The Merge Philosophy

The distant, seemingly indistinct line
between the city and the sky,
the light and the dark - neither together
nor apart -
I see the sever. I sit there
sometimes to look at the stars
and cry that lights blind the heaven
and how easy it becomes to get lost
in this curvature, illusory
yet as real as I am.

The merge of mind and matter
of brick and mortar
blood in water...diluted enough
to disappear.
In transparent ignorance we work.
And I see the mensicus
sometimes.
And I admire its great curve
from my fleshy cave
and I believe (utter folly)
in swimming with the stars.

But no penetrating point
can exist. So perpetual
questions meet doubt
and misty mind mountains
will cloud my sight
and I'll ache
in the absence.
That, just above the city.
Just below the stars.

The Big Bang

“It isn't by getting out of the world that we become enlightened, but by getting into the world…by getting so tuned in that we can ride the waves of our existence and never get tossed because we become the waves.”
― Ken Kesey, Kesey's Garage Sale 

crépuscule

Little nightjar
Quiet song
In the drizzle
With lilies and willows
Fills the hole
I'm home.

Bring Spring

Sometimes, there's a looming mist in the midst of my smile

The world is dark
and strange
When goggly moon eyes
drip rain.

Thoughts

What's shown
Is the strength of the mind,
When their ideas meet mine.

If I'm proud
their thoughts are pushed to the ground,
And I'm a blind who thinks she can see.

Yet the norm prevails
I change the course of my sails,
I'm an ice cube in the sea.

How I wish
I could persist,
And make yours, theirs and mine agree.

Little Brother

Little Brother, look down
The alley's going grey,
I don't remember what
I came to find today.

Tell me, Little Brother,
Is your truth the same as mine?
When you see the city magic,
I see the city grime.

How do you, Little Brother,
Look up - what have you found?
The sky swells in your eyes
While my head tilts to the ground.

Personify the smoke trails
And roofs in dimming light.
I merely heave a sigh
And draw curtains for the night.

Lie awake and listen
Whence the grown-ups' voices stem.
I'm dreaming of a time
Once, when I looked up at them.

Concentrate on silence,
Outside noise leaks into minds.
The buildings block my sunlight,
I'm left cold and scared and blind.

Little Brother, please
Hide city-sewage from your eyes,
For if you don't expostulate,
Your innocent soul dies.

CultivatePropagateGrow

L’État d’Âme

J’espère un peu

Que le ciel ne soit pas bleu

Pour un monde sans bruit

Pour les couleurs de la nuit

Dans mes rêves je peux croire

Dans un monde du blanc et noir.

The Great Grey Stomach Boulder

Glazed over
Again.
Twisted, whirling anarchy of despairing obsoletion
This world
Graceless
Crackly
TV fuzz
Which nobody hears
I panic.

Ghostly
Folded mess
It is.
Gushing oceans forced out of the windows
Wash none of it
Away.
The sagging
Unrelenting
Symphonic nothing
I gasp.

It peers
Around heart corners.
And rolls in a foggy whisper
To settle
And decay.
Dull ferocity
In a hairy-throated
Choked up cage
Where I sit
And soak.

Reptile.
Watch the old man shiver
And stink
And reach
Unheard ramblings of a callous, raw heel-crack life
Buried in the dust.

Senseless
Circles of cloudy woes
All have heard
And skimmed through.
A plastered up, filed down
Gloved hand
To forget everything
But slaps and grabs.

Quiver.
No flight nor cries
A weeper in the sea.
This colossal, erupting holocaust
Is a wrapper
Tossed
To bin.

And fleeting half-smiles
Whence hope must grow
Those holes of sun
The canopy breathes through
I let float
Above my head.
My safety
In the stars...
Died.
When the grope
In stomach
Stuck.

Damp
This greedy fungus
Crooning
In festering
Grunge.
It lurks
Here
In my heart.

Willow.
Vomit-eating
Slug.
Which waits
For salty rain
To burn.

A manifestation of all the tiny prayers - signs, songs and open arms - and smiling time and quiet calm
I crept from.
Lost and done.
For good.

Carried Away

It has been painfully long since I last posted here. This is me, cherishing a fleeting yet perfect moment in my life: I am on holiday. I am lying in an electrically-heated bed with no plans for tomorrow and a whole night for dreaming. And I have decided that I am ready to connect with it all again. It has been a while, but I have found my senses and they are magnified and wonderful. Also, I may be just a little high... on the satisfaction of having finished my first ever (proper) musical composition. I never believed I had it in me, but it just kept falling out of me on to the piano like some sort of gloriously interminable waterfall.

Botswana

Speckly sky

empty horizons

'crack' dry heat

hollow plains

sun versus moon

Such a vast, lonely room

as loving as a dog

going nowhere.

Close-eyed safety

I'm a piece of this place

tanning in the moon's eyes

Of an intoxicated distance

spanning the depth of my thirsty soul

creatures of the sun.

[spontaneous poem by Maxine, Chanelle and Sarah-Claire]

- ? -

If we question our questions, our answer's half found.

"A ship is safe in habour, but that's not what ships are for"

-William Shedd