These were all written while I was living in London. Many of them are prose poems, not traditional poetry, and laid out in prose style lines. They have a more simple, sparse style than my earlier pieces.
Now you are gone
Sadness at the heart,
so what is new about that?
Point me at the core of your being,
the new birth in the world,
a spark unseen in any other light.
You individual star, flickering out.
I’m in darkness,
now you are gone.
A garden in Eden
‘Falling leaves return to their roots’- a Chinese saying.
Be with you oh redeemer, I return to the fold. My conditioning conditions me. Lay your giant hands on my shameful shoulders; I turn to gaze up like a child at your wise and shining countenance. Smile me into salvation, deliver all the lost ones, who, like me, find no quarter. Open arms like once before; dim remembered paradise, recapture me as one of your own. Just a child playing by the water.
Sublime power at the heart of the movement. Not everyone agreed with your smile. How strange that you should continue anyhow, strong hearted confidence and such repose. You talk like the tingling of ivory, a violin seems to alter the sound of the surrounding air, your voice rises on the crest.
Tell me about me, you don’t even know you. Everything is within that closed left hand, slowly unfolding…He talks just like himself, but looks a little different; she says she loves herself, but don’t let that stop you.
After all, you open you eyes on a new morning and feel blessed, don’t you? All those words are from here, lingering and waiting. You look at it, the geography of desire, the search for meaning, holy sepulchre from invisible substance made; not found on this planet until you came along. Show to us the products of that unfolding.
Come closer before I push you away; there is something that you want, and I have it in spades. Pulling you in like a spider may, closer to my embrace. Come closer within my range. I call a sweet number to charm you off. You are a mystery always, laughing on every street corner, pulling me in.
Wraps of traditional clothing hiding sensous body. Many years of waiting, movements all a practise for this great unveiling in the sight of the handsome young man. Dream filled nights of romantic ignorance. You caress your thighs, feelings of incredible indulgence, outrageous nakedness. Some feeling of shame overcomes you, so that you partially cover up. Yet the feeling is too strong, irresistable after all those years. So now the layers are completely cast aside, all culture has been stripped off you - now what separates you from the beasts? You twist and moan, sigh in undulations, and in your dark eyes, a spark of liberation!
The tyranny of time
That summer’s gone, a magic smile uncaptured, bronzed skin just right. Touch me again tomorrow, or I’ll go crazy. Recovering takes time, of which I still have plenty. But now that I am older I sense the ending of time approach like a wall coming in closer to my body, getting ready to end me.
The longing for love, you are an object of that desire, the deepest feelings finally revealed, a shared devotion in every breath. I can tell you now about my childhood, while ‘uncharacteristic’ tears overwhelm me. Schizophrenic thoughts at the doorstep - a bastion is what you are. Between the sheets, my only distraction; building up to something sweet, sweet and sour being every moment, every moment meaning... what?
A calm moment
You are already an intimate love, in hands that gentle hold, electric tingle of tenderness, small presents sparkle in time, expand to fill all spaces, all understanding filtering down, down to this moment... of stillness, of calm.
The thought that was lost and found and was found and lost. Across the many tramped streets looking for a person that you can love-share with. Many people found you unsuitable, many were unsuitable for you. But, in the end, you found them.
The focus of sexual energy, I’ve wanted this for a long time. Ever since that time I first saw you. I thought I liked you. Now you’re here, I’m wrapped in your arms. Later, you’re asleep and I gaze at your dark hair and blue eyes...do you know how wonderful you are?
Above all art
“The study of beauty is a duel in which the artist screams with fear before being defeated.” - Charles Baudelaire.
That misunderstanding you held close, after all you were the best of enemies, and those opposites need each other, like…oh, I don’t know.
Through that frivolous play there was a sensation, something that kept you up sleepless nights and anxious days. But filled you up with a power, a perspective of meaning. Above all you placed art up there, before even those who made you, and you did not want any contradiction. Now you have learned to converse with eloquence, but the depth of the feeling remains.
But, above all?, even sweetness? - Yes, because it is the sweetest. Above all?, even power? - Yes, because the power is infinite. Above all?, even money? - Oh yes, that's obvious. Above all, then, even love? - Yes... well, no… oh, I don’t know.
