Getting Past the Questions

No point in asking the doctors

How long we will need

To decide if there is

Something wrong with time.

Have there always been

These soul-quiet streams

From the seas of space

That stop the darkness

Getting in, that keep us from

Getting past the questions?

Questions Without Marks

I feel them all,

These whispers without whispering,

As they rattle secretly -and not –

Around this real-ether world.

We’ve never been face-to-face

Yet, disturbingly, and its opposite

She knows me so well.

There are moments, she says

Without speaking when she hangs

On my words. There are days,

I know when I am held in thrall by

Her brutally innocent intuits:

Questions without marks.

“Were we not more whole,

More in touch, when we respected

Those who commune with serpents?

When we recognised the snake as

Healer rather than nightmare?”

Monster

Nail the mewling monster to the door

With red-hot iron dogs and

Be not gentle with the sledge

That drives them home

Through bone and sinew.

If it pleads, tries to explain; Continue reading

Treasures.

rain-puddle

There are treasures to be found

In even the dullest, flattest of puddles

Ignored by the  sky-crawl sun:

The finger print shadows of clouds.

This devil-wind is a loveless hammer

Throwing whitecaps against cruel rocks;

War-waters crowd against the walls,

Big mean-business birds are on their way;

There was  a reason for this –

But if I was considered important enough

To be told – I cannot recall what it was.

I remember being told that every

Question is a storm that

Blows both ways;

Every gate is a frame.

You want to know who’s

Sleeping in my bed this week –

Do you really care? –

I need to know who is

Living in my head

Right now!

 

Photosource: www. santhisdiary.blogspot.com