place

Tags

2014, 7*, capitalism, child, doing, doubt, earth, energy, finding, gentleness, groundlessness, hair, hands, hope, leading, letting go, London, lurch, market, placement, precision, seeing, shift, sound, streets, thinking, vindication, waves, weight

                      not seeing
                      the energy
                      shift and wave
                      underneath

                      I flex in all the
                      wrong places to
                      ground my own
                      earth to stand

                      on, there, there
                      is the precision
                      but then I easily
                      despise my hope

                      and put on weight
                      far too quick to
                      judge and lurch
                      toward vindication

                      it’s just ‘thinking’
                      that makes it so
                      a toddler’s head
                      chatters by your side

                      just let them all be
                      let their bouncing hair
                      be gentleness to the
                      palm of the hand but

                      don’t take them by
                      the hand to lead them
                      through the streets
                      of London, there’s

                      nothing to find in found
                      and always there are
                      smiling deals to make,
                      letting go, in the market

                      place

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

capitalism wormhole: miss / ad / venture – poewieview #22
child wormhole: municipal garden
doing wormhole: holiday
groundlessness wormhole: the quiet whale
hair wormhole: and I lose sight of her into memory
hands wormhole: twilight / and parasols down / within minutes
letting go wormhole: woman / has worked in the gym / got a build
London wormhole: landscape of cloud over London / with differing depths of grey
seeing & thinking wormhole: time
sound wormhole: Tara mantras
streets wormhole: ‘charcoal grey-slate sky …’
vindication wormhole: the writing’s on the wall
waves wormhole: concordance

 

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holiday

Tags

2*, 2014, being, doing, haiku, holiday, hope, planning, time

     holiday

                       biggest foil to time
                to self: haemorrhaging of
                  building plan and hope

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

being & doing wormhole: h’rk ‘eh ‘heh ‘hair ‘yeah ‘eh?
haiku[esque] wormhole: ‘charcoal grey-slate sky …’
holiday wormhole: jump start
time wormhole: I turn to wake up

 

every step I take

Tags

2013, 6*, awareness, climbing, dawn, doors, grey, hope, life, living, nausea, ochre, rock, seeing, step, walking, walls

                there is a wall before me
                gets higher as I walk towards it
                so wide that I cannot turn my head
                footings deep of the rock on which I stand

                I thought there was a door once
                but I can never see where I want to
                I thought to climb it for there was a dawn which crept along its
                battlements but it is featureless it silently radiates grey with ochre stains of nausea

                hopeless
                but that I have come such a long way
                I shall just have to walk through it without
                knowing where to go sure only of every step I take

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

awareness wormhole: lesson from watching two crane flies work the evening / skating across the panes flying and pushing legs grappling / the glass crossing repulsive over themselves and clinging akimbo / for a rest until lifeless just to get their stickly bodies through to the light
dawn wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
doors & walls wormhole: such such potential
grey wormhole: ‘avenue of wraggled gorse tops …’
life wormhole: divergent // direction
living wormhole: do I
ochre wormhole: “I / am Spartacus”
seeing wormhole: the goldilocks stance
walking wormhole: step

 

memorial

Tags

2013, 5*, Ashdown Forest, hope, judging, peace, people, reflection, Remembrance, trumpet, war

                memorial

            noticing my easy habit
                of judging others disdainfully
            I looked at the crowd around
                the Airman’s Memorial
            and offered that up to the hope of
                ease between all
            as the trumpet blew
                reveille

 

the Airmans’ Memorial is a tiny walled garden on Ashdown Forest marking the place where an aircraft crashed on the way back from a sortie during the 2nd World War; a service a Remebrance is held there every year

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

Ashdown Forest wormhole: ‘avenue of wraggled gorse tops …’
people wormhole: too greedy
reflection wormhole: strange / tarnish
war wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – introdepthion

