Winter Sun

Feb. 22, 09

White swans envelop and circle,
Heads bent towards each other-
And bodies farther away.

Just in between and below,
Dark blue against ice blue,
Fight and swirl against.

And within the midst of that,
A colourful black brightens,
When the winter sun touches,

Cold brightness with no heat,
Sun shined down on empty,
Just given a light against shade

Eyes, you are, look upon and up,
See nothing in cloudless sky,
fighting with sea and horizon.

For the end of Winter Sun

Colour Changed

It’s only songs. Only lyrics, only words. Only beats, only tunes. It’s not anything but a song.

Not a song I created. Not a form by me, words chosen by me. A tempo by me, nor a feeling by me. It’s nothing that is mine.

It’s still there for me though. The songs still sing to me, tell me. Knock me back and forth and fill me with a melody driven feeling. It’s everything.

I sometimes wonder if you think of me;

like I think of you at night.

With my hand on my head staring at the ceiling wondering, thinking, dreaming.

I wonder if you think of me, when I think of you. Then maybe we would be closer somehow. I wonder if you know I love you. Loved you. Do and will.

Do you think of me?

Remember me?

I know you remember my name. My number.

You call me sometimes. And I don’t say much. I think you are disappointed, but it’s because I just want to hear you talk. Hear you breathe. I forget what I wanted to say to you.

I remember everything I wanted to say to you when you hang up and I go to bed. Just those moments when I’m thinking of you. Listening to that song. Just hanging on the night.

You call me less. I wonder if you know I stay up and don’t go out. Just so I never miss that ten minute phone call. Sometimes it’s less.

It’s always worth it.

Someone told me – When I met you.

“Don’t get your heart broken,”

I laughed then. We weren’t like that. And my heart still isn’t broken. And you could never break it. You could walk away and hate me – and it’d not ever break for you. I’d move on. Live on. Hope that you are okay.

You’ll be going to war. And I fear that during the duration of time you were away training that you lost who you were. Or gained who you are. I don’t know you yet again. I’m lost in a phone call. I just hope I get to know you before I lose you in what could happen.

And I just wonder if you think of me. Feel the spark when you do.

The spark, I think, the songs tell me, we’ll always have.

Charcoal

Feb. 11, 09

An addiction to sky and charming nicotine,
Smoke rising giving me something like hope,
Grey and burdened lace my dreams.

Retrieve the moon ink from the heaven's lake,
Take the reed's stems and heed the songs ablaze,
Stencil change within the placid grave,
Give life, a dew, from above Sun’s high day.

Tainted dust giving butterfly flight,
Swirls of outrageous orange and black,
Beckon the watcher’s eye.

Then burden the dye of the butterfly wings,
Give yellow eyes to the very edges of night’s rims,
Shade shadows in the soil’s depths of Hell’s rings,
And silhouette the moon’s crescent in dreams.

Do lay imaginary wings on my back,
Tattered ends with raindrops to encumber,
Destroying the magic in chipped snaps.

Draw in heaven and hell, weave life and death,
Paint sun and moon and man to their rest,
Beast rein onward to the moon’s ink bed,
Charcoal drawn world held smudges of tread.

My wings had cat eyes and lips,
Readily speaking, drinking, dosing for something,
Beckon for the dragon fly; give a kiss.

God Given

With(out) Intention

Reformatted from original: Feb 12, 09

If one looks too closely, heed me.
Then crack, will the mirror and glass.
It beheld intricacy. Or are you lying?

The stencil was chosen randomly,
You needn’t even bother to neither ask,
Or look too closely, heed me.

Formation was a spur of imagining,
You’ve only found paper once unmasked,
It beheld intricacy. Oh, you are lying.

Can one imagine the flow freely,
From mind to mouth to hands, untracked?
Only if one looks too closely, heed me.

Not exactly without intending,
For the words of beauty to lack,
Because it beheld intricacy. No lying.

So must you analyze this poetry?
Set it upon to be your own task,
If one looks too closely, heed me.
You’ll find no intricacy. Or am I lying?

So Control (Me)

Jan 7, 09

Taken away by the breath of screams,
And the smolder in painted finger tips,
By passing freedom for what's free.
Love is payed in pain; so forget that.

Take this parchment written in blood-
Your heart's ink writes as you read:
'String are broke -Chords are smashed'
Just as you play them and sing.

This is a freedom march of ballet feet,
Which spin only in circles around-around,
In circles of hell and past the many gates.
Oh please lord, wear the matching leotard.

*

Fake my death in harmony with the sun's set
That's how I'd like it to go. So control (me).
So I can control me; death life and breath.
Breathing isn't living and dead isn't death.

Pitiless

January 24, 09

Tomorrow is gone and yesterday is here.

We've rioted against the conformity,
Only to show we conform in fashion.
We've dipped stencils in oil and ink,
Only to hear that it has been written.

The only inspiration of anything new,
Is the dawn that mimicked the past,
Still seen and awed and applauded-
Until the sun turns into the same ash.

We've doodled and called it art,
Brought it into galleries and out.
We've said nothing trying to convey,
And our eyes have just gotten weak.

If we are making up colours we see,
Does it still count as we deem it sanity?
Does insanity only cross a distance?
A line that we will come to soon enough.

If tomorrow is gone and yesterday is here?

*
And we've all lived before,
And we all live again.
And we all will live again.