just one, open, nerve,

Tags

2016, 6*, ageing, avidhya, Granada, identity, life, nerve, opaque, realisation, self, self-compassion, sense of self, the Three Poisons

                      I have a self
                      it is my self

                      a little capsule
                      grown in life –

                      whenever I noticed
                      every time I didn’t
                      each time I wouldn’t

                      a sliver at first
                      twisted once
                      but never looped

                      back to feed,
                      no helix to hold,
                      just one, open, nerve,

                      preserved in cartilage
                      opaque: hit it
                      you bounce, cut it

                      you slip, ignore it
                      it withers leaving
                      a baggy sheath

                      time now, quickly,
                      to make amends

                      time now
                      to connect the ends

 

 

 

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

life & realisation wormhole: moment
identity wormhole: new-found love – poewieview #36

 

new-found love – poewieview #36

Tags

1971, 2016, 5*, amplification, Bowie, clothes, concert, green, identity, love, naked, pose, ritual, self, smile, sound

                there is really very little to cast
                `cept the quiet and clothèd pose

                with primal-screech response
                dampened in amplified arc, which

                I shall wear with naked torso
                paraded along the auditorium-intimate,

                heightening register drawing up
                the flexèd leer, green and sickly, in its

                new-found love

 

I cried sadly, for a love I could not obey; summoned up through the dread rituals of Shadow Man, 1971; Star, 1971; Velvet Goldmine, 1971; Sweet Head, 1971

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

 

 

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

Bowie & identity wormhole: cut while you’re ahead/cut while you’re a thread – poewieview #35
green wormhole: magnificent salad
love wormhole: moment
smile wormhole: the 19th century
sound wormhole: hello, luvvey, do you want a cup of tea?

 

and here I am

Tags

2016, 5*, alchemy, contain, Granada, karma, pot, questioning, rebirth, recipe, self, talking to myself, travelling

                and here I am again all
                shiny and buffed clean

                from wherever I came from
                before and slowly tarnishing

                from burn and deposit
                especially in the edges

                forgetting to just contain
                and allow the alchemy

                to happen with upright
                ethical gleam and wanting

                all the while to question the
                whole purpose of recipe

 

 

 

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

talking to myself wormhole: moment
travelling wormhole: travel

 

true nature

Tags

2016, adult, balance, being, discipline, doing, dwelling, flower, hidden, identity, importance, love, naïveté, nurture, obligation, self, talking to myself, true nature, vague, variation

 

 

 

                                                                true nature

                                   of my personality, true nature
                                   of my self: to be vaguely and
                                   variously focussed on event

                                   mostly missing what is seen
                                   important and dwelling lovingly
                                   with what is hidden in plain view;

                                   since I have become the adult,
                                   as obliged, I have learnt to
                                   override my naïveté with

                                   dead discipline; my naïveté
                                   is a slight flowering of my true
                                   nature, it should be nurtured

                                   in order for ‘my’ to dwell in
                                   my own true true ‘self’ … or
                                   maybe I just haven’t being

                                   my true self all that skilfully?
                                   I haven’t done wrong, I just
                                   haven’t balanced all that well

 

 

 

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

balance wormhole: always
being wormhole: through
doing wormhole: just saying, is all IV: // lost
identity & talking to myself wormhole: and that’s where I are
love wormhole: Quiver of / Tiffany – poewieview #20
naïveté wormhole: because
obligation wormhole: the lines are not that straight / after all

 

sixty four sixty five – poewieview #1

Tags

1964, 1965, 2016, Bowie, brick, cafe, closed, evening, eyes, future, green, identity, naïveté, office, rain, roads, self, streetlight, streets, time, walking, white, wind, windows

                     sixty four sixty five

                     cutting off windy street
                     down the side-road past
                     the café now closed in

                     the evening night under
                     whitewashed windows
                     out from under the rain

                     and street light where
                     bricks turn seaweed-
                     green, is an office

                     which we all don’t
                     know about; well, I’m
                     gonna make it by my

                     selves strolling up
                     strolling down or
                     standing there making

                     a fool out of me over
                     street corners the next
                     day, with new eyes and

                     boots

 

… OK, maybe NOT every single piece of work, then; well not until he hits his stride and I hit mine; this is – believe it or not – from Bowie’s first cluster of works: Liza Jane, 1964; Louie Louie Go Home, 1964; I Pity the Fool, 1965; Take My Tip, 1965, only one of which was actually written by him; they’re all in there somewhere fore-striding the next day …

 

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

 

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

1964 wormhole: 1964
Bowie wormhole: Poewieviews
evening wormhole: Hotel Room, 1931
eyes wormhole: David Bowie – Iris
green wormhole: “walking …”
identity & rain & streetlight & streets & time & wind wormhole: finding my own true nature – Plumstead, Woolwich, 190915
naïveté wormhole: relapse
roads wormhole: portrait: / two pigeons
walking wormhole: walking through Lewes
white wormhole: 1967
windows wormhole: the open window

 

let the dreams / become the ghosts they / always were

Tags

2014, attention, authority, doing, dream, effort, ghosts, identity, legacy, living, meaning, prayer, recognition, self, talking to myself, thinking, world

 

 

 

                                   so much of what I do is
                                   only interesting because I
                                   think I am making a gain
                                   or I think I am solidifying

                                   meaningfully, at last; (dreams
                                   of flashlights and applause)
                                   dreams of legacy and authority
                                   dreams of recognition and

                                   belonging, of being loved
                                   (for what I do and think),
                                   with desperate effort to
                                   ensure my self worthy to

                                   the dream and I end up
                                   the ghost of my own
                                   indifference; please may
                                   I act cleanly: let the dreams

                                   become the ghosts they
                                   always were, dissolved
                                   into the vivid objects of
                                   my attention in the world

 

 

 

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

attention wormhole: Exceat to Cuckmere Haven
doing & talking to myself wormhole: tobacco pouch
dream wormhole: dream 260815
ghosts wormhole: truly invisible
identity wormhole: we play / the game
living wormhole: “write, let’s break outta here!”
meaning wormhole: New York Movie, 1939
recognition wormhole: block ‘n’ role
thinking wormhole: out!
world wormhole: sit

 

after all?

