ask me, answer me

It’s innocence,

it’s purity,

it’s light.

It pierces,

it watches.

It’s a sanctuary,

it’s​ an oasis,

it’s a retreat from the dark.

 

Like a pause-inducing déjà vu

or striking premonition,

it’s unexplainable.

Somewhere in the brain,

or the heart,

or the soul,

there’s a reason.

 

For me

it’s what you look like

when you smile,

it’s the way your eyes shine

at small pleasures.

 

What do you all love?

Why do you care for it?

What is attraction, desire?

What does it mean to be mature?

How do I get everything right?

What are the consequences of my decisions?

 

There are so many secrets

I don’t know.

dead weight

Sever my limbs,

they’re no use anymore.

You don’t have to be careful,

hack them if need be.

They can’t possibly carry me to your heart.

They can’t lift me into your mind.

They cannot enter your soul,

nor travel to the front of your thoughts.

Alas,

my limbs are not the problem,

it’s every breathing moment

that’s made me who I am,

and who you are.

It can’t just be the attraction of two bright stars,

more goes into wrapping my arms…

Because we are human,

I wish we weren’t,

I wish I wasnt, man.

self

Write something beautiful.

If only I had the words,

the delicate control

over language

required to craft

spectacular art.

Mind paint

bursting into life

on the synapses of another’s brain.

Imagine

chemical reactions to be colours,

a full spectrum of thoughts

to explain

all of this.

Or is everything the pitch of night?

Is this why we can’t control

the way we feel?

We have whip-quick,

intense reaction

without the ability

to ever define the action.

If I see a rainbow reflecting

in eyes

I match it with

my marble swirl.

But it bubbles with stars,

burning,

retreating,

returning.

A molten pot

being constantly stirred.

Not disturbed,

but necessarily spurred

to go searching,

reaching down into rich earth

for meaning.

Expanding consciousness

like wind-borne mist

through forest,

river,

mountain,

animal.

Making a list

of all the things

engaging me,

there’s always something I miss

and whatever was there,

disappears.

spontaneous thinking

I step up,

I step down.

The beat in my ears compels me,

every step is an ensemble.

Sometimes I pause.

I try to stay in limbo,

on a different plane

where the only thing that exists is atmosphere,

for as long as I can.

I sense kindness

coming from the rail,

I pick up notes rising through my body,

they say the journey’s worth it.

My skull vibrates in a way

I cannot say,

I suppose it’s joy.

Like the smiling face of an animal

or the happy routine of nature,

the constant,

the stable presence of mother.

I have many faces

for all the different places I appear,

it can be hard to know if I’m truly there.

I convince myself I’m being real

but it’s not always true.

I think about what to do,

I listen to music.

There’s education, there’s advice,

there’s pleasure, there’s motivation.

When I hear it,

I want you to know what I’m thinking,

I want you to know what I’m feeling.

The euphoria I get from every piece of life

does not equal the times

when I see your eyes aligning

with mine.

Even if I can’t meet them for long.

When I thought

what I thought

about you,

I wasn’t wrong.

out of sync

I’d like to think

I am a tree

but I’m not as kind

or resolute.

 

Strip some bark aside,

look inside,

the heart’s not hard to find.

You’ll see it beating,

hurting,

squeezing some stress

out through the cracks.

 

If people aren’t cutting it down

they’re digging it out.

Either way it’s a sick feeling

and a horrible sound.

 

I’ve been looking for earth

to hold my roots,

a placed called Settle

is where I want to be.

But the more I reach for the soil

the less there is

holding onto me.

Impressionable

A horse down a hill,

a rider on top.

It’s life giving out,

a bullet dug in

the bond between them.

Far below

landing hard

the loss is felt;

of tracing ridges,

of traversing

frozen ground.

One saved,

one sacrificed.

Innocent blood

spilled by too many men.

I wish people would understand.

 

The trust given,

received,

returned.

The time spent,

jobs completed,

tasks achieved.

The happy nuzzle

keeping cheek warm,

the kind hand

keeping coat clean.

I just wish people would understand.

are there reasons?

Every tree

is susceptible to rot.

Within us,

cruelty wanders all our hearts.

It runs in veins

like gold.

We try not to follow

but some get greedy.

It’s crackling energy is powerful.

 

We say things

that mean nothing to us

and everything to somebody else.

And vice versa;

life is all about timing

and most of the time it goes horribly wrong.

We get frustrated we’re out of tune

with the rest of the room.

 

I wonder if it’s possible

we could ever align,

I think about you, and you,

all the time.

My position has to be a sign,

has to mean something

or am I just grasping?

 

I write some words.

They mean some things

about all of you.

People like them

and hate them

but I feel them

through every fibre

in the moments I create.

As long as one other person

can relate, I’m okay.

If I’m alone I don’t know what to say.

Either way,

I get on with the day.

Three Words

We’ve all met them.

They permeate certain

parts of the air.

Some of us breathe them in,

some of us too open to speaking, engaging.

Then they talk to us.

Tangling inside,

worming away,

segmenting,

they make us listen.

We can’t shut them out.

 

One is a sepia photograph,

with tendrils to the past,

turning happiness a different colour.

Memories invoke such desire,

an agonising state

where one of your rooms has been locked

and inside; a fire.

Burning all this time,

but you have neither key or water.

He won’t let you put it out.

 

One is an ocean,

at such a hue

to make you think of nothing,

and everything.

Find meaning in all things

but also no consequence

in anything.

You can only take the well trodden path

of the lonely, sad and pensive.

This is a quiet place,

locked away too.

Nothing moves in a straight line.

He won’t let you speed up.

 

There’s another,

a darker being.

Animalistic.

Less careful,

more powerful.

I don’t believe I’ve met him.

Perhaps I’ve seen him,

his back turned

or felt his presence close by.

Maybe he’s searched and I’ve avoided his eye.

I hope he never catches me with full glare.

He doesn’t talk,

simply turns all the lights off,

replaces them with dimmer bulbs

that can flicker to life

when he wants them too.

He’s a destroyer,

the two his helpers.

 

It’s that time of year again,

an end and a beginning.

The time when you’re meant to make things happen.

But I will probably visit a park,

one with a view,

sit on the swing

and hopefully see something new.

Spinning

You think

 

you’ve

got

it

all

figured

out.

 

Well,
it’s not true.

 

Don’t kid yourself,
it’s time to understand.
There’s a handle being turned,

we’re just the ones

 

 

spinning.

 

Deja vu,

coincidence,

 

tea leaves

spread across the table.

 

We aren’t able

to reason it out.

 

A conversation,

 

chance encounters.

 

There’s nothing you can do

 

to change it.

 

 

This life

 

didn’t turn out

like the night we thought it would be.

 

Too quick

it gets too dark to see.

It’s not the fun

we thought it’d be.

 

We still feel

 

the joy

when it comes

along.

 

Still smile

at planet earth.

 

Still look at someone,

 

Think:

everything I have,

 

you’re worth.

 

It’s time

to become

 

enlightened.

 

Stop

being frightened.

 

These shadows in our head,

perhaps they’ll always be there

but they can’t kill us.

 

They can’t

 

fill us in shade

if we don’t let them.

 

It’s a good idea,

 

stick out your tongue,

 

bathe it

in the sun.

 

Believe

 

you have won.

 

The world

will be haunted

 

forever

 

but never

our own circumference.

 

Just thinking it

seems to make a difference.

 

Even if it’s slight.

 

Every year will have a summer;

warm grins,

tasty bites,

cold sprite,

play fights,

new sights,

 

friends

 

and more days

with good ends.