Otherworld.
The power, glory,
mystique, enchantment,
Random greenery, the
greenery of me.
Naivety and pain,
experience and hate,
Despising those who've
lost, but never,
Across the waters to
another world.
The age of change, the
hours of light.
"Crystal sword,
scabbard unleash me !"
Fear and,
Crushing, searching for
"Why ?"
The innocent ivy
creepers, along the roadside walls,
The gentle breeze
belies the storm,
Clear fresh skies, with
the acid of us,
Now lost to myself,
But how ?
Nearly...
Buzz, buzz, then no
more. Green.
Green, green, green
trees, green leaves,
Green all around, and
within.
(Our father which art
in heaven...)
Green, the fresh scent
of green,
Pale, clear, smooth,
fluffy cloud whiteness,
Hours before dark, days
until the day,
Across the skies to
another world.
The same rainbow.
Paving.
Frustrated by crazy
paving,
Saving,
Promised idea dialogue,
Sod, or doubted Tom,
Simply,
Simple.
While singing spirited,
arose
And flew.
Follow skylarks,
To holes,
In stone-walls.
Expression comes,
And
Free-form, free-flow,
winged, but not,
Doubts remain to chain,
Adaption,
Adoption
Of other ideals,
Wheels.
Machines, to ease the
work,
To shift the load,
Of indecisive elemental
force,
Of course,
The stone slabs were
always cracked.
Pickup.
With dark head filled
air,
The police light found
you there,
Cut and picked you out
again,
What moves in your
conscience then ?
Night-talking
dark-walking heavy cop,
Called you by her name,
The fall kills you, not
the drop,
As quietly you came.
As quietly you came,
You came, as quietly
you came.
Smell his hands for
kerosene,
Question him about
where he's been,
Spin him round like a
spinning top,
Confuse him tonight my
woman cop.
Night-talking hard
walking drinking boy,
Can you recall the
police name ?
How she played so
completely coy ?
As quietly you came,
As quietly you came,
You came, as quietly
you came.
Dance with me, lovely
uniform,
Black and white in this
beery storm,
Cut me down as rights
are read,
Cut me down, leave me
for dead.
Night-walking
beer-talking English lad,
Did you hear me call
her name ?
It's just her job,
she's not all that bad,
It's such a lovely
shame,
As quietly you came,
You came, as quietly
you came.
Hollyhock
Sleepless In Crosland
Moor
Sativa I, relate to the
riot
And anxious anarchy,
The bubbling babbling
beck,
Of this bloody minded
mess.
Contortions of your
skull liner,
Pulse pressure drop
preempts sleep,
And prolongs these
scenes.
I court you sativa,
In this dreaming
vision,
We dance delicately,
delicious,
And revel in
Mad moments.
Will we wed and meld?
Or stay friends
After all?
Watching.
Can you feel me
watching you ?
Prickling the back of
your neck ?
Don't look at me, let
me carry on.
You are not so pure, or
so simple,
But, to offer what I am
is to burden.
There, you looked, I
smiled briefly,
Looked away, and hurt.
Not lust, or longing,
not 'love' or anything,
Just nature I think.
Watching you is easy,
being me is not.
You are not 'beautiful'
or 'sexy',
Not any label or type,
I watch you.
I want to tell you
about life,
Want you to tell me
about you.
Watching is so easy,
being watched is not,
You are uneasy, am I
going to say something ?
No, that could break
this imaginary, fragile thread,
Between your soul and
my head.
Sometimes I almost tell
you, but don't,
Want so much to be half
of you, but can't,
Say what I mean, see
its not easy.
I'm not obsessed, when
you're not here,
part of me isn't
either, is that obsession ?
Such a dangerous
sounding thing,
Much like 'dinner for
two' or 'date ?',
Turning, I hope you
turn too,
Do you watch me, as I
watch you ?
The Charm Room.
Open your door, to the
Charm-Room,
Where the kids have
been all over,
High up behind me the
cold moon,
Catch the faint scent
of clover.
The stove belches, as I
shut the door,
I catch your thrown
glance and laugh,
I'm burning slightly
now and want your raw,
And I'm standing on
your path.
