May 2011
23 posts
Retribution - Part One.
The intruder hesitated momentarily. Slow movement flashed where the light beyond the window panes gripped him, and released into shadow. Hauling the cloak of rich silence in his wake, a measured progress saw his arrival at the first door, the open kitchen. Cavernous, its features lay petrified, a cleanliness of anaesthetic precision, pale porcelain like carved bone. Being new built, and clinging...
Evening interjects, idle between us,
She is dressed to remember her youth,
Aged frame sinking against my shoulders,
(The street lamps pursuing shadows,
Dazzle the pearls around her neck)
She breaths lucid along my collar bone,
That the city lights are burning,
She would like to see them,
And when their facades regain,
Daylight composure,
Without cry of music,
Or the giving stream of...
“There is no such thing as the State,
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no...”
– 1st September, 1939 - W.H Auden
“It is better to be an absurdity than a mediocrity.”
Twisting fine fingers against September leaves, Ornate smoke escapes lyrically, A multitude of climbing shadows, The vapour rising and continuing Fading to the next among lunar rays.
A burning flickers in combating with My lips, a distinctly human pursuit, Gripped loosely between my fingertips, An assertion to tempt death forward, If only to prove that we have lived.
The lights are racing each...
3 tags
Haiku Chain
I stirred to winter,
Each window glaring inward,
Their sublime remorse.
To fall in summer,
With the languorous currents,
The fields set ablaze.
Victim laid for spring,
Breathing life to the flowers,
Born, achieving light.
The violet air,
Scented with movement,
Alone, I see them,
Pass beyond electric sound,
The many who walk,
And one watching the seasons.
1 tag
I ride each minute to the next, With all the expectation and mystery, Of a proletarian believing He wears the solitary beacon, Of Nietzsche or Sartre, among his industry.
Her hair is warming in the fine light, Eyes burn minutely in the seconds, Shared with others, (She has crossed mine twice and never stayed) Long enough for me to assume,
Her views on modern democracy, Or the possibilities for...
In the fragrant mist, shifting afternoon, The clouds shed their energy, They are named ‘dispiriting’ and ‘foreboding’ Forgoing their elaborate titles, Speaking of rain.
How empowering to breathe, With the anatomy of a cirrus, My own flight denied in the ties of Skeletal structure, The regiments of gravity, And a quietened imagination. They are humble with the promise,...
You’d dangle discontented Marxism,
From your watch chain,
If only they’d let you,
To maintain a wary eye,
And know precisely where to find an argument,
With the state a gold encasement,
Of industry, swelled in fires of progress,
A ticking mechanism at it’s heart,
Disquiet antithesis,
Reiterating the same facts,
To consult, and snap shut
What profit lies in liberty?
Gallery
An attire of disquiet anonymity,
Gestures among trained observers,
The glamour of crystal,
Accompanying murmurs,
Of opening discussion.
An anaesthetic whiteness,
Surgical precision,
Isolates the company,
Restless voyagers, acquainted in a void,
Waiting for the universe to maintain pace,
And devestate the room with colour.
This is how the boundary appears before
Entering into the...
Lately I’ve been losing followers, most of the stuff I post is on here so that people might come across it and have a read, regardless of anything else, but is it anything to do with what I’m writing?
Futures form in the clicking heels,
Of a pedestrian concierge,
Informing me that the meal has been,
Prepared, but he is sorry that
There were complications.
I have booked an advanced viewing
For that new biography of mine,
The one with the most brutal
Analysis of the subject,
I await the next instalment
Of myself on the television,
Or read about my destination,
And activities,...
We, born with the possibility, Of Gods, learn in their teachings, Limitations of the self as mortal.
Blind, treading lines, Of artificial direction, laid in fire, Entering into the labyrinth.
You are my enemy, Yet I love you, I look at you, And have seen my own face.
This earth will cease in it’s cycles, The solitary spark, single moment to exist, Shivers in the stagnant void.
You are my...
“When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to...”
– John Lennon
O’Hara’s linguistic complexities, For satisfaction, I have ventured Firmly into fragmented solitude, Writing exclusively, nothing.
Satisfaction rests among passing hours, Complexities fragmented, Smiling exclusively with regression, Gift of solitude, longing for nothing.
Lines lie fragmented exclusively, For her satisfaction, in the heart-beat, Where complexity breaths last, the arms of her...
Does any question have a definitive answer anymore?
We.
‘Have they invented it yet?’ ‘Invented what?’ ‘Forever?’ ‘No’ Wake me up when you hear.’
‘I don’t like the sky today’. ‘It’s the same as always’ ‘Can you change it?’ ‘Go back to sleep’
‘What happened to your heart?’ ‘There’s a dancer in New York, ask her’. ‘Does she have a name?’ ‘You’ll know her when you see her.’
‘Would she take mine?’ ‘She collects them’. ‘I’m too tired for transatlantic...
