Linked

Face to face, cross-legged sit, with hands clasped,

Tho’ miles of distance far away, apart,

Eyes closed in the moments, breathing deeply,

Link to link in silenced minds and hearts.

Energy in ether, surging outwards,

Feel it, see it, with an inner eye,

Distance void, communing in the spirit,

Pulsing love ‘tween earth and us and sky.

Exposure

Paint your portrait,

Canvas stretched,

Framed, by other words,

Splash with colour,

Light will find

Art and truth in daubs.

Capture soul,

With candid shots,

Exposed by camera shot,

Communicate,

Whatever means,

How all change is wrought.

Speak the words,

Listen too,

In lines we read between,

Doubts and questions,

Head held to side,

Squint before the screens.

Not all pictures

Breathe fine art,

Not all media true,

Interpretation,

Opinion polls,

Up to me and you.

 

 

‘C’

Crises contradictions cover cosmos –

Collapsing chaos, conspiracies, calamity,

Crap conveyed, covert conversations,

Compromise core of clarity.

 

Colonial corridors contribute currency,

Cash cow, covens cook, collective control,

Corporations closing competition,

Cathartic calm in communities console.

 

Compensating callous with a candle,

Camouflaging cancer in the capitals,

Cagey captivations cling and capture

In cartooned currents cascading in canals.

 

Carnival of clowns caught in cameo by a camera,

Castaways from chromosomes and character,

Claustrophobic caverns compared to cloudbursts

Cleansing congregation, conductor.

 

Collective consciousness, a current clatter,

Claws and clauses, concurent, cannot conform,

Cantilevered columns of confession,

Cabled communication calls candela, no chlorform.

 

Collapsed, capitulating to all converse customs,

Community connived or carried crutch’d,

Chaotic as a compromise for communion,

Conceals covalent chemistry communes clutch.

 

Concrete ‘C’ cannot console in cities,

In citadels, but cynics and all citizens can.

Cyclones, centrifugal centres, certainties ceded,

Collapse ceilings, clear out cesspits, cite civic caravan.

 

Blips, You See

It’s just a blip you observe on the radar screen of life,

Blinking near, though far off, can be gauged,

Alerting with sound – a beep – nothing more,

Present but not central to the stage.

The battle is raged from a distance, you see,

No one’s hurt for no one sees the war,

Just a signal  or two between two or a few,

Pulsating but not revealing more.

It’s a secret, you see, though poorly concealed,

It’s written in the stars and in the clouds,

It’s written on the walls, messages revealed,

Interpreted by dreamers who’re allowed

To read what is there, discerning of eye,

Of their hearts and what’s etched upon their souls,

Magnifying bleeps, words and symbols so seen,

Directing them further towads their goals.

It’s the goals, can’t you see, that present so much strife,

Distorted in hist’ry and by lies,

Content unremembered, misinterpreted for aim,

Truth garnered only by the willing spies

And some who recall the way it once was

And some who believe how it should be,

It’s just a blip, can’t you see, in the passage of our time,

A different timepiece, ticking history.

Search For Key

I know you struggle with communication,

You search for words and actions to convey

All you feel and think, all that is within you,

Everything you find no way to say.

I know I struggle too with this same problem

Despite the fact that words come all too easily,

Sometimes it’s not the words that are the problem

But knowing which ones tell the truths for me.

I know we cannot always speak or reach out,

Locked inside ourselves as we all are,

Begging for a greater wordsmith’s charter

To reveal the core that reunites the stars.

I know affliction of this kind is legend,

Tracks volumes written of all history,

Permeates the core of all our suffering,

Lack of understanding, search for key.

traps and trains

…g…o…t…t…a…

 keep it steamin’ on all fronts

– chugga, chugga, chugga –

engine shunts

— coasting on the flat —

/and down the slopes \

\struggling up the mountains/

how it copes

incredulous to see

although horrific

balletic in display

!!!!! so goddamned specific !!!!!

enemies around

trains on the track

no diversions here

‘we’ve got your back’

– choo-choo, choo-choo, choo-choo –

what a pain

gotta win our cause

what? fuck! again?

got…ta…got…ta…got…ta

keep right on

knowing, even while

those days are gone

knackered at the yard

rusted, forlorn

pistons straining

empire days long gone

where’s the change

 in terminology

…locomotive, train…

‘psychology’

wanton in excess

(on all the sides)

aggression wins

oh yeah? hist’ry decides

no worries, folks

Casey’s on the whistle

humming tune, new

 apostolic epistle

***shunty***shunty*** shunty ***

gasp (O) and groan 😦

passengers resigned

shrug shoulders, moan….bugger, shit, feck, fuck!

destination’s further

 down the line

worry not, guys

future’s lookin’ fine 🙂

just around next bend 🙂 🙂

a few more miles 🙂 🙂 🙂

slightly further on 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 (sweat hope!)

we’ll all have smiles 😉

at reaching place

we took the journey to

I’m getting off this train

don’t know ‘bout you.

lookin’ for the trap

by horses led

simplistic conveyance

or just lay abed.

