More Autumnal Catching Up......

 

The Third Stage.

The smoke curled about this return,

And clearing slightly, we fell in deep,

Of the darker mysteries we may have learned,

No arcane climb was quite so steep.

We invoke the watchers to bring relief,

And catch black pearls from their very eyes,

The sense of unity this time is brief,

The sweet of the sweetest softens your sighs.

The clear air in this scented glade,

In this vision where we last the night,

This shifting time where our plans are laid,

Where the dreams are as real as second sight.

You blur again as we strip this scene,

I sing the observation rite to win your eye,

You spin in uncontrolled ecstasies my queen,

My body dissolves with this catcher's rye.

The trees dance with your sweet sex,

We laugh like children all gone mad,

Sweet naked mania our bodies flex,

In the scryer's mind we are golden clad.

The return to smoke and the real world,

Dissipates the fire that we have shared,

Entwined in the wet sheets round each are furled,

All your aspects, of the girls who dared.

Lights.

One green light on a distant hillside

Traffic light green

Off

On, for ages

Then, dimmer

Then moving

Off

Two, repeat

The routine

Then one again

Five dimmer red lights

Alone

Interruptions, belie intervening pedestrians, perhaps

Then a green

Moving

Then two

Then none

Just five

Reds

Too small for street lights

At the turkey farm.

Define “Weird”

Is “weird” driving into the past.

To see someone who's not there?

Strange dust filled sunset.

Way brighter than anyone accused me,

Or, maybe there was a line to cross,

And I was afraid.

You couldn't come with me, into anonymity.

Or time-travel, and I couldn't....

Is “weird” walking into space we passed through,

Half expecting to live forever,

In a moment of dust, and accusations.

Anonymous takes on a scent of it's own.

With guilt, and sweat, and old diesel boots,

Thoughts of sunsets we couldn't.

And lines we crossed

Just, at different times.

 

Decisions Decisions.

It was another month for decisive jokes,

A time for relaxing,

A time for smokes.

Time for flapping with direction lost,

Maybe should have seen the real cost,

Should have known what to do,

May get around to ringing you,

May say that all's okay,

May remember your birthday,

Could call to say that I love you,

Could wish you well,

In all you do.

Say "I know.." and "I already knew...",

But the point is that nothing's new,

And take time off,

Or 'time in lieu',

Sit around and watch the clock,

Impatient type of latent shock,

Some time maybe to take stock,

Find keys for this mental lock.

But, and there has to be a but,

I forget where one should put,

Oneself when in a rut,

Not, I know, in this hermit's hut.

Still though, it was a month of strange days,

When you know the loser pays,

Count fewer magpies than loud jays,

Use fever to fight the haze.

 

Dreamer.

Marsh lights, weird ways,

Welcome to these strange days,

Here the start of hallucination,

Quite lawful fascinations.

Moody lighting to set the scene,

Vines a-hanging, slime in green,

Deep resonating psychic sounds,

Penetrate these dreaming grounds.

Steaming ponds of dreams you've had,

A bubbling stench, from the bad,

Familiar images deep in a wood,

Reminding you of the good.

Sleep-walking with passion,

On a singular mission,

Manipulate your reality,

Keep, to your sanity.

I am so chuffed with this one I can't explain it......^^^

 Selfies....

I think I need to go and lock myself back in here again.....

It's been a funny old week, again, some fantastic "ups" ups, and some huge downs. I do sometimes feel like this is just an enormously protracted suicide note, well, sometimes, but at least someone will have something to look back on and think, nope we don't understand.

Until my next post....stay safe out there people.

x

Between Storms

Bolts.

Just put sky hooks and restraint,

Right out of this arena.

All is bolts.

Bolts is all.

Nuts, screws, nails, hooks, hinges,

Bolts to perspex.

But perspex is best,

To shield and save,

Protect and survive.

Deflect gamma, alpha, theta, beta,

Lead lined particles particular,

To this region of your thought,

Arenas of doubt.

On the subject of which,

Who, what, how, why,

Simply bolted to this screen,

Of larger term perspex disbelief.

With worshipful lords and

Forgetful protection.

Where the shiny perspex

Thrives, and survives.

Before The End.

 

Boxing Day 95. Edale.


