the too big moon

Tags

2013, 5*, autumn, avenue, Batman, blue, chimney stacks, city, falling, glance, gold, height, infrastructure, ink, leaves, moon, rain, river, sky, time, up

                it is only in Autumn
                that leaves will fall to pensive infrastructure,
                that is the time when the

                Bat-figure crouches, up
                there somewhere and glanced-askance, in the
                dark sky-contemplative

                between brick stacks and
                background avenues of downtown uprise while
                below the city spreads

                about the busy bays rain-
                and gold-spattered by blue waters and ink
                under the too big moon

 

 

 

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

autumn & gold & leaves & sky wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – … as the new town marches in
Batman & moon wormhole: was there a moon / on the alleyway wall / confused in front of / the city skyline?
blue wormhole: the 19th century
city wormhole: returning home handsome
rain wormhole: fresh destiny
river wormhole: Quiver of / Tiffany – poewieview #20
time wormhole: did I get old?

 

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and that’s where I are

Tags

2016, Aleister Crowley, alley, appearence, birch, black, Bowie, breakdown, breeze, brick, building, car park, career, Carol, cars, cats, child, church, clothes, coffee shop, creativity, decision, Diane di Prima, disappearance, down, Eastbourne, emptiness, fear, form, grey, Heart Sutra, horizontal, humanity, identity, left, leg, looking, mother, muse, others, passing, pavement, plane, posture, quantum, rebellion, right, right angle, roads, school, searching, seeing, silence, silver, sitting, sound, spire, stain, stopped, streets, talking to myself, teaching, trees, up, vertical, waiting, walking, walls, William Carlos Williams, wind, writers, writing

            inner coffee shop

            so, is writing pointless,
            just rebellion from root
            just the muscling of me
            to spite the hard fear that

            I’ll turn to stone if I look
            into her face … `spite the
            knowledge that others are
            far more brave than me?

            St. Saviour & St. Peter

            so what draws me to sit,
            after all, on the roadside
            wall across from the spire
            clear for all to see the

            even bricks buttress, cap
            and flute up so high to
            eleven storeys to, maybe,
            the single point, with run-

            down stain and grimèd
line defining plane and vertical rightened quantum to the neat, surrounding parking and the passing upright
            humans both of public
            dress and private gait

                           360º

            and then the grey cat
            strolled from some-
            where left between
            silent cars to cross the

            road right – stopped –
            t’looka’leaf ‘n’ disappear
            up on wall by tree-sniff
            stop – fence? – no,

            down be-hind th’wall
            out through th’front
            windscreen ‘n’
            downastepps t’street

            to not appear where
            expected; ‘shut’, a mother
            leads a tot from front
            door to car …
                                   … still no appearance

            … … scamper with the
            wind behind as the car
            pulls away; maybe I should
            record this wh’appened all

            around breeze, strolled –
            stopped – by the wall
            back from b’hind m’left
            enters the gateway out

            by th’alleyway (with the
            bold and naked silver birch
            I hadn’t noticed);
                                          upover
            the fence [not attempted

            before] tadaaanother cat
            black treesniff checkleft
            then … left, jumptowall,
            jump to pavementstop;

            over the road frontleg
            onelick s t r o l l s car-
            shielded; black belly-slink
            low across the road; they

            walk away both from
            sight either side of the van;
            one tail up and wiggy
            one tail fluffy with spine

            these things all of great
            importance to spite the hard fact
            of my writing them,
            old Bull Williams would have

            and that’s where I are

 

there are expanses awkward to the landscape in writing sometimes: the technique is there, the shift can be made, but the will and excitement just isn’t; I have been reading Diane di Prima’s “Recollections of My Life as a Woman”, I greatly fed off her childhood but have languoured once she got into the Work; I have been reading about Aleister Crowley’s ‘Do What Thou Wilt’ awkward plane; I have a huge project ongoing writing poewieviews to David Bowie’s oeuvre – I am going to new lands but the luggage is heavy and awkward and requiring decisions which I don’t easily make; oh, and I am off work again, feeling un-plugged in to my own practice of vocation like a forlorn state-of-the-art food mixer; I spent a morning down in Eastbourne chauffeuring my wife around like the successful carer that she is; walking; sitting in a coffee shop; snagged at St. Saviour & St. Peter Church on the corner of Spencer Road and South Street, still pondering the relationship between multifarious form and the emptiness makes it dynamic; but it wasn’t until I sat back in the waiting car and watched the chess moves of two cats in the street that I stumbled across the full quote from the Heart Sutra: “form is emptiness; emptiness is form; emptiness is no other than form, form also is no other than emptiness”; but it wasn’t until I got home and shaped it all up from scribbles to column – with my ageing black AND white cat leaning against my foot – that I wondered if I still hadn’t quite got it yet (as William Carlos Williams, the great great practicer of ‘no poetry but in things’ said); and yet it has been satisfying finding not so …

 

 