We kiss, and sit, and
kiss again,
My excitement nearly
shows, you know,
This is the place where
boys are men,
And my pulse will never
slow.
Then the wine is drunk,
the T.V. gone,
We play our scene, as
if in love,
And go to where two are
one,
The secret chamber,
above.
Above the darkened
charm room,
Where we kissed all
over,
Time is never too soon,
To leave the faint
scent of clover.
The Hill.
An approach, aloof
sometime, a hill,
Ghostly mist wraps
around your shoulders,
Your forgotten time
trapped houses,
And bite the frost, the
chain, the glass,
Where now the strangers
pass,
Lets stop awhile and
view the mile
To your top, no whistle
stop,
No relief though rest
is all,
No soft limbs to stop
this fall.
Simple approach to
height, not depth,
Via lost cloughs and
crossings,
Forgotten in time, but
not by them,
As stories unfold and
then are told,
To all your
disbelievers, and fog weavers,
Mischief makers,
Yorkshire fakirs,
With minds on clogs,
looms and logs,
Coal and sheep and
never ending seas,
Not for you to be set
free.
Some Cave.
Cool ancient darkness,
Depths of hidden
wisdoms,
Concealed from the
modern
By a vine curtain.
Covered coverlets, cool
innocent,,
Places deep within that
rocky place
Where the deep echoes
of distant waters call,
Call over again and
again.
Familiar scents,
familiar place times
That our forebears
couldn't forget,
memory scents, and Dark
wisdom.
Sacred notions of a
dead god.
Yet the unfamiliar
thoughts
Burdens of the knowing
mind,
Bring some reason, if
not acceptance,
Rejectable ideas from
the dead.
I leave the cave man,
Blink in the fresh
sunlight,
My perception expands
now
I know everything.
The Darkest Night.
Your smoke burns the
membranes behind my eyes,
My tears thus false,
itch and make me blink.
I drink your flowing
emotion and sink gently,
The darkest night in
blinding streams.
Who am I tonight ?
How old, tall, and
what's my name ?
Drifting through the
warm place that is your centre,
Eyes stay closed and my
glass is yet to drain.
Most of my heat escapes
in a rise with your smoke.
An emotional cleaning
implement, the romantic fire.
Am I drunk yet my dear
?
How can I drink as deep
as I want ?
How don't we drown ?
I am stifled, and
cannot breath anymore.
Am I in love tonight ?
Who should I say I am,
and why ?
I light my own
cigarette, and sting your eyes,
But you can tell me,
how warm you are,
Upside down, I spin in
the current strong,
Whenever I am alone
with you, I can pretend.
You are, you are,
Something I can't quite
comprehend.
Unstoppable,
unbroachable flow.
My eyes don't need to
know the answer,
They burn, and tell me
there is no need,
I smoke down to the
filter this time,
The darkest night, in
blinding love.
Sandcastle
Sandcastle,
Cocktail-stick, bus
ticket flag,
Inverse bucket
castellations,
Small spade depth moat,
Old shell battlements,
Pebbles too, maybe,
Protecting the inner
true
You from
My incoming love-tide.
Dissolving your
sandwalls,
In hot holiday memory,
Sun baked English
beach,
With ice-cream and,
Knotted hankies, old
men.
Us small ones paddle,
And running hard,
Laughing.
We bomb sandcastles,
With barefeet.
Your love washes
against my walls,
As mine yours,
With pebbles too,
maybe.
Classic lens distortion at Digley Res.
Village Cricket......
Digley Kestrel....
I could write an essay, but hey. The times they are a changin', or not, I don't know. 7 am Monday morning could have been the end of something pretty nice and good, or it might have been a dramatic moment, meant to be lost in the tides of time, I really don't know, as my head is, as for years, all over the place anyway.
It's such a shame when friends just can't be.
On the plus side, I have started writing a few notes, not actual pieces, but snippets of ideas, building blocks of ideas, that might, or might not turn into something.
I used to, years ago, but for some silly reason, had the idea that the "off the cuff" ones were good enough, maybe some were, but those with a history, and depth to them were and are, the ones that I appreciate, well....mostly.
What are the rules?
There are no rules.
"Do as thou wilt" shall be the whole of the Law.
Happy Mid-August one and all.
