Ending and Beginning. Omega and Alpha.

 

Kettle’s On….

And then the tiny ‘te ching’ of the heater, the ‘sss’ of the kettle on the stove, the crunch of the heart on warm shale.

Teaching.

Missions to other dimensions of stupid wisdoms = ˚45

But my love is far from obtuse.

I hope closer to tuse.

And to wisdom, though far from my judgement and closer than yours it seems,

Through this kaleidoscope/telescope, camera

Crappy old recycled papered sketchpad

It seems.

It sometimes seems, beyond Danny, beyond Carl, beyond Mama Mia, both and less,

Beyond me, and before.

Close inspections, microscopic interventions, and a nudge to the wise.

Too much wisdom blinds the self-obsessed Djin.

And his smoke/mirror entrapments for you, and all of your dreams,

Passported to just anywhere.

Stamped.

Pummeled.

 

The Empty House Of Janus.

The chained door to the empty house,

That isn't, containing

A wolf, a jackal, a cow, a cat, and clown,

Janus should be the master,

For the number of faces is more than one,

Per body.

The silent dark, without,

The silence within,

Contained within is the prismic soul,

Of the clown,

The anarchy clown of this circus,

The circus of deaf fools.

There is but one within the unchained house,

But one, but one what ?

Many-faceted, many lives,

Not truly the nine of the cat,

Nor the sacred cow,

Nor the unfeeling wolf,

Nor the false-humoured clown,

But just one.

The chain keeps them all out,

And all of the one within,

Away from the world.

Janus looks down from the door,

Patron of travelers, and me.

Static on the carpet of this circus,

Static in my solitude.

The empty house holds the wolf within,

And in my ears echoes

His lonely howl.

 

 

More Birdsong.

And then the moon sung me a song,

Not a terribly good one its true,

But she told me I'd been all wrong,

Was never really meant for you.

But my sun-god argued my corner,

Saying that I shouldn't hang back,

But he can't see the doubts adorn her,

Or the moon concealed in black.

I could still hear her faint words,

Coming through the evening air,

If you decide to go hunting birds,

Do you think it should be fair ?

I laughed and caught the tune she'd thrown,

I knew that you were only an air,

I whistled it round, then up and down,

And knew then I didn't care.

(Fairly sure I've already posted this, but hey...)

Perceiving You.

How do you see me ?

I see me as

A lunatic sitting dribbling insanity

From your motorway bridge

Onto the fast executive.

There was a dead Ent in the river.......I was surprised, as I had no idea there were any around here.

 

Snippet of Conversation.

My eyes burned the skin beneath,

The hidden layer of living.

My eyes char, and you flame,

I guess this is my way of giving.

The cat purrs, the clock ticks,

I slumber in the after-glow,

Last night is so far behind,

I just thought you ought to know.

My eyes fall out as you tell me,

That there's something I should hear.

The promise somehow remains unworded,

Hidden by protests, driven by fear.

You hurt, I hurt, perhaps the cat does too,

Who knows about allaying love ?

My Confession......*

*  I've been Blackberrying...... Made a Blackberry & Apple Gin variant.....not sure if it's going to be any good, but as I'm not a Gin drinker, it can only be an improvement......

* I'm not a murderer.

 

Infectious Laughter.

Fill me with your bastard fire,

Where it hurts most,

Deepest burning pain of

Guilt senseless infection of

A false lovers' life.

False words filled with deep truth,

And a crucified sex-life,

I died in three whole weeks,

And your telephone,

Couldn't just do that to you.

Love you, hate you,

Its not the same as real life:

Real life, pain and highs,

I died once more between your thighs,

Fell drowning out of your eyes,

And never believed my own lies.

And the paradox that faces us,

Who has been astray ?

I drove a thousand miles,

To your house and back,

To see the fire and to die,

To watch satellite shite,

And to catch a bastard truth.

Neither of us really believes the other,

And I'm the one with an

Imaginary bastard fire

In my imaginary bastard loins.

It rains, so ? less often, never more than,

Who gives a toss ?

I sleep in pain, next to your

Clean and poisonous motherhood.

NEVER EVER USE "Not Waving, Drowning"

It's BEEN DONE TO DEATH.

All because of a fabulous old Public Service Film in the 70s......

Every would-be poet since has used it, no really, even if they don't admit it, it was such a powerful image..... So, here's mine:

Image Of A Drowning Man.

Heavy storm, high sea,

Falling rain.

An open scream.

Salt water.

"Hey luv, that man's waving !"

In the queue for the check out,

Domestic tensions mount.

Scaling inclined fears,

Tiers to a theatre.

Pounding head and pulse,

Hand puts change and tickets

In the opposum's purse.

The climax brings more silence.

Image of a burned

A burned out car.

A dead baby,

Heavy storm,

High seas,

A brother's scream.

Salt water

Brine for the dying.

Infusion for the spiritual,

And death to the drowning.

"Hey luv, that man's waving !"

 

Poor White Girl On Loads.

What do you think they'll call you

Twenty years from now ?

Wild child, you're such a child,

Your eyes made black

As is your style,

Your nose is full of bitterness,

Taken through a straw,

Wander in you wilderness,

Who could ask for more ?

The car stops and out you get,

You don't know who nor where,

But some promise your appetite has whet,

And so, abandon care.

No cash, no sleep, no lifestyle,

Or one I can cope without,

Empty stomach, churns up bile,

I think you won that bout.

Wild child, a flawed model girl,

Did he promise you the world ?

Or just more dope to stop your mind ?

Do you think I'm so unkind

To tease you back to reality ?

Sense and sensibility,

Bright and capability,

But senseless death will knock,

Knock, let him in.

What the hell do you think you'll be

Twenty minutes from now ?

My Rose cuttings......not terribly promising, but they're not dead.........5 reds & one white/pink.......

My last post got 11 views.....and I bet at least one of those was me. I won't give up though, some were way over 50........sheer bloody mindedness is keeping me going..........

Feel free to share though, if you're in any poetry groups or anything......

Happy Friday all 8/9/10 of you.......