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Tuesday 31 January 2012

When the whites of your eyes


When the whites of your eyes
Don't see the light of day too often
Then my friend it's time to call a halt
Yes when every waking moment
Bequeaths some form of escape
The time is nigh to seek gestalt
Each cringe of skin
Each sudden jitter
Listen
Listen good
Time to change
So how do you go where to look
The answer is screaming
But it is within
And no more lies will help you
Begin
Of course the biggest most damaging lie is to oneself
But also the most easy until self respect returns
Clutch not onto straws
Unless to hold them in your hands
And gaze real hard, mean something
Stare beyond the bricks and mortar
Focus your attention on the most miniscule
Be not afraid of being misunderstood
Nor of misunderstanding
Slowly now, real slow, take all of your time
Soon, soon the thinking will begin
Take a thought and write it down
Pluck another as they race across
Your myriad of disconnection's
Mix the thoughts with pen on paper
In words in pictures
And as you draw, as the ink flows
From some thousand instantaneous hits inside your head
Remember, no conception this from stimulant
No alcoholic haze or nicotine dullness
Just you and you
Move on, move on, still smooth, still slow
Reach your tips of toes; beyond the body
Stretch out to your very extremities
Turn on the music listen listen
To just one heartbeat
Amongst a hundred thousand collisions of sound
Take a colour and rub it rich
Deep into the canvas
A life in layers
Layers of golden crimson
Now pick up the silk
Soft, so softly stroke between
Your fingers and your thighs
This is you and only you
Alive to tactile sensory sensation
Stimulated within, within by you
Step now, step forward, step back
Twist your toes and smile
Learn to say, to say control
You may feel if you wish
A little pleased with progress
But progress one moment only
Know full well this house of cards
Is not yet to turn to stone
So stop stop now and work hard
To recollect
Remember that very instant
When you did not, would not, could not say no
Folding falling for fictitious viscous freedom
If, if only
Avoid if only
Build a test to test temptation
All the while fondling silk and feeling good
Each and every once you see temptation eating at your core
Work, work with pen and paper, work with thoughts and thoughts
Now decide in the full light of day
And the full light of your being
Your reason, your rational for living
Escape if you wish
But escape to nothing
Nothing more than the oxygen of you and you
Stroke the marble, marvel at the texture
Mould the ball within your palm
Say soft words, say them slowly
Sometime take time to contemplate
Two thoughts intertwined with a common bond
Molecules in mesh
Upon this creation add your idea
Try to weave your way inside
This composite
Stable, living, breathing structure
Feel feel not for a parting
But a solid bond, a point of high energy
Waiting for your fusion
This my friend is friendship
Here the lies are gone
But to enter
Your first pass is to be true to yourself
Friendship is a form of magic
Conjured from the craziest calculations
Open your arms
Embrace
Smile
Enter


a poem from the collection Watercombe - Love in Open Moorlandavailable from itunes by clicking on this link

Monday 30 January 2012

Watercombe Revisited


Today I am revisiting (in my mind)
Just for you, o yes and just for me

I came alone to this place
Almost twenty-three months ago
Then, as now, the sky was blue
The river tumbled, the water splashed

Like a poet planted
Some time before the snow
Blue, blue, big blue Friday afternoon
Beside the lonely only one, the River Erme

In between the then, and the now
My own turbulence was maintained
Turbulent mind, turbulent body
Turbulent health, turbulent wealth

From first landing to final leaving
Things were always fluid and rolling
My head full of love, my body tired or alive
I was ill, I was well, I was poor, I was paid

Sheep graze these windswept moors
Lambs are born in driving rain
Alongside the gorse and the reeds
The crop cut grass pleads to grow

Those crazy beasts keep on mowing
There love-stock dropped and fawned
On the moor it’s rough yet it’s ready
Why ever should we misconceive

Echoed bleats break the cold
Waterfalls of springtime silence
Alone amongst a thousand acres
I chase another mother of nature

No more whinges or whines
Springtime springs once again
In a world beyond the shoulder
If we believe in her, she can give


Sunday 29 January 2012

One of Wait


Three calls to expect
The prospect of work
Hope of income
A return to ritual life

Between want & wait
Astride my galloping mind
I learn a little french
Le tranquil et grand et bleu

Laughter shapes movement
Fingers form freedoms
Stillnesses slowly evolve
Watch china plates on the wall

The courage of our creations
Cockerels made of clay
A figure of Capi de Monte
Trinkets from a seaside holiday

White walls, wooden floors
A glaziers gift of light
The performers platform
Perched it seems quite high

Solid stone superstructure
With doors that close just so
A place, a peace, for everyone
A consummated consistent whole


a poem from the collection Watercombe - Love in Open Moorlandavailable from itunes by clicking on this link

Saturday 28 January 2012

Aye lad we`re watching Coronation Street


Today on't phone to that Manchester lass
Broad, vocal, happy laughter filled the air
Her resonant conversation filled the moment
Void of anything except innocence
Happy asking directions to deepest Devon

Lad you see I think it is the simple things
That keeps speaking souls sanguine
Lately we've been forgetting
Later perhaps regretting
Though sometimes not even that


a poem from the collection Watercombe - Love in Open Moorlandavailable from itunes by clicking on this link

Thursday 26 January 2012

Watercombe


I came alone to this place
Almost twenty-three months ago
Then, as now, the sky was blue
The river tumbled, the water splashed

In between the then, and the now
My own turbulence was maintained
Turbulent mind, turbulent body
Turbulent health, turbulent wealth

Sheep graze these windswept moors
Lambs are born in the driving rain
Alongside the gorse and the reeds
The crop cut grass pleads to grow

Echoed bleats break the cold
Waterfalls of springtime silence
Alone amongst a thousand acres
I chase for another mother of nature



a poem from the collection Watercombe - Love in Open Moorland, available from itunes by clicking on this link