Tags

2014, autumn, being, breath, cars, duty, finding, found, glimpse, identity, journey, leaf, lost, mantra, others, passing, poetry, quiet, seeing, self, service, sound, streetlight, talking to myself, tarmac, writing

                is it really worth me writing isn’t it
                just finding wisps and glimpses
                between which to find the outline
                of my wan and piquant poetic self

                no great find and no great journey
                wouldn’t I be better found lost in
                duty and service to the others
                I seek to identity myself sic from

                defined by all common denominator
                factored through by breath and mantra
                to find the being before the breath and
                after the sound or is there a self

                nevertheless to be recognised in the
                scrape of dried leaf under streetlight
                across the tarmac the first to herald
                autumn business and quietly passing cars

                after all?

 

 

 

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

autumn wormhole: under silent direction of architecture
being wormhole: Morning in a City, 1944
breath wormhole: Summertime, 1943
cars wormhole: along
identity & sound wormhole: … anymore
others & talking to myself wormhole: it is complete
passing wormhole: 1963
poetry wormhole: like butterflies on / buddleia
quiet wormhole: Sunday afternoon
seeing wormhole: wriving
streetlight wormhole: the / very gradual art of sitting
writing wormhole: that comicbookshop in dreams,

 

Detective Comics #345

Tags

1965, 2014, Batman, comics, cowl, doing, identity, Infantino, inside, life, meaning, movement, outside, self, true nature, world, years

                           Detective Comics #345

                                     there –
                           a hole in the darkness
                           there is movement
                           there is a world
                           there is an outside

                           here – is an inside

                                     I
                           must make sense of it all
                           the world is looking

                                     yes –
                           to cowl my true nature
                           the only way to operate
                           in the world

                           HE HAS CUT HIMSELF
                           OFF FROM THE WORLD –
                           DOOMED … TO LIVE APART
                           FROM … FELLOW HUMAN
                           BEINGS … SOLITARY*

 

* ‘found’ epilogue to ‘The Blockbuster Invasion of Gotham City’ story in Detective Comics #345, p.14, panel 3, November 1965; spoken by ‘Bruce Wayne’ disguised as ‘Roland Desmond’; writer: Gardner Fox, artist: Carmine Infantino

 

 

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

Batman wormhole: silhouette: // second / thoughts
comics & doing & identity wormhole: that comicbookshop in dreams,
[Carmine] Infantino wormhole: Infantino world
life wormhole: prayer to my self
meaning wormhole: the endless acts of life
world wormhole: wriving
years wormhole: 1971

 

prayer to my self

Tags

2010, adjustment, anger, breath, care, career, dedication, discovery, dream, injustice, legacy, letting go, life, light, listening, moon, others, prayer, reputation, self, space, talking to myself, tragedy, vindication, work

 

 

 

                                prayer to my self

                                I had my stab at life – obdurate and rarefied –
                                I glimpsed the moon and captured its light
                                but nobody wanted it

                                let the tragedy go, let the injustice go
                                let the anger and indignation go
                                they are not the self

                                let the devastating ripostes before whole crowds go
                                let the overlooking and insignificance go
                                they are not the self

                                let the secret work and its Discovery – the Legacy – go
                                let the live-on-with-open-wounds-and-dejection go
                                let the career and the reputation go
                                they are all not the self

                                let there be the space from where all of this came
                                to let go and adjust, let there be the breath for new dreams
                                and the listening to declare, the pause for resolution
                                and the care to let go

 

 

 

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

breath wormhole: the Conqueror
career wormhole: the stance of Buscema // qualitatively
dedication wormhole: dedication
dream wormhole: dream 260713
letting go wormhole: lo
life wormhole: the endless acts of life
light wormhole: of a sudden // all the time
listening & talking to myself wormhole: the / very gradual art of sitting
moon wormhole: up here
others wormhole: good looking
space wormhole: fall
vindication wormhole: multifarious: the Dark Knight Returns (1986)
work wormhole: I do

 

on walking through walls

Tags

2013, ageing, awareness, balance, being, breath, breathing, dharma, doing, letting go, life, pattern, pausing, pointlessness, rhythm, self, time, walls

 

 

 

                                on walking through walls

                        expulsion of air starting with a ‘p …’
        … well, hold on a minute
this all sounds a bit grim
                        a bit Byronic-heroic

        and where there’s grim
        there’s usually gritted teeth
        (and pulled ligaments once you get older)
                trying to hold the balance

                        no fun
                        no beauty
                        just flexed jaw
        muscular and tight-lipped
                so enforced in its own sense of dharma-drama that it
                        loses the action
                        for the self that grims it
wandering about in the fog that obscures all direction
                        and perspective
                to balance

                all the while unaware
                                – inhalation with a wide ‘e …’ –
        of the sheer-joy-innocence
                        of the folds on the back
                        of the well-seated chair
        the silence of the swirls on the carpet
                        when last vacuumed
                                        oh yes
and the timelessness of the ticking second hand
        holding
        all of the silences
                        in rhythm

 

 

 

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

awareness wormhole: the art of sit and follow
balance wormhole: – sigh! –
being & letting go wormhole: for goodness’ sake
breath & breathing wormhole: is that so!
doing wormhole: truly invisible
life & time wormhole: 1971
pointlessness wormhole: my life / of others
walls wormhole: good session