 

landscape of cloud over London / with differing depths of grey

Tags

2013, birth, black, breathing, clouds, England, green, grey, hope, iron, landscape, life, London, mauve, mist, park, pipes, pregnancy, publishing, shadow, streets, Sylvia Plath, Victorian houses, walking, writing

                soon after I was born
                to the rendered sides of
                talling Victorian terrace-ends
                with networks of iron black pipe
                and random small frosted window
                                Sylvia Plath

                arrived back in England
                pregnant with newhope and
                immanent with firstbook
                to breathe the alternating
                talling shadows of street
                and the misty greenmauve landscape
                                of park

                landscape of cloud over London
                with differing depths of grey

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

black wormhole: St. Edmund’s / Parish Church / Castleton
breathing & writing wormhole: the goldilocks stance
clouds & green & grey wormhole: municipal garden
life wormhole: garden
London wormhole: handsome
mauve & shadow & walking wormhole: walk from Castleton to Hope
mist wormhole: prelude: // travel
park wormhole: in the / Citadel / Park / a leaf / new / ly fell
publishing wormhole: Granada holiday …
streets wormhole: Luton // couldn’t make a poem out of it
Sylvia Plath wormhole: Sylvia
Victorian houses wormhole: through the pane – poewieview #34

 

ah … // oh … // meanwhile … // … // tha ya ta …

Tags

2016, 8*, being, breathing, child, clothes, colour, comics, despair, Dorian Gray, emperor, exclamation, exposed, flowers, Granada, hope, identity, inspiration, light, love, mantra, model, phrase, portrait, Prajnaparamita, rain, rainbow, realisation, retirement, secret, seeing, self, self-containment, self-image, speech, step, thread, tragedy, vanity, wandering, words, world

 

 
le mot just
the piquant phrase
                                         the simple model rising magnificent
                                         from cavalcades
                                         of stoic tumbling

                                         threads through like
                                         weave which clothes me
                                         presentable to the world …

                                         but no one sees the
                                         emperor’s clothes of
                                         such fine thread it cannot
                                         be seen, no wise child
                                         to point and exclaim
                                         the hang and drape
                                         to put an end to all step –
                                         “look, mummy, that man
                                           is not an emperor!”

 

 
less than naked
I am seen right through
                                         adrift of discourse
                                         I step with stubborn countenance,
                                         all the better to
                                         stare myself into existence,

 

 
awkward and
hidden away in some attic
                                         lest I lose [what I haven’t
                                         got] self-contained in trembling
                                         vanity, secretive in hope
                                         of things to come, desparate
                                         in tragedy that my grimy
                                         portrait might be seen …

 

 
wander, wander
around the flowers, smell
                                         their colour, breathe their
                                         light and let the light rain
                                         fall in shards of rainbow,
                                         cleansing with love –

 

 

 
                      om     ga – te     ga – te
                                      pa – ra – ga – te
                                                      pa – ra – sam – ga – te
                                                                      bo – dhi     so – ha

 

retirement #3 when in Granada … visit the Alhambra, and visit the Generalife gardens … [if you have booked up to three months ahead]; on the walk up to the palaces are trees and shrubs which are plenty-watered by sprinklers, in the morning sun the sprays will often catch a rainbow at their edge; the bordered captions in the poem are comic-conjunctives, there is a beginning, middle and end being told here, folks; the mantra: thaya tha om gate gate paragate parasamgate bodhi soha, is the mantra of Prajnaparamita, the Perfection of Wisdom; it can be somewhat semantically translated as “it’s like this: [everything is] gone, gone, completely gone, completely and perfectly gone with no loss, enlightened [dispersed, dispelled] all-right!”; but what’s ‘gone’: “the slings and arrows of outrageous romance” … of one’s self and the whole world positioned awkward to placate its mewling little story, as stolen by Joni Mitchell, who was talking too much at the time, from ‘Willy the Shake’;

