Faith, Hope & Love

It isn't about hope, it quite probably isn't about love
Faith too, that’s hardly worth a mention
It is about my physiology, about my psychology
Time I took time to gain more understanding

I hoped you might call, but you didn't
I was expectant, and then excited, but ultimately
I was extremely disappointed
All of that happened while nothing physiological
Outside of my body, ever turned a trick

I wish the physiology was more in tune with my youth
I wish the psychology
Had the maturity of a single, or a thousand lovers
I wish I had been more easily and way better understood

I made the call, talked for a timeless time
Without encouragement nor needless intervention
I wrapped myself in a cocoon, of impenetrable gossamer
All of that happened while nothing psychological
Outside of my mind, ever turned a trick



From the Collection One Crow to a Tree - Love in Separate Houses available from Lulu

Clocks Move On

I want for no more than this breeze

Breath of life from outside of my dwelling

Draught of revitalisation

Here, from someone other's garden

To sit, say no more than that

Without thoughts of need, or purpose

Simply to be, sat here

Precisely in the present

I have no desire for challenge

The truth of it is that such noise disrupts me

Better to have your quiet body stood beside me

Here, & in the near and far distance

To take no more than unique love

Love forever feeds my introspection

Love that smiles innocently

Here, upon our happy state

From the Collection One Crow to a Tree - Love in Separate Houses available from Lulu

As one gets older

The uncertainties that turned fiercely into certainties are all in the previous multitudinous words and actions. That though doesn’t prevent the words still wanting to flow, for there are new uncertainties that will become the future certainties

Each day there is some pain or other, some large or small irritation, some brief, or longer lasting, taste of peace and joy. Not that I know myself any better; I am up too close to take a balanced view, my balance is mostly unbalanced

I have a ringing sound in my ears & my toes are tingling, there are rumbles from my digestive system and a dull pain from the area of my shoulder. I can see light from two-thirds of a circumference without moving & I can think on of this mornings half-way erotic dream

None of this would matter, unless you, the reader, had not got this far, for now I have to avoid repetition. Same as it ever was might have worked as a song lyric with a seventeen times reverb, but not for my reader, he wants more from my soul, more from my mind

What fired the early morning half-awake cavorting, with such a young, petit beauty; what had him shouting instructions over the cliff face to the hordes of workers below. With such tiredness of thought the sleep had come quickly, with no alarm his sleep was free from interruption; yet he woke, briefly, before the slender young woman curled into his body, before her gentle movements delivered him to nirvana.

& now, in the early evening, I prefer to dwell on the emotion, rather than to try to understand the meaning. Although I am aware that those few pages of Jung could have ground into my sleep’s own subconscious; rewarded me for my days insincere efforts.

For the dream was a payback, all soft and warm and loving. No angst, no noise, no friction; just love, love and bodies in free and fluid motion. Love, and the carefree intimacy of the desirer and the desired; always to be in the warmth of ones own making.

If I described this room; with its unlit stove on a rural stone slab, would that help you, the reader to gather your own misappropriations of the days and years gone by. Would it help you to know, of the light within, and the dark without, of the overheard television drama, and one side of a boisterous telephone conversation.

I dare to say it would not help; yet to know that I look at a painting, of two working men tiling a roof, would I think be of assistance. Workers; the very places I came from, the very people I tried to escape from; the very purpose of pictures; not to be what we were born to be.

To become something other; inside and outside of ourselves, being ourselves first, and foremost; although even our self is caught up in the forgetfulness. We forget what to do, what to say; we forget what to learn, what would give peace, what would help our mind quieten. We forget, until the young woman joins our quilted existence.

From the Collection One Crow to a Tree - Love in Separate Houses available from Lulu

Obscure Linkages

That I should wander

In search of the gaps in my unconscious

Shows the permanence of scar

Your motiveless love has placed upon me

That I should read Lacan's treatise on the

Four fundamental concepts of psychoanalysis

Shows the depths I have plunged

To retain your absolute indifference

That I now study Dwelshauvers lists

For which I have to seek translation

Shows the endless & hopeless course

Which I set about to forage

That you never spoke of Jaques Lucan

Neither Rollo May for that matter

Suggests that you always did have hiding

As one of your lost loves prerogatives

From the Collection One Crow to a Tree - Love in Separate Houses available from Lulu

Spheres of Significance

I had the moon in my sight

With your hand in mine

I was sure of the flight

That this was the time

Secured by the moon

In heaven by light

Not a day too soon

After the dark of night

Sand dunes to climb

Waves to caress

Virgo's sign, from

The officer's mess

Shake with the rune

Odds to suppress

Sing out of tune

To childhood regress

From the Collection One Crow to a Tree - Love in Separate Houses available from Lulu