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

birch wormhole: fine droplets / across the glass
black & grey wormhole: hinged – From Hell ch. V
Bowie wormhole: Quiver of / Tiffany – poewieview #20
breakdown & writing wormhole: nothing to write
breeze wormhole: strange / tarnish
buildings & silver & streets wormhole: crease and score of silver-morning sky
carer wormhole: just saying, is all IV: // lost
Carol wormhole: when in Belgium do as the chocolates do
cars wormhole: stacked
cats wormhole: new garden
child wormhole: dream 260815
church wormhole: finding my own true nature – Plumstead, Woolwich, 190915
coffee shop wormhole: ‘from under the awning …’
creativity & school wormhole: through
Eastbourne wormhole: along
emptiness wormhole: 1966 … actually sic // of it allllll-bsssssssh – poewieview #8
identity wormhole: dear clown’s face
looking & muse & sound wormhole: don’t look / at her eyes – poewieview #18
mother & silence wormhole: early evening
others wormhole: my // shell – poewieview #19
passing & posture wormhole: really
roads wormhole: sixty four sixty five – poewieview #1
searching wormhole: opening
seeing wormhole: where the goblins leered – poewieview #14
sitting & talking to myself wormhole: tong len / the inauguration of another – timely – butter fly effect / taking and giving
teaching wormhole: the MagOO Effect Effect
trees wormhole: Shonagh – poewieview #17
waiting wormhole: Saturday – poewieview #3
walking wormhole: b / r / e / a / t / h / i / n / g
walls wormhole: Nostalgia for Samsara – poewieview #16
[William Carlos] Williams wormhole: and then just stop
wind wormhole: keep the light off

 

quick inventory after coffee

Tags

'scape, 2013, attention, bowl, chair, coffee, computer, cups, horizontal, legs, morning, phone, spoon, time, timelessness, up, white, wires, wood, work

 

 

 

                                quick inventory after coffee

                                rear legs of the wooden chair
                                splay gently outwards to form
                                the back held apart by three

                                curved braces before the edge
                                of the desk on which rests a
                                worn wooden tray slightly

                                overhanging; beyond the slats –
                                brief shadow – and plywood
                                edges stand two cups handle

                                facing 4:30, handle facing 8:00
                                horizontal and a white bowl,
                                spoon handle leaning upwards

                                at 9:00 there are wires from the
                                computer and phones but
                                that’ll be enough for now …

 

 

 

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

attention wormhole: strange / tarnish
coffee wormhole: com- / mute
morning & white wormhole: stacked
time & wood wormhole: crease and score of silver-morning sky
work wormhole: nothing to write

 

the sounds of 1969 // [would have] seemed that way – poewieview #13

Tags

1969, 2016, accountability, appearence, ascent, becoming, being, Bowie, chords, clouds, coalescence, counting, crescendo, dawn, doing, doors, earth, echo, fall, gods, history, horizon, kitchen, looking, loss, lost, love, neighbourhood, people, possibility, rocket, silence, society, sound, stillness, streets, stumbling, suburbia, travelling, trees, up, variation, warp, weft, wish, years

                                   … oh,

                      here it comes again, between
                      the warp and weft of chording;
                      all the engines of thrust, all
                      the snare of history, all propulsion

                      `round various turnings, trails
                      left vaporising; counting … up
                      to crescendo, looking up to tread,
                      to lacunae; to ascend is to lose,

                      to step through that door: fall/
                      ascent mean nothing off-sphere;
                      tumult of horizon sitting in my
                      kitchen, stumbling on my planet,

                      there’s nothing I can do: there
                      are – so – many – more – chords,
                      variants on a minor, travelling to
                      where we are all along, feeling

                      very still … lost where we all are;
                      the sounds of 1969 looked very
                      different today – loved-up, peopled-
                      up, gods upped be-coming – up;

                                          ~O~~~

                      down the slippey ascension of wish,
                      up to the echoing boroughs of cloud-
                      bank, where the damp damp dawn
                      falls silent to urban horizon, higher

                      for to widen the neighbourhood
                      streets and higher to deepen the road-
                      side trees; none of it didn’t, but it
                      [would have] seemed that way

 

filtered through grill of angst: Space Oddity, 1969, Cygnet Committee, 1969, Memory of a Free Festival, 1969

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

 

 

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

being & Bowie & doing wormhole: quite … / … yet – poewieview #12
clouds wormhole: dog bark
dawn wormhole: now, the verticals go down as well as they go up
doors wormhole: Seven A.M, 1948
echo & looking & people wormhole: 1966 … actually sic // of it allllll-bsssssssh – poewieview #8
history wormhole: London Park in Greenwich town – poewieview #5
horizon wormhole: com- / mute
kitchen wormhole: 1963
love wormhole: Grizedale College
silence wormhole: the open window
society wormhole: bookmark
sound & years wormhole: 1963
stillness wormhole: the windmill
streets wormhole: fine droplets / across the glass
travelling & trees wormhole: Saturday – poewieview #3