Cogs

Just a very tiny cog in a very big wheel

As it spins and it spins on its axis,

Rotating, denoting what is truth what is false,

Woven with power raised in taxes

From the very tiny cogs, located at the hub,

Forgotten, though pivotal, components,

Grinding anew, as lubricant dissolves,

Fracturing framework, strong proponents

Of a different machine where each cog can now become

Part of a wider evolution,

Rolling down the road, in the ether, through the sphere,

A nuts and bolts reform of revolution.

Wheels of machine are hanging by a thread

Made of iron, corroding, cannot last.

Cogs now formed of steel have longevity, purpose new,

Collective memory of all the futures past.

We Write…

We write of summer meadows and of dewdrops,

Of circles caught in circles in our mind,

Of senses’ fantasies that beg releasing, in

Images that seep on page to find

Recognition in the land of journey

Of imagination played before our fluttered eyes,

Of colours bright or muted, freed from prism,

Of right or wrong, of truth, of evil lies.

 

We write of winter howling in bare treetops,

Of geometric tangents linked with space,

Of god and gifts and sad laments of knowing

Revealed inside the gifs behind our face,

Of politics and grace and favour owing,

Of how, by nature, owls seek out and track their prey

While, through the night, their silent wings stir currents,

Nocturnal voice, soft breathing held at bay.

 

We write at dawn and in night’s tiptoed torment

Of tales and thoughts, common to us all,

Of worlds within the world we all are sharing,

We write, in honesty, must be the greatest call

Of those drawn to the world of language,

In letter’d form, placed hesitantly, upon page,

Hit ‘publish’ while our hearts on white are crafted,

Daring reciprocity or rage.

 

Of ballerinas twirling in their jewel box,

When opened to reveal our trinkets there,

We write and dare our eyes to endless wonder,

We write, we risk our souls to honest bare.

We write because not doing is no option,

Words bedevil, haunt with no regret,

Spectral forms hover oe’r us, in cloud lexicon,

Begging exorcism on the net.

 

We write in music, pictures and prose poetry,

In art, in forms all risen from the pyre

Of ashen phoenix, from a long tradition

Of pigments mixed in charcoal from the fire.

In black and white, in colours that suffuse us,

Permeate the gases of our form,

Our nebula of knowing that what moves us,

Communication, as the human norm.

 

We write when tears are forming on our eyelids,

Smudging ink that proves our hearts still feel,

In anger, too, spilled blood from ancient consciousness,

We write to justify our thoughts are real.

We write because we see all souls are hurting,

As mine does too, from time to time, no less,

We write as union with the great unknowing,

One cell from shared communion that we bless

 

In knowing that no trouble that we carry

Need be borne alone no matter where we are,

Our words are missiles, more powerful than nuclear,

They are the love that nurtures near or far.

The word is flesh, the word is souls abiding

In light, its form, its earthless, weightless mass,

In silence and in photonic dark room,

One word may mean more than all the rest.

 

We write of dreams succumbed to when we’re sleeping,

Of daydreams caught in shower’s gentle sting,

Of justice, truth, of pain, of deep depression,

Of cloud release ascended on the wing.

Of tender-hearted moments that we’ve nourished,

Of visions seen in skies, on mountain peaks,

We write of all that’s conjured in our musings,

We write because some words are hard to speak.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Soul Seekers

Yesterday the only blogger I’ve ever collaborated with…sounds rude, doesn’t it?!…reblogged our collaboration and inspired me to ask for more. Watch this space!

In the meantime, one of my other favourite people, Mark, wandered out from Australia’s bush territory, haggard and drought-ridden, in need of nurture by a Scottish handmaiden – ok, get with the programme, it’s not called poetry for nothing! – and has been settling in to a new way of life with the promise of his healing gifts being used for the benefit of many.

We got chatting…as you do.

And lo and behold, something he said triggered a response in me that led us to this collaboration in the comments section! I’m chuffed as f…anything. There’s a little magic in the moonlight and some wanderlust in souls that seek to find.

Soul seeker,

journey far in waxing, waning moon…

 Heart healer,

words of healing, life in tune…

 

Believe then, in magic,

writ by silver’d stars…

 And belief within,

Life open, without bars…

 

Hush, spirit, listen well,

heed that aching need…

 To find the truth,

the beginning of a seed…

 

Be still, in the knowing,

Let silence fill your mind…

 A gift from up above,

a wonder you will find…

 

No magic be cast here,

Mere souls in perfect tune…

 With love and a sharing,

Perfect harmony with the moon…

 

Be faithful to the aching…

The voice that cries within…

 For in that understanding,

is a love that’s always been.

 

May Music, Day 20 – One Among Many

Many years ago I studied the poem, ‘Icarus Allsorts’ by Roger McGough, as part of the war poems series my year group had to learn for a ‘major’ exam. I learned it by heart at the time. I think his poem is as valid today as it ever was although, back then, the preoccupation with impending nuclear war felt like a creepy necessity; a scary dystopia we more than imagined we had every chance of being part of sooner rather than later.

The last song, alphabetically, on my I-pod play list, as requested by Twindaddy, made me recollect this poem.  It is ’99 Red Balloons’ by Goldfinger.

It floats now,

 alone,

though one among many,

aspirationally buoyed

beyond the rest,

elevated,

tethered in hearts,

in words,

multi-threaded bytes

reaching

faster, higher, stronger.

Olympian endurance,

against

the  machine.