is there anything to write?

Tags

2014, 4*, beach, belonging, eyes, girls, Gran Canaria, Have, innocence, inspiration, looking, men, music, others, passing, pointlessness, toes, trance, walking, writing

                I pick the book up again
                is there anything to write?

                but the mistake of looking around
                for the hook       on the beach

                and all I find is bait: peoples’ toes and
                scars of show the butts and tans of innocence

                the tattoos of belong and the passing music of trance
                the chest-walk of men the eyes-down of girl

                to the bottom of the page
                where I find I have written nothing

 

 

 

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

beach wormhole: all the sandstone / reflections in the / marble-blue troughs
eyes & Have & looking & music & writing wormhole: concordance
others wormhole: so pleased to see you again
passing wormhole: lime crocs
pojntlessness wormhole: this sodden land
walking wormhole: dear Lucy

 

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concordance

Tags

2014, 7*, age, armour, discovery, Donald Fagen, expectation, eyes, flow, Gran Canaria, Have, holiday, identity, image, life, looking, music, passing, Salinger, sea, sitting, sun, Sylvia Plath, waves, writing

                                                                                                how to be
                                                                                in a holiday resort
                                                                where the Have is strolled
                                                and swaggered and tattoo’d
                                catching glance like after-image
                when the eyes are closed?

                                                                ~O___,

                                why aren’t I writing?            Well
                                                                I am
                but I was expecting to see something else when I wrote
                                the flow of another holiday
                                                rather than the
                                                                concordance
                                                that I have still yet to discover
                                in my writing eyes wide
                                                closed

                                                                ,___O~

                                                                certainly
                                                the sun and skin keep me
                                                                lapping without gain
                                                                and replaying the chorus from the ‘Nightfly’                
                                                                                unsure if I ever got the verse

                                                                ___“O”—

                                                                but nevertheless
                                                I still worry that I don’t write
                                                                as Plath and Salinger would lifefully so

                                                                I even know the answer
                                but I cannot sit at the moment,
                                                                I thought I had armour by the sea but it has

                                                                so quickly rusted
                                                and I’m overweight and 54 thinking
                                                                of illness and waste

 

 

 

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

eyes & Salinger wormhole: slightly / uphill
flow wormhole: happen//ing
Have wormhole: pass and / fro
holiday wormhole: holiday
identity wormhole: h’rk ‘eh ‘heh ‘hair ‘yeah ‘eh?
life wormhole: I turn to wake up
looking wormhole: Tara mantras
music wormhole: in the Java ‘n’ Jazz
passing wormhole: ‘someone …’
sea & sun & Sylvia Plath & waves & writing wormhole: jump start
sitting wormhole: woman / has worked in the gym / got a build

 

in the Java ‘n’ Jazz

Tags

2014, 6*, afternoon, Ashdown Forest, balance, bay window, bossanova, clockwork, coffee shop, Forest Row, guitar, jazz, music, openness, pavement, Saturday, shops, Sunday

                                                                                in the Java ‘n’ Jazz the
                                                                                                                bossanova
                                                                                                guitar

                                                                chorded and semi toned (down the
                                                                                                neck) and
                                                                                always regained on the

                                                minor before the bay window-front
                                                                                onto
                                                                a muggy Saturday afternoon

                                like Sunday used to be with all the shops
                                                                closed and
                                                with clockwork

                the pavement shop sign is folded up
                                                and returned closed
                                by the door

with next week’s opening times

 

first published in the Poetry Jar 160914; the Java ‘n’ Jazz is a coffee shop that relaxes in the small village of Forest Row in Ashdown Forest

 

 

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

afternoon wormhole: make your rickety / constructs strong with / unbending grids / of attention and wide- / open grates of let
Ashdown Forest wormhole: a nice grey woollen picnic blanket
balance wormhole: balance
coffee shop wormhole: Mark & Jon at the coffee shop IV: right angles
guitar wormhole: words tumble like / boulders – poewieview #25
music wormhole: ‘someone …’
openness wormhole: this time
Saturday wormhole: time
shops wormhole: in the / Citadel / Park / a leaf / new / ly fell
Sunday wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – intemperance

 

‘someone …’

Tags

2014, 4*, breeze, church, Hailsham, music, passing, stopped, willow, woman

                                                      someone
                practises on the organ as the breeze
                moves above my head in the church
                           ground

                                                      the willow
                hangs branches to the ground simian-like
                the woman walks to bounce and wave and
                sideways glance but the music has now
                           stopped

 

 

 

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

breeze wormhole: such such potential
church wormhole: St. Edmund’s / Parish Church / Castleton
music wormhole: where else
passing wormhole: breathing through hypnagogia
willow wormhole: 2nd April 2010:
woman wormhole: Elektra

 

where else

Tags

2013, 6*, beige, breeze, circle, green, light, money, morning, music, oblong, other, people, sound, spaceship, square, trees, Uckfield, visit

                                the wide-open
                recreational green in town had beige and bright green
                circles and squares and oblongs obliquely occupying
                                the perimeters

                                and the centre,
                a rattling string-of-lights spaceship had come visit
                variously revolving and blinking, relaying energy
                while its engine idled strange music all wondrous
                                to behold

                                the people came
                and applied hard-earned pieces of metal and one morning
                the ship was gone as if nothing had happened but if you
                listen closely to all the trees standing square around the breezes
                they saw it all, they’ll tell you, where else did those marks
                                come from!