Looking around his room, taking in the shapes, the colours, forms, impressions; poetic additions to the cause. He never quite delineated why, but always felt it right to be doing what he did, to be who he was and mystified. His body breathed, food passed his lips, the chair felt good beneath him; and then suddenly he desired someone to hold him on the upper back with tenderness, as if he were a child.
A box of pleasures
“Wonderous things of thee are spoken” -a hymn
He floats in looking like a prince in your eyes;
how wonderful are your perceptions;
dull knights become shining stars.
Hard labour transformed to joy,
warm soft body in the bath tub,
‘to wash you is my joy’.
He hardly can believe such words,
feels they cant be true.
But for you he is a box of pleasures,
a delight at every turn,
a reason to go on breathing.
Breathing in his charms.
A certain something found in these spaces, let me tell you without a mumble or a stumble, because I feel it may be my last chance. Feelings that I refer to slip away (sand), wash away (water), dust and tears intermingle, something created from nothing; hidden secrets even loved ones kept their own for years; deep things that hurt you or made you laugh. Hysterical fits on the floor, and in those contortions you ballet danced the choreography of your life, found meaning at last, sighed - and smiled the most beautiful smile in the world.
It must be declared directly, but they are so coy, neurotic twists in infinite variety; and anyway isn’t charm charming? They become so confused, tender caress begins the affair and tears end it. Remember that girl who angrily scored her number out of your book, just 2 hours after writing it there? Don’t hide so much away behind that poetic shield. It is invisible after all, a delusion of grandeur. Deep being in your heart, a new style is now born; borne of all the recent trips down many a London lane. Imprint and I can do it! That city’s busy air, running around inside your mind, a thousand of their kind, and now a thousand more. All shifts of troublesome psychology, and you are just one more; only special to the special ones, who left you confused and in tears. Who is hidden in that grave? A lost love never realised, though there for 30 years; now become a pain forever. And you are searching, like a seeker, for the cure.
A lover says
Please turn around and run after me, for several days now I have been in misery. I long for that glimmer of love, the look in your eyes, the sweet arms to hold me; and I feel that nothing else is worth the effort. Wont you let me explain the hurt in my heart? I am dying of longing and you are my only consolation.
I said hold me to your heart, and you let me go;
I asked you to stay, you left very shortly;
when I was helpless you didn’t notice;
I cried myself dry and you didn’t care;
my heart was gasping, you chose to let it die.
I said: ‘ Save me!’,
you said: ‘No’.
In song ye gathered us tae ye, we were only few and no very guid. But we were gae strang inside oh us and followed ye tae the ends. Yer spirit turned on that devotion, and endless power; and we felt like nuthin could haud us back from daein what we wanted tae dae, being who we wanted tae be. I felt alive then, more than aud ever done.
I remember John, alive as you and me, who is now dead and gone; and it indicates to me, no matter how great we get to be, of the cruelty of fate, that lets a bullet end us.
In the mystery,
a bright light distant,
a voice calling,
soft tones emanating
from inside every object.
Making sense at last of a sea of tears.
Now in gentle still water
floating towards that depth.
I feel calm,
relieved of all concerns.
I think I am forgetting,
happily forgetting…about everything…
moving towards the light.
Everything inside you, unconsciously stored; the strange landscapes, flying like the impossibles, never to be repeated, always to be ‘there’. This moment being so smug in its glory, reigns over all. I nod my head in abjection. Touch me with a hand, gentle and benign. In time I smile; I smile, in time.
Having just forgotten,
an instant ago,
that childhood of mine.
The zone of connection soon ends in stillness;
terrifying lack of sound,
all sight leaves you,
numb forever into the future.
But there is a great fire of transformation,
in which I have been waiting to be reborn.
Im glad you took your time,
sweet small package;
everything was worth it,
the worst of tears.
Because you delivered me,
The war is over
Cessation of the sound,
all across the battlefield a silence.
There amongst the corpses,
fat rats furtive in the smog,
a stillness magically created out of all that fury.
The cries are gone,
the shrieks, the mechanical grind,
the whizz of ammunition.
The impact of shells no longer deafens me.
The war is over.
I feel numb without all that sound,
and my comrades look lost;
no doubt the enemy feels the same.
The flow of time has destroyed me,
I have died in all my yesterdays,
I will also die today, even in the moment.
Who was it that started this poem?
And who will finish it for me…