We build mountains


We build mountains
from increments of time and motion:
timetables and places, placements,
placemats, play dates, the peripheries
and spaces where we keep the instruments
of living, sleeping, weaning, cleaning,
cluttered cadences and frequencies;
the sinusoidal blip of the commute, drip
drip of that annoying tap that’s never fixed,
forever fixed as a nostalgic milestone;
the friends we keep on promising to meet
and decades later still keep promising;
the turning moons and spinning constellations,
quantum clocks of choruses and choirs,
catechisms, cradles, graves, procrastinations,
precious rituals of likes and leftovers
all generously layered upon layer.

We build a mountain,
living in its shadow, even as the
other side is redolent with sunset.
Once, we hike up to the crest to see
the horizon before it eats the evening sky.


Let go

Songs of the Everyday

I have a window
But the frame is thick
And lets in little light.

Outside the window
I have concrete wall
And incongruous barbed wire.

And if I crane my neck
I can see a strip of sky
That has been grey too long

But on a good day it is blue
And later on makes orange love
To the tree beyond the wall.

I am chained and locked away
And watch the daily shadows
Speed across the concrete

Until I can escape up to the hills
Where along the concrete skies
It is my shadow’s turn.

If the light goes out

song lyrics

If the light goes out, turn it back on.
Baby, if the light goes out, turn it back on.
I need to see the page if I’m to write our song
If the light goes out, please turn it back on.

If I ever lose interest, turn me back on.
If I’m out of love, just turn me back on.
Just do what you do, you can do no wrong.
Baby, I am still in love, so come turn me on.

And if you pass me by the roadside, come let me on.
I may be drunk and bloodied, but you must let me on.
One day I’ll learn to never do you wrong.
If I am lost and beaten, come and let me on.

But if my eyes turn hollow, put them out.
If my eyes are glazed and distant, put them out.
There’s no need for me to stare at my inner doubts.
I want to see afresh – just put the dead ones out.

And if it all goes out, keep shining on me.
Baby, if the light goes out, keep shining on me.
I’ll keep writing our song, if you just help me see,
So if my light goes out, keep shining on me.

– o –

This is how I healed myself


“And you put potion in my tea.
It kills the faithless and resurrects the free”

I quarantined myself indoors.
My shadow parked in doorways.
I haunted the floorboards
and lusted the twilight.
I abstained from food and conversation.
This is the slumber.
It comes before salvation.

Then I lay and made by breath precise and low.
As I had been taught. As I had been taught,
I slowed my heartbeat to a pendulum
and stretched the outside minutes
into inner days and elongated shadows.
And I sense again:
my arms are warm and heavy
and my forehead cool.
There is a mask on my face
to smooth the anxious lines.
My mind is calm now,
my body is relaxed.

And I walked through each coloured room of my house.
I walked each coloured room,
and descended down the numbered floors twice.
I inhaled the memory of every colour.
I traced my finger along each number.
Then I descended into the basement.
The light is black but I can clearly see.
There is a room here.
The unnamed room where my spirit sleeps.

In that unnamed darkness
like many times before
I sat at the ancient cabinet,
covered in pen knife wounds.
It is covered in pen knife runes.
And I pulled out the puzzle-box drawers one by one
And I studied the jars, studied the jars.
Each jar holds something.

There is a jar with water. The water had clouded.
I cleaned the water and brushed the green strands
until the water was clear and light played in the glass.
Now my body is cleansed and my vision is clear.

There is a jar with a feather.
The feather sits heavy at the bottom, undisturbed by air.
I give it my breath and freely now it floats within the jar.
Now my mood is fine and my soul feels light.

There is a jar with a black sphere.
It bounces lazily against the walls as I lift it.
The sphere must float tightly in the centre,
held by springs of mind and purpose.
I force the sphere into the centre
and it rests there tight and loaded.
My mind returns to focus.

There is a glass cone.
Inside is clear liquid of fresh scent –
cucumber, watermelon, crushed leaves.
It is closed tightly.
I open the cap and let free the clean air
and the sweet anxiety of spring –
and I breathe the anticipation
of a sunny weekend’s freedom.

And I breath the sun that I have summoned.
I draw it in through my nose.
It rises heavy and warm like syrup.
I exhale it down to my stomach.
And my body floods with it
and it rushes from my stomach
in a giant column.
And the naked twisting beast
that has devoured my heart and liver
in its daily introspection of my cliff-top chains,
sees its death let loose from my drawn limbs,
and screams alone return to its devastated god.

I have taken your potion and it turns out that I am free.
My love, I am Prometheus. And I will give you light.

–   o   –

Best read as a follow-on from my previous post.  This is a bit of properly blank verse which is a bit of a rarity for me.  Rhyming this simply did not sound right , except for the first verse (although even there it’s an example of my “hidden rhyme” style).

My Heart

Songs of Love

My Heart.
(From “Songs of Love”)

I turn my head to you
I turn my heart to you
My heart, it yearns for you
My Heart, I’ll hurt for you.

So when the gates of Hell are sealed
And all the lies and truths revealed –
My heart will cry for you
I’ll burn, my Heart, for you.

And when the gates of Heaven blessed
Will offer me eternal rest –
My heart will plead for you
I will reject it all for you.

And when the prophecies transpire
And the final stars expire –
The void will call for you
There will be light for you.

I wrote these words about another kind
of love, a child of a pained and selfish mind.
But now, my Heart, I sing of you,
my heart, it sings for you.

– O –