 

 

 

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

beige wormhole: 1963
breeze wormhole: St. Mark’s flies flagpole upwards / with the forelegs hanging down obscene / reaching some height blindly to connect / out from the long-stalk tri-separating up- / to-seeded rounds of pod like acacia what / is it called “‘hogweed’ I-don’t-know- / what-it’s-called-but-goats-love-it-and- / it-makes-them-burp-a-lot”
green wormhole: landscape of cloud over London / with differing depths of grey
light 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
money wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Olly
morning & trees wormhole: morning sun
music wormhole: strain
people wormhole: prelude: // travel
sound wormhole: ‘quick – she’s gone to pay …’

 

strain

Tags

2017, 7*, breakdown, career, identity, music, nude, openness, retirement, sound, vinyl

                I’ve lost the needle that settles
                between grooves and plays the circling music

                on fluff the arm skates across the ridges
                making awful rip of a career

                it skints along a ridge edge – wedges in,
                bounces out – a scratch to repeat

                against all reasonable hope that it might not;
                I cannot hear the pops and crackles,

                the greeting space before the
                opening strain, awaiting nudity

 

retirement #7: Virginia Woolf’s first novel was ‘the Voyage Out’; she wrote much of it as she experienced two breakdowns and a number of stark bereavements; this is not a trip to venture and return, this is a discovery to venture and change; so much changes between generation, within and across lives, the further you travel the deeper you stay where you are; read the whole sequence: in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …

 

 

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

breakdown & retirement wormhole: what wounds have you got?
career wormhole: seen but not heard
identity wormhole: brown corduroy shirt / and dark redwine tie
music wormhole: within
openness wormhole: 1968
sound wormhole: ssreet chak-chak

 

within

Tags

'scape, 2013, 4*, flying, garden, ivy, listening, music, pigeon, radio, song, trees, wind

                                              listening to the song
                                stepping the crescendos
                with the professionalism of hundreds
                                to recognition
                                O save me
                from the top one hundreds

                                not even the pigeon
                                nor the wind chimes
                                nor even the waving tops of trees
                can assuage this acrid spore on the breeze

                                but no
                                there
                                the ivy
                has climbed up one fence post
                                and shaped itself
                                square and fast
                                that I can see
                the pigeon dive and pull up adjust tail feathers
                                turn to land
                                on a branch
                                within the
                                tree precisely

 

 

 

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

garden wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – snow
listening & trees wormhole: the bench
music wormhole: No
radio wormhole: magnetic field
trees wormhole: what wounds have you got?

 

No

Tags

2016, 3*, allegory, creativity, earth, exhaustion, image, music, parallel, talking to myself, writing

                No

                it’s not all about finding the allegory
                or sustaining the image that parallels
                whatever the song I am listening to

                it’s letting the song lodge its effect in me
                like earth, and writing that; this omnipotent
                excising something ex nihilo stuff is

                so exhausting and unnecessary …

 

 

 

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

creativity wormhole: substance
music wormhole: chartless …
talking to myself wormhole: passing below
writing wormhole: that comicbookshop … // … in dreams

 

chartless …

Tags

1967, 2007, 5*, abandonment, business, career, children, comics, cult, Dad, family, groundlessness, isolation, land, life, lifestyle, music, people, poetry, private, relationship, religion, sea, searching, trauma

                                                                chartless …

                                … since 1967
                                no moorings no ports
                                my search for land
                                through comics poetry music religion
                                reclusive

                                … my own Dad
                                moored in music and
                                an ideal partner outside
                                his family his job his own business
                                reclusive

                                … people landlocked
                                from trauma have
                                houses and lifestyle
                                and children and soap and opera
                                all private

                                                … all susceptible to cults
                                and all of life is a
                fluid cult …

 

 

 

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

abandonment & Dad & family wormhole: what life went on
career wormhole: dry rot
comics wormhole: Doctor Strange I – the trashcan tilted the better to see now the street
groundlessness & searching wormhole: hello, luvvey, do you want a cup of tea?
life wormhole: passing skies
music wormhole: words tumble like / boulders – poewieview #25
people wormhole: even / a second
poetry wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – autumn
sea wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Simon Upon The Downs

 

words tumble like / boulders – poewieview #25

Tags

1970s, 1971, 2016, bed, Bowie, brick, buildings, cartoon, clouds, flats, form, guitar, hearing, height, litter, music, park, passing, pipes, shops, silence, sky, step, suburbia, trees, wind, words, world, writing

                           lying still enough in the quiet of bedclothes
                           you can hear the pops in the sky as the
                           clouds settle and the resolve of form as

                           the trees are passed, all big-flared steps
                           through the park like the coming cartoons,
                           into the suburbs, (across the globe), but

                           always back to the room above the shops
                           under height of building pipework and the
                           block of flats, where the brick and grime

                           ignore the swirling litter … but then later,
                           among strumming, the words tumble like
                           boulders, each to their own defining clunk

 

settled throughout: Holy Holy, 1971; Oh! You Pretty Things, 1971; Fill Your Heart, 1971; How Lucky You Are (Miss Peculiar), 1971; Hang On To Yourself, 1971, after the dust

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

 

 

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

1971 wormhole: 1971
Bowie & buildings & wind wormhole: no one – poewieview #24
clouds wormhole: b / r / e / a / t / h / i / n / g
guitar wormhole: 08:55
music wormhole: well,
park & trees wormhole: 1963
passing & silence wormhole: 1965
shops wormhole: crease and score of silver-morning sky
sky wormhole: 1968
words wormhole: my // shell – poewieview #19
world wormhole: tong len / the inauguration of another – timely – butter fly effect / taking and giving
writing wormhole: need