Staring over thirty snowed moors,
Take the mind,
Lost the paths that age brought,
Fill anew with wonders long now sought,
Now lost, now found in vistas,
Wind blown skyline,
So rare and fine,
Thirty miles or more.

Burnt Earth

 

The burnt earth that slips from the foot,

The drizzled hour in this grave of trees,

And innocent tyre tracks shout your name.

The discarded stone circle with hints of modernism,

Scorched black and flaky edged altar stone,

Desecrated by the Roman Catholic sandalled steps,

And abandoned by newly educated free-men.

Here the ancient is at your finger tips,

Just beyond instant response touch taste,

And the strength of the is/it flows from the ground.

The steps you felt yourself guided to take,

Or maybe the hidden scene shifting guardians,

Or something still less paranoid calls you now.

Here we stand, in this dream scarred once-grove,

With sacred moments of sheer swimming love,

And hand in hand we silently soak and our clothes

Catch the smell of recent wood fires.

The burnt stone under-hand blacks your skin,

And sadly we move through and deeper into

Our new found reborn living loving and the sun.

Soft drinks carton pirouettes a mockery play for us,

And I have you lightly on my silver thread.

 

Here & Now

When the wind blew its strong words

Through my own life sentence

Carrying off dust whorls and girls,

And innocent, bystanding animals,

I wavered, and weathered, and long stood firm,

And drifted, and sifted through the wreck,

Searching and filtering, smashed up timbers,

And debris, and desk top exercises.

Recreating a stronger, deconstructed man,

From upturned cars, and tumble weed,

And ancient lies and mindless theories,

Thrown through the air, to crash, here and now.

Malkin House Wood.

Rock mass drunken landslide sentries,

Strewn in quilt leaf blanketed backdrops,

Fail to prevent this arboreal penetration.

The functional steel blade carves a vicious scar,

And spells out a fancy's name, yours,

But nobody notices.

Stone heaped dead quarry in green shadows,

Summons the time spirit to refresh race memory,

And chants the woven spell of love dreaming,

Interspersed with tiny pangs of blue guilt,

And a buried sword by storms revealed,

Leaps to hand to cut you down,

To half my memory size and gives me

A moment to think.

You won't leave me, shadowed green girl ghost,

Entwined with ground ivy and dead bracken hair,

I encountered your white magic and loving prose,

In distant delled copse laden deep glens,

And can't forget no matter how hard I try,

I can't walk away.

 

Mad Moment 1

You can drink what the hell you want,

Wont bother to list it all,

But, so far as this continuously drunk fellow,

Tries to extend his experience,

Raison d'etre, perhaps,

Is concerned,

Red wine equals truth, and poetry,

And, subsonic pedantry,

And a conscious madness that only

Water can take away.

-------------------

Mad Moment 2

Forever, I'm trying to find a touchstone,

Every time we meet, trying

Trying,

Trying,

Trying,

Trying,

But there's an empty, burnt heather moor,

And a suicidal keeper,

And a dead candle,

And yet I so want you to understand,

And this touchstone is too damn hot.

 

Love, Don't Love.


I loved you since time began,
I don't love you now.

I loved you since time began,
But I don't love you now.


Eat my dignity,
My masculinity,
Make toxic remarks,
And screw me up.


Maybe its because I loved you,
That I don't hate you now.

Maybe I should have just loved you,
And maybe I should love you still.


But eons after our birth,
Our death engulfs,
Entwines, and ingests,
Incinerates, and drowns,
And now, its late.

I love the memory of you,
But reality is bitter green death.


I love the memory of you,
But the reality can hike.

I loved you since time began,
But I don't love you any more.

 

Late in Tonight.

Like mental wedding gowns,

The sheets beneath the duvet do dance

And at this ungodly silent hour

With ringing ears and pints of water

I lie and contemplate

All the lies before.

All the lies I've fed myself,

While true to most of you

No guide rails at strange junctures

Or day by day by day.

No real hints of global anything.

Journey Child.

Journey child,

Wayfarer

They call you,

Names of slur.

Innocence in a strangely place,

A world of 100 years ago.

Child of horses,

Of running-dogs,

And fighting cocks,

And mystery.

Tarot cards,

And old scrap yards.

They'll never put you down.

Inside your head,

Where the old one said :

"It's all here for you".

She told you then

Of the evil men,

And how to get you through.

Journey child,

Slightly wild,

Seeks the temple altar.