Dungeon Wood: Archive

Cwmdonkin Park Roundabout.

I cruise uncomfortably,

Feeling okay, in a roundabout sort of way.

I'm watching the heavens gyrate around me,

The clear, cold, confused,

oh I don't know.

I'm supposed to know what I'm saying.

Here I am, spinning, spinning way too fast,

You're sitting there as I dissect you.

I'm lying here, lying poetically,

(I don't know why, but it had to be done.)

First the incision, slice, snip,

I don't want to do this, so why ?

The stars speed up and, I close my eyes.

Bizarre, the gulf widens, I push,

I'm pushing you away with my words,

The words aren't so easy to hurl,

You resist, and are pushing back.

I realise I still want this,

But my lies are too tangled now.

I'm confused, spinning, lying, spinning.

The whirling infinities of feeling.

The whole milky way obeys as I say "faster"

"This way, then that", "Slower now."

The pebble in the cosmos that won't move

Is a rebel, named you.

If only I knew then what I (sort of) know now........

Taken on the very last bit that people who are scared of dying from just looking down from an enormous height dare to sit, on the end of Worm's Head, Rhosilli, Gower....

and, slightly embarrassingly on another occasion very near the same spot....

Back in the day, when stolen jackets, gifted Arran sweaters, faded shit & cheap jeans, and brown suede shoes were all the rage, well they were in my (then) universe......

Hundred Selves.

Just one of your hundred selves,

Came back tonight to say "Hello."

Jumped down from my hundred shelves,

Stayed for coffee, then had to go.

One of you keeps ringing up,

Calling, I suppose, to see,

If I might want a trip,

Or maybe if I am still free.

I know the difference, you're all the same,

I suppose I know its all okay,

It could be some clever game,

But, like the cat, I'm forced to play.

All I know is your hundred selves,

All I want is the only one,

The only one to share my shelves,

But turn around again, you're gone.

19 Glanmor Road, The Uplands, Swansea......

A stone's throw from one of Dylan Thomas' gaffs.......not that we noticed the ethereal nature of where we lived, just smoked copious amounts of things we probably shouldn't.....

A good year.

And then a surprisingly bad couple of days that destroyed a whole thread of my life, but hey, who bears grudges these days?

Oh yeah, that would be me then Mr Steven Bond......(I know, I know, I do still owe you three months' rent, but hey, we can still be friends surely?)

Me, but not my room....... "Emotions" might have been involved......

Oh, and the first poem on this post to be honest, there is a definite connection between the two.

31 Bloody years ago......

My hand-drawn mushroom cloud on the map of Swansea Bay.....Meant to be more or less our house, not that it mattered much.....

WTF happened? I woke up, and 31 ACTUAL SODDING years had gone.......

One of the reasons I love/hate photography.

Changing the subject. This randomly ended up in another memory lane trip, so I'd best shoot that before it gets worse...

Expressions

Expression on the clock face

One of surreal impassive love struggles.

Popping questions at the hour glass figurine,

A poseur of riddles to the bedeviled bride,

A lover of conundrums.

My lover, one that waits for omens.

The clock hands me another hour, grudging,

Jealous of the immortal "now",

Time stretch.

The contestant shrugs, the master,

Quizzes her with burning sentiment,

Checks on minutes remaining,

"The Star Prize."

I won a few moments with the hourglass,

And pressed my hand in hers.

An expressionless face with no shadow,

No laughter and no hands,

A time-keeping affair,

Luxurious in small town mindscapes.

I swear I won't say who this is "aimed at", but in hindsight, it could be you, or a cat I once had, for all the difference it makes.......

'Girl's Name'.

'Girl's name', I guess I must miss you,

No rock against a storm,

Or shelter from an avalanche.

But a certain comfort,

In knowing you are there,

I am here.

Oh, I know you don't care,

I know your arm is empty now,

And it doesn't bother me,

I'm in a different world.

No matter how I tried,

I never made it.

Your life is so..., so,

So different and removed.

You don't see the way I do,

I thought you did,

And loved you.

I thought we cared,

No longer, don't lie.

You live on, and I hurt,

Still the time is happening,

I'm okay, in a roundabout sort of way,

But we could have been

As another married couple,

Engaged in bliss, yet not a word,

I envy the mate you choose,

But not for long.

You don't see the way I do,

We're similar, but not an avalanche,

Too predictable and secure,

Not another married removed,

No longer, no lie, I loved you,

And for some damn reason,

It doesn't bother me.

Is it me? Or can anyone else see a bit of a bloody theme? Bearing in mind of course, that the majority of what I've posted so far is 84-present, but focussed on the 80s and 90s pretty much.......God I never quite got it.

Says more than I can put in actual words. You read into it whatever you want to.

Still on the case, just dredging through old shit.

Sorry, normal service will never be quite be associated with this Blog.............

On the "plus" side, the Solstice is rapidly approaching, so there's that...........

x

I am brewing some new ideas, but they haven't made it to the finished form as yet. I have to stop beating myself up about everything, and just push the ideas into some new, non-self-deprecating, and self-hating territory. No self-pity, just acceptance of where I'm at, and why.

So much of it is still my own fault.....

Back on track, I'm still working through my old crap, so that will have to do for now, though the vast majority of the photos are contemporary....