April 2011
20 posts
Nothing as sweet as September,
(Vagrant winds spiralling dust,
To accompany the performance,
Of passing leaves, lifting their green masks
As the symbol of a closing
ceremony) Lingers in your slow
syllables, conserved to set limits,
Against the feverish life of March.
Exhaustion of summer days
Windless, moving constantly,
With heat and fragrance
June shivers beyond speech with music,
...
“We live in a world where we have to hide to make love, while violence is...”
– John Lennon (via loveyourchaos)
If emeralds ever stirred among the blades,
Would some mass migration,
Heave it’s communal weight,
To this side of the Pennines,
Eager hands summoning each shard,
Green pulses among stained palms,
And labouring shovels.
Had I fallen into a cautious sleep,
On the afternoon the crowd rolled in,
And left with the origins of a simile?
Fields slumber with their own conversation,...
Morning.
This morning I have invested,
In the lasting procession of
My health, the extension of
Buying power guaranteed a wholemeal cousin,
Taking the place of my usual,
Breakfast associate, open to change at the table,
The garden alternates beyond the window,
A breeze statistically accounting my gain.
Your heart is healthier for unsweetened tea,
The resistance of a first cigarette,
Until...
Hear.
Visions sunlight has gifted me, In kindness, sculpt us, Stretched with all luxury, The play of lethargic fingers.
Here, I sense I am slightly taller, My muscles leaner, Clothed in casual elegance, Hair freshly cut that morning, You, as always, are beautiful.
Now, I read to you, Pulled from the pages, Of his or her collection, Filling my lungs with their music, You falling and rising, With my...
Connections.
Spires of the new age, Old steel, advancing ideals, Kneel like the trees before them, Signals diminish,
The dull, mettalic Tinatus, fades to a memory, Of passion for movement, With nothing to induce motion.
Images are staggering across Each screen, slipping into the Still nothing of vacant thought, And the eyelids closure.
The telephone betrayed the illusion, That the world projecting itself,...
Together
The bulbs cool to beginnings, Staggering of a thrown switch, Fixations daylight endeavours held Lie robed in the velvet outer skin, Of final, laboured hours, The thin trails of a heartbeat, Or our bodies, prone and restless, Grasping without light, Summoning without music, Lie heavy and momentary on my bitten lips, My back blurred and torn by pianists fingers, And the elusive, shapeless, Falls,...
Restoring their bond,
To favoured shores,
Simple waters know of justice,
Mechanical movement of tides,
Command of despotic
Lunar strategists.
Taking of land by water,
Her natural corruption,
Seized in the triumph of our leader,
Taking of land by fire.
Distortions, fading face,
Once known,
Scattered in the folds of an evening,
Temples where we consume,
And are...
In Memoriam- J.M
Paris gifted an advancing paradigm, The experiment continued, Rapid consumption pulled infinity, To breed at the core of the system, elixir of impulse.
Spotlights become skeletal, Cameras cease, the predessesor’s dwelling, Inspires in the fragments of his essence, Igniting from the city aflame, Our spectre of adoration,
Half-man of ivory and intellect, Seeking restoration, the magnitude,...
Stanzas
The satellites and orbits ignite, Warning beacons, In militant formation, Preparing the universe- We have exhausted possibility, Destructive and insatiable, Within the limits of the city,
Sleepless lovers fold, Heavy with fatigue, Stilled in declining ambition, Eyes bare their secrets and Accept the material, Immediacy precedes thought, Retinas the colour of television.
Evening stagnation, Stars...
Summer
The gardens peer, inquisitive, Their centred enormity, Expansive and enterprising, Each flower sacrifices all integrity, Fulfilment of vain earth, In reach, for absolution of bloom.
Caress of new sunlight, harnessed water, White veins play depths of sensation, Stretching upward, a rose shapes at surface, Striding fearless with crimson eyes, Channelled light, Lunar tides opposing.
Unfurled from...
“We are content with the ‘given’ in sensation’s quest. We have...”
– Jim Morrison - The Lords: Notes on Vision
Birth
Instantaneous (before eternity), Cognitions embrace, Formulation of narrative, Shadowed in hushed day, Alive, dominant at rest, Continual with the mind’s rising.
My eyes begin their task, Lingering seconds of exposure, I knew nothing and was unafraid, Final, a wakening strike inspires, Raging in my first breath, Dust to truth, my notes answer.
Detection discovers me, Minute heart expanding,...
Vision: Redefined
A culmination of my recent work, re-drafted.
I
I sense in the weight of pages, The tattered corners and inspired, Annotations of a precise classicist,
That some undefined spectrum, Must precede Plato’s dialogue form, Of rational thought to fiction,
The galleries serve a superficial purpose, For one who never openly let sunlight play, Or ran the notions of air and moisture,
Through the...
Art/Poetry
III
Such fluidity exposes reasoning,
For the corrupt works of the objective,
Reclaiming colour in the efforts of focused sciences,
To measure the scent,
Of a flower, when they have followed your progress,
In the spring air, trembling with attributes,
For indifferent affection,
The distance of analytical fingers,
Applying correct terms,
While I gift them familiar names,
They smile...
An Extract
My first attempt at a play, due to my love of dialouge. More of an experiment for me in this form, so any feedback would be welcome :)
Act I
Scene I
Many years before the present.
A fading sun lingers upon a darkening horizon, the coming of night. Restless candlelight flickers within expansive quarters, amongst lavish furnishings and ornate decoration, wealth and status are evident in its...
Art/Poetry
II
The mannerisms of a curious child, Regulate my speech to set patterns, And when recorded, the line,
Of beauty lies definitive and unwavering, Certain of its own right, To illustrate the page with frameworks,
Printed expression rests, Clustered in parallel mentality, The curves of a sitter, unanswered,
Sketches of all adoration, Rupturing pulses of skin, Nerves and senses inclining,
Fail to...
Art/Poetry
I
I sense in the weight of pages, The tattered corners and inspired, Annotations of a precise classicist,
That some undefined spectrum, Must precede Plato’s dialogue form, Of rational thought to fiction,
The galleries serve a superficial purpose, For one who never openly let sunlight play, Or ran the notions of air and moisture,
Through the hair and fingertips, How would the subject...
