The state of Poetry

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

it’s so very quiet

a poem from "GOTHPERA"
disease, treatment, and survival


it’s so very quiet
I hear the blood squish running through my veins

it’s so very quiet
the clock? time just hammering on the wall

I feel I want to riot
I’d rather go insane
than be the ghost, the pallor walking in the hall

but when the sun goes down
when the night clouds rise
I can see again
but I realize
it is only the toxin wearing off.

it’s so very quiet
and there is nothing here really for me to do
I sleep all in sedative
and dream all night of different times with whom?

but when the sun goes down
when the night clouds rise
I can be again
but I recognize
it is only the venom wearing thin.

it’s so very quiet
and I think I’m rather tired
and the sunlight is burning in my eyes
it’s so very quiet
and I am glad you came to visit
I know this must be very hard on you

but when the sun goes down
when the night clouds rise
I can be again
but I identify
it is only poison beneath my skin.

She made me smile

and everything that I was going to say today was erased on a single sweep of a smile this morning…

I must go and get some string, make some paper and start a wishing tree here. This is a soul cake.

Pastures of Plenty

What do you do when you are bummed out and need a change of atmosphere?

We bugged out. Grabbed the bikes and hit the roads into the country, dust and gravel beneath the heavy clouds of threatening rain into those pastures of plenty. Today was strawberries… sweet sun warmed strawberries. There is something though about the feeling of the dirt on the bare feet after taking the bike boots off… but you can’t really walk all over the berries with your boots on can you? Just seemed to be a bad idea really.

We rode amid our own personal thunder into Mennonite country… horses and wagons and pies that can’t be beat. Sort of forgot how big a horse can get though and just how small we really are on our iron versions. Of course as interested as I am about their horses the kiddlings were gathering about the bikes as we were getting the pie. (Rhubarb mmm).

Now I ain’t going to claim to be too big on children, cause mostly they irritate me with their clamor and shrill shouting. That was not the case today… polite and well behaved. They were curious, and asked decent questions. It was a shame that we did not have any extra helmets and that they likely would not get permission to take a little spin. Just as well really because I have yet to ride with a passenger.

We headed up towards Georgian Bay on the back roads through the farms and the trees. Of course it would have been a good idea to have taken the camera so I could show you the fields of blue flowers, the green of the corn and the fields of bright yellow. There is a spot on the top of the escarpment leading down to the bay where it is all spread out before you like a patchwork quilt.

One thing for sure… there is beauty if you only look and see it.

just a moment of weakness

Interpersonal negotiations are as tricky as anything else in the world… mostly when there is a refusal to talk about the same issue at the same time… which really is the problem isn’t it when you get right down to the brass tacks… setting aside personal feelings and shit like that… which of course you can’t do because in the final analysis it is all about personal feelings. Let me tell you right now that I am not the greatest at telling people when I am upset… not a skill that I have learned to do… mostly all I need is time and space… support… understanding… a moment to be heard… cake... cake is always good... which I know is asking a lot… it is high maintenance really… but I do ask for it. Most of the time I get that because I have made painful efforts to acquire the space which I need to calm myself and focus on the issue at hand… but not always.

Today I had one of those moments where I really needed to be heard… not agreed with… not stroked… just heard… you know the drill, just a chance to let it out… to say what was frustrating me and get it out in the open… to have some one, anyone listen to me and understand what was bothering me… needless to say I did not get that or I would not be here right now crying on your shoulder about a stupid thing like a web site…

My god… it’s not real… it is a web site… and even though I love it and really enjoy it there are those unfortunate moments when the fires burns… the anger grows… frustration complications….

Tell you this much… logic in that situation ain’t worth a used paper match stick… just a small boat in an angry sea… no, that is wrong… just an angry boat in a calm sea… any port in a storm right? But where do you go when you are the storm?

Maelstrom she says and looks at me with that silent laugh… head slightly cocked and that glint of glee just twinkles… Sky baby, I love you so much but there comes a time when you ought to flip them the bird. Not because you are right, I don’t know or care about that… this is doubtfully a moment when being right matters… all that matters is that they are hurting you. Push them back.

So like there I was with reams of devastatingly crapporific poetry and my Jenny makes me laugh… so what do you do with self indulgent poorly written poetry?

MAGAZINES!!!!

ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah

The roses are in bloom in sprays of pink, white and yellow as a few well-mannered guests are led through the pride and joy suitably appreciative of the arrangement. This is of course a complete and utter fraud… games that get played for real with intensity…

Overhead the thin wisps of vapor trails zig and zag across the skies following silver glints of metal rocketing to god knows where… on the ground finger sandwiches are passed along on trays… isn’t the butter spread nicely?

What do you do he asks.
I am a poet.
Oh, how very interesting. So, what do you do?
I write and perform poetry.
Yes, but I mean, what is your real job.
Oh. I see what you mean. I am an intellectual terrorist.

If it were possible a freight train would at this point thunder through the valley with the lonesome cry of the whistle echoing back to the station where passenger board dreaming of coconut vacations doused in oils and the advantages of affordable wrist watches for swimming…

the spinal ladder

Technical difficulties are the realization that habits rules. My mouse died and nothing feels the same as the welcoming touch of the familiar. How I cursed it in life and mourn it in death…

People are like that too… comfortably familiar then gone, though without technical difficulties. They simply get on the bus and are gone leaving an empty space of unfamiliarity…

Some days I feel like I am climbing vertebrae by vertebrae out of a coma… I started writing short stories again to dispel the mists and fogs of dreams… why not make it real if it is going to haunt me anyway?

love like wine

dancing on the sidewalk at the small café
whisper to me sweetly and I’ll hear what you say

sweet apple blossoms on your blouse and hair
when we are together there is no one there

oh love baby… love is like the wine
intoxicating but you must breathe some time

spread across black satin or draped on a chair
loving you is really like needing air

as we stumble forward as the band plays that song
as the night slowly rises or as the day goes on

oh love baby… love is like the wine
intoxicating but you must breathe some time

midnight coffee

the perspiration of hesitation runs beneath my collar down vertebrae by vertebrae past the knot of silence screaming...

clogging my throat…
pour another damned cup of coffee and shut the fuck up until the morning comes with the sound of traffic and congestion…
clouds belong in the sky not across an ultra sound image…
pour coffee, stir in 1/2 sugar, remove spoon, then gently pour in cream...

sip and cry til morning...

short truth

No one is going to be happy about this but I am back but for all the wrong reasons… my usual support area is MIA… and I am feeling a little antsy.

I think that I have fallen in love again… which does not mean that I have fallen out of love with my current partner… just there is the added complication which is not entirely needed in my life.