And I emerged
from the void that is silence to erupt with fire over the horizon. I smothered the tundra, creeping vines, and willow branches; I laughed at hyenas, as they scattered from the ashes; I claimed all the homes, and disowned the occupants; I incinerated every treaty proclaiming peace and friendships, And I returned from the blackened earth with vengeance and renewed desire to corrupt the liars hiding in the rafters, to have them ply their skills with half-truths for the vines to grown gullible opinions on. Where the soft crusts will pluck their budding agreements from and nod along righteously, Where the hardening weeds will feed their determined antagonisms through dribbling jowls. You see, it was not your gardeners tending your soil for you, it was not your harvesters discarding rotten fruit, It was I, bleeding into your brain delusions of division, chaos, and foolish pursuits. To have the lambs lie down in submission, To have the pack of dogs rise in retaliation, and then to have, one-sided opinions flavouring the conversations, accusations based on hidden agendas, hard facts forgotten in exchange for soft truths comforting. It was I all along with hand in the cookie jar laughing at every courtesy your enemy took from you, so that you could refill the jar with blame, and never see the hand that severed you from your own humanity. This was my greatest achievement: To forever dissuade all from joining hands to grow peaceful prosperity. And you all heard, And you all listened, And you all played a part in my raising of the lands, the destruction of temples, the raping of wives and daughters, the murdering of fathers and brothers, the killing of your children, While your beliefs grew, and grew, and reconfirmed all you believed you knew.
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Fell down on my knees, show me something please Will you show me something please? Will I still be here when you leave? Standing alone on a bridge of dreams? A flower on the door, a cross on the floor. I have steps to climb, but no burdens to bind. This heart on the shelf, beating bated breaths; This empty lung exhaling expired tests. I’m a late night wake of wakefullness, rolling through the hours of wide-eyed emptiness. A free loving hippy snoozer without the snooziness. I sleep in between the rays of the moon and ride the coattails of evening stars. Love me two times and I might come back for more, shy me once and I may never return. But the other out there welcomes me, saturates me, harbours a full sea of something. Something filled with tentacles and slippery shoes, reaching arms to entangle my hair in the rush of void-winds. Gas, the breath of giants encircling my mind and forever orbiting each thought with tidal moons. Saltarello, Saltarello, Scherzo in the depths, Smothering Sunday into each other’s steps. A violin in the spheres singing to the absent audience and awaiting their applause with bated breath. I dance on the boards between each crescent watching rockets take to the skies, and laughing each moment that rushes by. A hand for two, palms and skin sensitive teachers.
For you I ache and fall apart,
For you I tend these tender scars, For you I hope the stars will shine While I lie in dust upon the stairs.
Bells are sounding on the ocean floor
Calling en-masse quietened voices, Though grumbling feet pass with heavy countenance Through every remembered door. ~//~ Bells ring out sounding forlorn: The remembrance of a past unshorn; Life now swelling into mists of time Scrambling as naked countenance looks on. ~//~ Because it is here, this taste will stay An end to pondering, An end to wandering. Should these ends meet, Driving sand into studied toes And gathering gulls into a flock of followers, Bells will ring out overhead To remind a sullen face Of the debt owed to paper thoughts Stranded on the ocean floor.
Here it comes, young man
Clouds on every horizon, A fire burning bright into the long night. We waged war on our heroes, Dug graves for our ghosts, Sneaked love into tents as though We had forgotten the lessons Our mother taught us Over this timid plate of hors-d'œuvre. Tally the falling giant upon the stones Where we once built a wall to obfuscate glory, Dismembered parts levy the starved and hungry, Equal among us are the stomachs that remember this fate. ~ ~ ~ Are we old enough to harbour the wisdom of age, See through the soft glaze Appropriating kindness on a stage? Can we forgive our sins when all is remembered, Chipping away at our present state And ushering in the endgame? See that smoke rising, Bristling with static energy, Coalescing with storms and anger, Birthing the new frontier. Frustration mates with the enemy And gives conception to holiness and penalties. In this hour, In this day, In this year I hear you say: Lay your bones down now upon this hallowed ground.
This beautiful life
|
Poem from The Tasman Journey, published by Warshell Publishing Printed by Wakefield Digital, Wellington Reading by the author:
| When I was no longer there My head had disappeared, A gull flew over oblivious To soulless stares, and weeping clouds sheltering hills’ horizons. Sun brightened a face Faded and Laced With transparent layers. Pixel dreams of existing In a space That only nature claims. Feet disintegrated in sand Recoil of growth, I hoped, Would free the emptiness That gulps And swallows everything whole. But I was no longer there, My head had disappeared. Squeaks and squawks called To missing bones, all I left behind in the wake of quantum states. Sensations tended tides Like an inlet Flowing back to sea, Collapsing wave functions And splintering worlds With endless regressions. But I am no longer heard, My shadow is deferred. Passers-by walk on and gaze With unquestioning words, and lingering light pestering the helpless sky. Rubbish is age An arm’s length away, Scavenger of days. Fellow friends of night So polite, Ignorance is spite. The waist is buried Forgotten and half empty. Stones where memories lay And ribbons cursing salty winds. Thoughts, they were not swayed. But he is no longer here, A rest that has appeared. Cursory notes left to divine Flutter through this window of time Where on a glistening beach Birds spread their wings and fly |
- 18/09/18, Motueka
Every man who feels the need to release anger or frustration as a brutal assault, or any assault, onto another's choice that they make for themselves, only serves to reveal the frailty of their own self-confidence, how shallow that self-confidence is, how indoctrinated the mental state is to relying on another person's acknowledgement or consent to please the inner desires of the self. If a person cannot receive love, gratitude and contentment through personal selfhood, and must seek this things from outside, they become slaves to the desires that demand satisfaction from outside the self.
Your inner turmoil is your own insecurities feeding the hatred you inflict on others.
Foam tides in
On coastline’s setting moon,
White on white
Haze.
Glancing light,
Dancing ripples
Blinks the eye
On pipeline’s mini tubes
Splashing,
Shushing,
Whispers, trickles
Footsteps reached
Standing beach
Lying leech
Wordsmith’s boots
Teach to forget
Aching knee joints
Steel caps each new step
Where the water lets
Wells drained
And
Seats wet.
On coastline’s setting moon,
White on white
Haze.
Glancing light,
Dancing ripples
Blinks the eye
On pipeline’s mini tubes
Splashing,
Shushing,
Whispers, trickles
Footsteps reached
Standing beach
Lying leech
Wordsmith’s boots
Teach to forget
Aching knee joints
Steel caps each new step
Where the water lets
Wells drained
And
Seats wet.
- 30/08/18, Granity
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