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

being wormhole: pocket
breathing wormhole: within
child & light wormhole: this aching // and spacious dichotomy
comics wormhole: chartless …
identity wormhole: not / the Catcher
love wormhole: love and precision
rain wormhole: monument to vainglory
realisation wormhole: passing below
seeing wormhole: con / sum / mate
speech wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – snow
words wormhole: just saying, is all VI: // accountable / for my own outbreath / …
world wormhole: the skyline

 

beepbeep

Tags

1960s, 1967, 2016, 7*, abandonment, colour, commentary, courage, crying, Dad, depression, direction, divorce, driving, evening, eyes, feeling sorry for myself, freedom, groundlessness, Have, home, hope, identity, life, light, looking, now, others, passing, people, pointlessness, purpose, renunciation, revolution, sense of self, sex, sign, sound, texture, time, true nature, Victoria & Albert Museum, world

                                did Dad leaving
                                trigger my sense of revolution or
                my sense of depression
that there is no purpose
                                in the world
                that I would eventually have to find the courage
to face those new tremors,
                                but five years on,
                                                there, between the given textures
                already cheap and fraying

                                or did revolution trigger Dad to leave
                                                                and find some other way
                                                                                to find some truer nature?

                -O~~~

                                I didn’t want the headphones, now
                                I didn’t want the commentary
                                                all safely wrapped and bordered
                                                                so I kept my own eyes
                                                                open and saw 50 year old memorabilia
                                                                                strangely mute, now
                                                                                despite the peacock-print

                                                and little in between
                                                                save shuffling overcoats with
                                                                no sense of direction where to go
                                                                                save their right of individual                
                                                                                                                way

                                                                                                ~~~O-

                                I don’t think I want the revolution
                                anymore –
                                                away with your awkward sex! –
                I want to know the innate freedom
                                I trust I have already,
                                                save for my sense of right of way

                                                                I cried for fifty years later that evening
                                                it is hard to lose your way returning home
                                                                cut up and turning in circles
                                                                                hoping for the right lane
                                                                                                lights on and direction to go                
                                                                                                                everywhere
                                                                                                signed
                                                                and passing overhead
                                                                it is hard to arrive
                                                toe to toe
                                                                with a fifty year old overcoat
                                with no face
                                but a blinking eye
and me with no headphones

                                                                beepbeep

 

on 30th October 2016, I visited the Victoria & Albert Museum exhibition @You Say You Want a Revolution’ – Records and Rebels 1966-1970 (a birth day present, thank you, Carol); my Dad left our family on 2nd November 1967, my eighth birthday, and the divorce became final by 1969; I think it was Brigitte Bardot who said something about the ‘tremors’ which were felt in the late 60s, but few who had the ‘courage’ to face them, but I can’t seem to find the quote verbatim; we got a bit lost, at first, driving back from west London

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

abandonment & Dad & people wormhole: chartless …
depression wormhole: the both passive and transitive / non-presumptive pre-conceptualist attenuation of being
divorce wormhole: 1967
evening & identity wormhole: sleep now
eyes & life & sound wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – snow
groundlessness & pointlessness wormhole: [once a] dilemminal [always a dilemminal]
Have wormhole: Doctor Strange III – the needs of billions
light wormhole: adjustment
looking wormhole: Clea
others & passing wormhole: passersby
renunciation wormhole: escape from Flat Planet
time wormhole: the too big moon
world wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Snow

 

‘hope for things to come’

Tags

'scape, 2016, 20th century, 4*, bay window, buildings, Eastbourne, grey, history, hope, life, looking, promise, rooftops, shops, storey, time, white

                     stories above shop fronts look
                     outwards bay and grey, their white

                     capped finials preserved in spike
                     for the due middle between the

                     beginning of ground floor promise
                     and the rooftop end of ‘hope for things to come’

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

20th century wormhole: Doctor Strange II – … things are the same again
buildings & history wormhole: listen willya
Eastbourne wormhole: the missing chord // the now-silent seagull
grey wormhole: carpet worn / to the backing – poewieview #30
life wormhole: what life went on
looking & time wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] by Mark L. Redford – from arm to nature, doing nothing
rooftops wormhole: 1967
shops wormhole: constant hummm
white wormhole: trellis / and wisteria – poewieview #29

