mean? You can hear it if you listen hard enough. Shhhh!”
    Bah-dum…
        Bah-dum…
    “Now!”
and suddenly, my world is ochres and dustgrain.

Prophecy / Antristrophe

4 September, 2007

She speaks, sudden —
thought, she
echoes through her space,
A Prophesy:

She holds, like tides of
ice, brief, it
comes,
Memory:
    A gown of bronze,
    Empire-line, split
    down one elegant leg,
    supple skin leads to
    leather, crisscrossed ankles,
     pointed toes.
    A fastening, midst her breasts,
    silver and green.
    Her watcher
    a suit, black, and smart,
    shirt of subtle stripes,
    and tie a red that matches nought
    but the sunlight in her hair.
It’s enough.

He speaks, sudden —
thought, she
echoes through his space…

He holds, like tides of
ice, brief, it
comes,
Memory:
    Receiver, Question:
    “All ok?” And halts,
    falters, one breaking moment.
    Minute, interfering crackles.
    Pauses, holds, waits… speaks.
     The End.
    She lies on sombre pillow,
    tears pinning hairs of love/beloved
    with a sense of resolution.
    She changes the pillowslip.
It’s enough.
He folds, weeks past,
would scream, but for dignity.
Each tear once pent inside tries
expression.
It kills him.

They hold, like tides of
ice, brief. It
goes:
Antistrophe.