Holes
I pour through holes
a river of cascading
rainbows
emotive insistence with demanding waves
caressing the shores of girl flesh
pierced by the gaping baby blues of the dreaded
crush
Suddenly I am flying
through the azure skies
in free-fall
in love
forgetting the gravity of the situation
that always I land upon my knees
broken in prayers of rosemary
and creeping thyme
The pale moon rises romantically
visions upon the soft satin pillowcases
leaning against the solid firmament of walls
sweltering with calm security
while I in quarantine
sweat out the taste of
desire
I melted to the whispered lies of devotion
with the readiness of snow kissing the first warm spell of spring
melting into puddles
mud trampled by the innocence
children
In the mirror,
tiny stars shine trough me
as if I were the mists and fogs
dispelling over the waters
icebergs forming constellations within me,
shining through me
Reaching the shores
I flow cool and smooth
satin sheets across the bed
in dreamlike trance
dancing to the setting sun
to the songs of birds humming on the high tension wires
binding the world
together
I reach out to touch the hole
the hole in the air where you used to stare
melting holes in girl flesh
to release the heart without pain and misery
to release the cold dark night of free-falling
through the celestial void
thinking only
of the holes
*****
It is simple enough to find religion in the darkness after the dimming of distractions, after the words of destruction have been laid out across the tables from my lips to your ears. There are no wrapped embraces of protection… I am not that kind of mother… I am the kind with ther F.
After the reading we sit together, Holly with her glasses, the girl who is the self proclaimed shrrinking violet… Act Shun with her amazing depth who speaks like a spring flowing and myself, Skyclad. Last night I was truly Skyclad once again… the raw, the unhealed and the wounded. This is the state of poetry swirling around me.
The audience is mostly women… and I wonder what happened to the men? Why are there so few men who come to indulge at the feast of words? What has happened to them that keeps them away?
Last night’s reading was from I Am A River… the selection is crucifixion, living aids, In Sanity, Holes and Absence.
*****
Absence
Absence;
as a chilling wind
a reminder to dress warmly
a brushing back of the hair
a push towards the further reaches
her absence;
as a vacancy in the heart
things hidden for future use unfound
the confusion of the concealed ways
a knowing that you do not know
his absence;
as a friend taken in the morning
as a train arrived too late to catch
as a flight of gulls across the uncrossable bay
as a wave after crashing to the shore
my absence;
as a mirror non-reflecting
as a thought unspoken
as a wound to the heart unseen on the flesh
a push away from other's reaches
I pour through holes
a river of cascading
rainbows
emotive insistence with demanding waves
caressing the shores of girl flesh
pierced by the gaping baby blues of the dreaded
crush
Suddenly I am flying
through the azure skies
in free-fall
in love
forgetting the gravity of the situation
that always I land upon my knees
broken in prayers of rosemary
and creeping thyme
The pale moon rises romantically
visions upon the soft satin pillowcases
leaning against the solid firmament of walls
sweltering with calm security
while I in quarantine
sweat out the taste of
desire
I melted to the whispered lies of devotion
with the readiness of snow kissing the first warm spell of spring
melting into puddles
mud trampled by the innocence
children
In the mirror,
tiny stars shine trough me
as if I were the mists and fogs
dispelling over the waters
icebergs forming constellations within me,
shining through me
Reaching the shores
I flow cool and smooth
satin sheets across the bed
in dreamlike trance
dancing to the setting sun
to the songs of birds humming on the high tension wires
binding the world
together
I reach out to touch the hole
the hole in the air where you used to stare
melting holes in girl flesh
to release the heart without pain and misery
to release the cold dark night of free-falling
through the celestial void
thinking only
of the holes
*****
It is simple enough to find religion in the darkness after the dimming of distractions, after the words of destruction have been laid out across the tables from my lips to your ears. There are no wrapped embraces of protection… I am not that kind of mother… I am the kind with ther F.
After the reading we sit together, Holly with her glasses, the girl who is the self proclaimed shrrinking violet… Act Shun with her amazing depth who speaks like a spring flowing and myself, Skyclad. Last night I was truly Skyclad once again… the raw, the unhealed and the wounded. This is the state of poetry swirling around me.
The audience is mostly women… and I wonder what happened to the men? Why are there so few men who come to indulge at the feast of words? What has happened to them that keeps them away?
Last night’s reading was from I Am A River… the selection is crucifixion, living aids, In Sanity, Holes and Absence.
*****
Absence
Absence;
as a chilling wind
a reminder to dress warmly
a brushing back of the hair
a push towards the further reaches
her absence;
as a vacancy in the heart
things hidden for future use unfound
the confusion of the concealed ways
a knowing that you do not know
his absence;
as a friend taken in the morning
as a train arrived too late to catch
as a flight of gulls across the uncrossable bay
as a wave after crashing to the shore
my absence;
as a mirror non-reflecting
as a thought unspoken
as a wound to the heart unseen on the flesh
a push away from other's reaches
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