All entries for December 2008
December 11, 2008
Rows and rows
of laughing girls
sing silly love songs
to unsung beats.
But you who stand
so tall and so still
laid in my heart
in the searing heat
I will love you for a life
and do for you what music
I had my eyes in my pockets for too long
upon the murky even' day;
Too long lost in forest of dark oceans
suffocated black in storm.
And then I saw you
Sat in your jewelled tower that sang like a violin.
A waterfall of midnight and stars
cascading down you fragile rippling body, snowy white shoulders
to breasts, to smooth and round stomach.
Gypsey ringlets and bracelets purple
coloured your lips. You smiled me awake.
And when there was no smile, your eyes
set alight the waters of my heart.
At the break of day, I was moved and sacred
with the morning birds, danced in masque with the garden statues
and with you.
Let us dance then you and I,
with hands and hearts on our songs
through the laughing skies
and join them with a love
To blind a thousand fires, to blind the sun.
When I see a girl I want to know what she wants
When I see a man I want to know what he needs;
Their hearts place on a windowsill
and the magpies feather trembling with the echoes
of their space in time.
Love. and whats not there to love
in the golden carpets of the suburbian gardens
Old Suburbia. Old Eden, when the lass and I
take old ramblings through the hedgerows,
crisp as the apple, moist and juiced
with morning dew.
This is what she wants,
this is what I need.
December 09, 2008
‘I think we’re going to lose him’
‘Well I think its time he got lost’
And I am lost; a whirlpool of knickers stare me out
As do the four eyes of constant contemplation
Through the conservatory window
Silence echoes through the cold night,
chimney smoke blows across the moon,
love lingers ill somewhere,
in front of the couch,
sat on the television.
The dales looked like a fiery sea this evening,
Bathed in the tragedy of the sun
A sinking ship.
The rocking boat of the moon swam
Through half of the sky, the deeper half
The deep of night.
I once thought that I’d be interested in building and plumbing
But I don’t think I am
I like stars, and who built them?
Where does their sewage go?
Tomorrow I will collect the dead autumn’s apples
Move the logs for the fire
And sit on them like a throne;
smoke my cigarettes.
Depending on the temperature
I might be happy,
If it is too cold then I will stop.
If I stop I know I will be happy.
A still smile, on an empty face -
A winter nothingness.
December 02, 2008
Once upon a time, for all stories must start as such, there lived an old stone cutter. He was the happiest man in the world. He was very poor but everyday he would go to work cutting stone. Go to work cutting away at the stout mountains, the giants that he lived under. They were his friends, his work partners. He was happy and content. Everyday he would sing:
'O Lordy, pick a bit a cotton' O Lordy pick a bit a hay, O Lordy I am a mountain, O lordy I pick a bit a day'
Then after forty years of such happy days, he was asked to do some work for a rich man. A very very rich man. He was astounded by the wealth and comfort that the man lived in. The fire which the servants built, the silver cutlery placed upon the table, the plumbing so that the rich man might have a hot bath. All of this the stone cutter percieved and wanted. He became jealous and disgusted at the poverty in which he was living, he wanted to be like the rich man.
That night when he was saying his prayers, he confronted God. 'O Lord' he said, 'all my life I have prayed to you, thanked you, sacrificed for you, glorified you. Every sunday I have attended the mass. Why then am I poor, and the man I have been working for rich, who has not an icon of you in his house. Will you not make me rich?' God heard his prayer and because he was indeed a devout man, he appeared as a voice to the stonecutter. 'Because you are indeed a devout man I will give you five wishes. Do with them as you will and may you learn much by it'
That very night the stonecutter wished into the wind that he could be indeed a rich man, a very very rich man. As soon as the the words had disappeared into the silence, he found himself in such house the like of which he had never seen. Servents lightly running across the stone hall floor to make ready the duck from burning, to make up the goose feathered beds. There was that smell of insence and leather and dood and big fires and most of all of money.......
'Peter the fisherman, tatooed and unshaven
bums a cigarette in the eye of the sun
who laying down his head to rest
casts lines of shimmering orange light
onto the breaking ocean:
Infinite and forever, the image that inspired God to create'
inspired flicks colours
of golden fire across
the layered spindled
dome of the sky'
'Tonight the moon shines not the suns light but her own'
'What comes from nothing but a fertilized field for the mind to grow her crops'
One thing did strike me today is the description of Om in the preface to Hesse' novel Siddartha;
'a mystic monosyllable....the word of words'. From what I understand it transcends all things. 'the stone is a stone; it is also the animal, God and Buddha'
now compare this with Forster's description of the word 'Boum' in a Passage to India. Again within the sound of the word all things are transcended. Infinity resides within the syllable. Did Forster have 'Om' in mind. Both words seem to portray the same message but from totally different points of the wheel.