Silently, I Go

Words tremble and form on my lips.
In the middle of nowhere,
on an old, abandoned field’s
icy, quiet calm – I can
see those words as frosted air,
palpable, almost real.
Almost.
The memory of ecstasy
ripples vehemently in rifts,
saying, ‘don’t let go –
don’t let go of the moment,
the tenderness and the journey
that has begun –
don’t let go of the time invested
and the heart’s own life span,’ –
I clap my mitts together hard.
I need to hear another voice
in the heavy, thick dullness
of meaningless, inside this bitterly
cold wilderness – an expansion
of existence.
Inside this perfect ring of O,
caution and doubt is excluded
by the wintry tourniquet
and deep seated bleakness.
Within this rink of fire,
I have found a plan;
idly scraped into the dense snow’s
virgin white territory
are thoughts and decision making –
a bittersweet means to an end.
I exhale and words reverberate –
detached.
Let loose, they do their own thing.
I believe that trust is its own reward,
and love is a consequence
of that very airing –
so, I let them breathe.
My lips tremble from more words,
although I can’t hear them, they spill
and the cold lets them sit there.
Sat on the snow, memories
cosy up to them,
of when tears made me choke
and lies made me half blind –
now they both
thaw like a discarded
ice lolly bleeding into the impacted
prisms hidden in this pristine
foundation.
I rub my insulated woollen hand
over the small pond’s glass
to see a lifetime spent asking
why amid my mind’s sighs to half
answered questions and doubts,
and painful bouts of inertia.
I find a heavy rock, and listening
only to the whispers between
my thighs’ nylon energy,
I smash it into a face
in the ice –
all of those things are finally
released and surface through the shards
of their confinement –
roaming prisoners cut loose
to set me free,
to crawl out onto the debris.
Wading knee deep I try to remember
what was instilled in me;
I was taught to swim and love,
and trust in rewards,
I was loved and I am loved,
a consequence of not sinking –
swim freely.
The temperature plummets
within, and still knee deep, I am caught
in the ice of limbo
like a reluctant, unbaptised infant
who already knows its own mind.
Today, it is not as simple; revisited
once again, by dark clouds that come
to smother me with their words –
they take their place in the queue
in this time lapse of a snowy day
where whiter clouds come and go,
but like my words they are seldom
realised, and so I have to withdraw
into a quiet blackness – the Narnia sheen
of glistening reason is too bright,
too stark, too vivid when shouts scream
from it.
The pool of unhurried water is a starkly
black dilation –
of a welcoming eye – the pupil inside
this giant O.
I fall into its gaze, and like yours
it swallows me up.

A Poem

source: The Franklin Institute

I
am a poem that roams, sprawls
and meanders, but
can also be still a while – enough to heal a dying a heart,
a heart in need of nurture – a living, pounding thing
deserving of meaningful blood, a blood that would keep the soul alive, that would will the vessel to breath;
they, in part, belong to me. So, I roam and thrive and pump my life’s air into another, so that I will not die.

I
am a heart that flounders, and with open wounds,
but can still be revived with love, even when
the daylight has gone from its shell. Still a living thing,
desperate for the richest ebony, I keep his pulse vital –
a pulse that throbs in my own veins.
So, I knead and revive, and breath life into those tired chambers,
lest I die.

I
am one half of one thing, drinking
the necessary fluids that course through
our minds and truths. We are never separated from each other like a lie
from a consequence devoid of honesty.
Morbid collections of everyday fodder clog and wither
the youth of a valve – I am constantly reborn as a testament to love
in case it
should not survive..

Erosion

mamu“Scientists estimate that 150-200 species of plant, insect, bird and mammal become extinct every 24 hours. This is nearly 1,000 times the “natural” or “background” rate and, say many biologists, is greater than anything the world has experienced since the vanishing of the dinosaurs nearly 65m years ago.”

Is our sole purpose
to contribute
to the epic verse
of the universe?
Or to document
in written, raw emotion
like stepping on
emeralds in the sand?
My dreams harden,
and sparkle
inside of geodes’ imaginations.
With the right mix of erosion and stress
earth’s natural sandstone
of arches and columns,
come into their own,

also eroded by tears
and mammoth tusks and hard shoulders;
rocks rubbed to a fine polish
stand mile high,
and
of long ago,
A time unknown
to our bare feet, till
we, the intruders,
came and made them
lost.
History will repeat
itself –
and extinction’s epitaphs
will be made.
But slow the pace of this
manic and unnecessary, beating drum.
Survival and intellect,
tribes and competition,
greed and capitalism,
humanity’s neo morals.
We are all a part,
we are the rhythm,
But without a heart
(Ecosystem)
We are nothing.

It Will End with Us

biosprit-subventionen-indonesien

A ton of wealth,
Kingdoms come and go.
Hatred and vicious swipes
rule today’s world,
obliterating the love,
tearing at faith –
the faith we have in ourselves.
Oceans rich in abundance,
overwhelming us,
are overwhelmed
with our filth
and disgust –
as much as we are disgusted
with humanity.
Just stop pillaging
and polluting
and take
the chance
we could leave
this planet whole

 REGARDLESS

of the current dictators
that rule its waves.

Houseboats

Untitled.png

Inspired by a tremendous haiku on Lize Bard

Why would the water be dead?
We have hope, enough to pour
into lost loams,
and to remember the lilies singing
one night past midnight
a long time ago.
Afloat they were on the darkest
green backgrounds of palms upturned,
creased with worry
atop a watery grave, I suppose.
We hugged as its mouth opened
and it breathed one night,
we nearly died of fright, but it
sucked them all in;
maybe we ignored their cries
due to sanity
tugging at our sleeves –
maybe cowardice too,
but with survival utmost in our minds.

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