Paint Stains

30 March, 2008 at 11:23 (Uncategorized)

The nun gripped my hands very tightly, in the South American heat.
I had spent the last week, every evening, soaking them in turps.
Still I couldn’t get the paint off,
it had stained, those stains, some of them, lasted a month or more,
and the nun gripped them tight together,
and told me, as I felt her calloused palms, rubbing against mine,
that I had working hands.
I have working clothes too, no sense of special, no sense of look,
taken too far to an extreme I feel, I should keep some things nice,
but I never seem to, too careless maybe,
but I had a nun say to me that I had working hands,
and I think that thats the point, for me, these hands, they work,
and when they don’t, when I think that they are lost,
is when I fail. I live so often in my mind,
but my hands always find me, eventually, I need my hands,
my working hands to ground me.

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29 March, 2008 at 23:38 (Uncategorized)

I felt as I had mt my other self,
my wyrd within some wyrd somehow entwined.
Seems that I was wrong.

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29 March, 2008 at 11:28 (Uncategorized)

I did not want to come here when I first arrived.
I remember the sixties buildings reflecting the rain outside.
There was no reason to love the rain, then.
I simply absorbed what the city fed me,
misery, hopelessness and all ambition unfounded,
in the rain as if it were a drip.
I am a child of the city.
I see it in the sunlight now and once again in rain,
I am a child of the city,
It takes me and it makes me,
again and again and again,
I could not help but come here, I was drawn,
by a magic without holds left,
by a magic that was not lightly born.
I am a child of the city,
look at how I wail,
I did not intend to stay here,
but the tendrils within me grow,
and where did I leave my heart?
I meant to hide it well,
but I showed another child of the city and he stole it back here,
he stole it well,
and I am lost,
traped in the rain relfecting the buildings,
feeling what the city feels,
and I am trapped,
lost in the buildings,
they took away my home.
I thought I’d hid it well,
but he stole away my hidden heart,
replaced it with trees,
and now they’ve taken root here,
in the city, pinning me away from the seas.

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The Sky Over Hala

27 March, 2008 at 21:55 (Uncategorized)

I love to cycle in the dark,
when there is no one else around.
My legs pump fast, the bike seems to fly,
low over the ground.
Tonight as I flew through the back streets,
down the cycle path back to town,
I looked up and saw the stars ‘tween the trees,
twinkling without a sound.
And the plough hung down like a kit in the sky,
with it’s tail, just above the trees,
and I stopped on the path, just after the bend,
because I couldn’t quite tell what I could see.
Just below the tail of the plough,
and just above the trees,
a star seemed to grow, seemed to glow, seemed to shine,
seemed to more than just be.
And I wondered to myself if it was a planet I saw,
Or some soul reaching nirvana,
because it seemed to be, for five minutes or more,
glowing brighter than any other star.
I stood there, drinking it in,
my bicycle resting against my legs,
absorbing the silvery light of the star,
clouds of my breath stroking my skin.
Then it seemed to shrink, return to being just a star,
and I kept on watching, the tips of my fingers growing numb.
It faded as I watched, until I couldn’t quite tell,
if it was there.
Had it been there or did I only imagine,
that elongated flash in the sky,
it was so beautiful that I’d stepped off the path,
without even wondering why.
The sky was beautiful, but quietly so,
and so I got back on my bike and cycled home.
But I cannot shake, from that corner of my mind,
the sight of the star as it shined, and shined, and shined.

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27 March, 2008 at 14:55 (Uncategorized)

Oh do I hate or fear her?
Or do I stand alone?
Oh do I thus despise her,
When I’ve aimed for her throne.
For I did once declare against her,
and set myself too far,
in the woods there walking,
wounded and scarred.
But I stand now full with her,
I stand at her feet,
And I can see her blue eyes,
and remember her deceit.

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Swimming After A Storm

25 March, 2008 at 09:22 (Uncategorized)

It hits like a wave, like you didn’t need to say,
and it hits like the sand of the sea floor.
It pounds and I am taken,
and thrown over and over again,
until I am coughing up on the beach,
and there is nothing more.
Just the legs of the adults as they watch,
me, look up at the sky, turn, run, back to the sea.
I do not want to be dry, I want to be wet,
and over and over the water pours
as it drains back to the sea,
and it takes me, and my hands sink into the sand,
and the waves are sixty foot high they said,
and I mistime my entry into the sea,
and I am taken.
It hits like a wave, because you didn’t need to say,
and Sedna’s fingers are as cruel as I am.
So I run back, sand tearing at my thighs,
ever under too many watchful eyes,
and you know, don’t you,
how cruel the sea can be and how unthinking I am;
full of me, me, me and I am taken.
Pulled in to the wave,
pulled up it, but with no time to save myself
and so it crashes above me and it hits,
like a ton of salt, tearing my ears,
tearing my hair, hitting me full-dose
as if I rose on the sand having taken
too many anti-biotics.
But it is the water, the sea,
and the salt which has torn through my limbs
and sent me tumbling behind the sight of you all,
and it felt as if I would drown,
but I was pushed ashore,
ready to be looked at,
seeing all the naked legs of the adults,
who stand on the beach,
watching as we turn back and throw ourselves into the waves.
They are sixty foot high.
Somedays I do not mistime and I ride and I ride and it breaks beneath me,
then I fall with the water,
pushed so far up the beach,
entangled with the legs of the watchers,
entangled with you all,
swimming still, after the storm is over.

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25 March, 2008 at 08:28 (Uncategorized)

Red in tooth and claw and surfacing,
and I don’t know where this came from.
I don’t know where this is going to,
and all I want, I think,
is for this all to be tamed and made to go away.

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24 March, 2008 at 23:31 (Uncategorized)

I think the world seems very small,
or perhaps it’s just this language,
when I love you is all we have,
and that is just some sound bite,
some set of words that seem to mean,
sometimes nothing at all.
When I say them I mean them
so very much,
but this world is just too small,
and I can tremble at your touch,
and you, feel nothing at all.

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Night Time Questions

23 March, 2008 at 19:01 (Uncategorized)

You said yes and I said no,
But I clearly remember you saying so,
when the random man, who might have been drunk,
came upon us walking hand in hand,
the night that he ran past you.
You said yes. I said no,
how I wish that I had said so,
in some way claimed all there was,
for my own, but it’s not the way I do things.
I haven’t seen your smile,
the way it was that night,
I haven’t seen the way you look,
in silvery light,
but that night, when the random man asked,
You said yes.
There are other things you said too,
regarding love.
Those, I do my best to forget,
and only think of that night,
when the man asked,
and he had run passed,
and you and I held hands,
and you said yes.

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Solitary Doze

23 March, 2008 at 17:18 (Uncategorized)

Oh and what is there to miss?
Night after night of passionate things,
Each starlit touch, and a weapon that sings
Oh and what is there to miss?
A ship that never sailed over the sea,
and nothing in the world,
hanging over balconies, away in fairyland.
Oh and what is there to miss?
The way that fire feels in the night,
the way a blade looks in the rain,
And grey cloud cover over the town,
covering the moon,
to keep a secret that was never secret,
we children of the city – how ready we are to drown.
And what is there to miss?
None of that, but,
waking alone in a wooded glade,
sharing a solitary doze.
There is that to miss.

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