 

the writing’s on the wall

Tags

2012, beauty, being, blindness, breath, creativity, doing, groundlessness, hope, Howl, identity, inertia, letting go, looking, memory, pen, penance, pointlessness, powerlessness, publishing, seeing, self-doubt, sitting, superhero, talking to myself, universe, vindication, walls, waltz, writing

 

 

 

                                the writing’s on the wall

                                I can be becoming lost for weeks
                                unable to release, foiled in creativity
                                even by my breath; unable to waltz

                                or twirl about as I promise myself
                                held by the very wall that materialises
                                precisely where I thought to move

                                again; because there is something
                                closer than my retinas which I cannot see,
                I cannot see

                                because I am hanging on to a
                                last shred of dignity that makes me
                                blind that I cannot see the walls

                                at my toe before I swing my
                                foot to kick and I cannot see the walls
                                in my cranium before I blink

                                              so
                                              little
                                              beauty

                                to stumble over, stood in inertia
                                no matter how busy I become
                                no matter how much I do

                                without looking; (it’s the writing
                                (no it’s the tidal lunge for vindication,
                                 (no it’s the reminder, the reinforcement

                                  that I am powerless))) in a pointless universe
                                in which I still want to be the hero
                                brandishing the latest sheaf of sublimity

                                (even if not on the rooftops waving
                                 my genitals – see, see) so what do I do,
                                do I stop it all now and snap out of it

                                do I make myself sit for hours of
                                balming penance, do I slap my wrists
                                for wanting to publish; no, Mark,

                                              here’s a pen and
                                              here’s the line and
                                              here’s the wall to write on

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

beauty & being & doing wormhole: while walking
breath wormhole: miss / ad / venture – poewieview #22
creativity & walls wormhole: and that’s where I are
groundlessness wormhole: Dear Sir/Madam,
identity wormhole: 1968
letting go wormhole: tong len / the inauguration of another – timely – butter fly effect / taking and giving
looking & writing wormhole: impressionism
pointlessness wormhole: development
publishing wormhole: time proceeds
seeing wormhole: Doctor Strange I – the trashcan tilted the better to see now the street
sitting wormhole: well,
superhero wormhole: no point
talking to myself wormhole: dream career // groggy
vindication woormhole: thy will be done

 

a theremin note – poewieview #21

Tags

2016, 20th century, afterlife, Bowie, childhood, cocoon, death, driving, faces, footsteps, futility, headache, history, hope, horizon, identity, life, lifetimes, perception, porridge, sight, society, sound, tarmac, theremin, time, trend, weariness

                     and then there is a ready-delivered weariness
                     in life after things start to echo: a theremin note

                     receding back towards past wistful horizon;
                     and then the footsteps march muddy over

                     recalcitrant tarmac, the tyres keep turning
                     through skiddy porridge despite all steer;

                     it starts as top-spin kwinkle, first off, then
                     the taran-tadaa of new-stood sight, to the headaches

                     that leave the face all palsied, until the pallid
                     cocoon folds in to snuff the tired trend of hope

 

you have to go deep into the corridors and past the tall windows, to get to eventual recognition – let alone re-cognition when it cannot be found – with only brief respite between thoughts and the too-closeness of every footstep; you cannot escape the footsteps, no matter how many doors you peep into; After All, 1970

Read the collected movements in David Bowie: Movements in Suite Major

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

20th century wormhole: the 20th century
Bowie wormhole: and that’s where I are
childhood wormhole: through
death wormhole: life [‘n’ death] / legerdemain – poewieview #15
faces wormhole: Shonagh – poewieview #17
history & society wormhole: hinged – From Hell ch. V
horizon wormhole: Quiver of / Tiffany – poewieview #20
identity wormhole: true nature
life & time wormhole: b / r / e / a / t / h / i / n / g
lifetimes wormhole: my // shell – poewieview #19
sound wormhole: always