Love Songs V
The caution of building communal lives, Inhabiting division via a shared crossing, Occupies the cavernous void Between discussion, And measuring the dimensions Of your white hands In their slow inaction. As I have seen the same fingers Search your hair for an answer, To some grand proposition, I owe the linear chapters which preceded you, And all that follows, to bind one with gold.
Love Songs IV
Assessing our position, (Conversations through glass) Or recognising the stance Your eyes take, Behind their deepest shadows, (Sunday morning practices) Where the first birds discard our affairs And the redundancy of pillow talk. Though the fruit rests weighted, And plentiful in the boughs Of springs statues, The roses have silence greater than our gestures, And blood enough to colour, The...
The July rain printed Minute spheres of concern, Abstract patterns against the windscreen, Kicking from the tarmac, The car streaming toward the hospital. The song from her favourite film Is playing with the same cinematic air, On the fading signals, Our likeness to the screen, Is the denial of complexities, And reality is the acceptance of them, Red bricked realisation, the hushed anger, Held...
the office blocks will empty Of light and activity, And the workers will call time On their alarm clocks, Forget the combinations to briefcases, The necessary boredom of a meeting, Systems, files, paperwork, And take the walk home, stripped of tie and monotony. A leading artist will write something, Which returns life to that place At the back of the neck, where you used to feel, And...
Passed my driving test this afternoon! Yes!
The Republic: A Satire
The ageing vision of myself, Is not sinking Slowly into the mediocrity Of ordered progress. General consensus informs, (regardless of values) That profit makes a man, More than the flesh he was born with. Balances and accounts, Allow a recluse to manipulate, His personal empires as an Anonymity and be praised for it. (The worlds finest art Belongs to the collective Who send...
Don’t create a fantasy outside of reality, Build a reality to reflect your vision.
Confusing sex for love is akin to blurring the works of Darwin and Keats.
Continually the soft Mechanics of the lungs, Offer their practice To bend petals, In a closing palm, And dedicate the imprecise actions, Of a brain, to cynicism, So as not to realise oneself
There is no such thing as too many books...
Just too little space.
Rising against The movement of composition, Or craftsman A melody lingered with my vast innocence, Infant fingers following the command, Of a slight wrist, along the ivory, Springing in the unchanged Temperament of a scale. Tracing and returning like Sisyphus, The weight of sound bending my finger tips, To those, with years, who remember The sloping elegance of a dress, Or the porcelain frame...
I carry portraits of monarchs, And innovators, to the value of a novel, A coffee, a pack of cigarettes- Consuming as loose notes, Become hasty meals, And glasses half full with anticipation, (The atrocity is, some have either Far too little money, or far too much) Functioning with enough to barter my way into the town, Engaged in the pursuit of nothing, Assuming the given trials of love and...
Risen from the singular blur, (Evening) (Strangers) A cigarette Clinging to the chasm of my fingers.
These innate conflicts enact their truce, Glimmering with imperfections, The winds carry alien dialects, Populating shores with fresh intelligence, Where lovers quicken their instincts, Among the sands, Developing frontiers, While the leaves are singing to one another Living cities tremble, With warfare and revelation, There are children in London, Who have never conversed with stars.
I finished college forever. I’ve been waiting for this for quite a while, but I have to admit I’ll miss the place. I now have 7/8 glorious weeks before I start university and move to my new home at Aberystwyth. I’m looking forward to having a new environment, the sea/the beach, and learning at one of the top creative writing departments in the UK. I’m going to spend...
When man kills with greater intent, Than he will love, We have a subject for enquiry, And a motive for science.
Passive intensifier of electric air, Touch me now, and I’ll burn.
A story from the weekend-
So it’s Saturday, I’m feeling good, and she’s with me. It’s early evening, we’re drinking wine, talking, and there are others there but I’m not thinking about them. She’s Science and I’m Art, she’s rich and I’m poor, and we’re a mass of contradictions, slowly progressing to some sort of perfection. I’m smiling and she’s...
Love Songs III
You draw the room into yourself and scatter The diligent turning of my certainty, Moored close against the ordered Repetition of pavements, The answering countenance of the walls, Shifting with the rhythmic industry Of your breathing. Science and scripture Echo their reoccurring strains And it is time- (light and movement confirm) I am assured you have not looked at them, With the same eyes,...