Moons

Sad:

A dozen

And more moons

Storm stranded

By jealous tides

“Do you know

Who I was?

Where I have been?

That I could summon,

So casual-easy, the

Thunders and mischiefs

You most desire?”

…Were They ?

We are all capable of such extreme,

Easy self-deception,

Such arrogant vanities –

Aren’t we ?

The plain truth was always that

The words which we scratch

With broken-holiday spades,

In drying sand;

The shapes we construct

Between tide and tide;

That we daub so righteously

On the division walls

Or broadcast to the electric winds

Across the wireless world

Were never meant to last!

Or … ?

The Sea Too?

My earliest on-line publishing was on a different site (www.webook.com)*

This is a lightly edited piece that first saw the light of the blogiverse there and was inspired initially be

a piece by “Juli Sabado”.

*my work is still there, in fact, but under a different pseudonym “Paul Rudge”

What are we looking at when

We are looking at the sea …

Hypnotised by the sea?

Do we look at a

Fluid mirror of our souls

Without realising this truth?

The depths, the shifts,

The emotions, the storms

And the turning tides? Continue reading

Let’s Raise A Glass

Let’s raise a glass,

Maybe more,

To the double-intensity,

Up on the stands,

Handlebar gladiators;

To the front-rows,

No-space tiptoe dancers.

Continue reading

Distances and Depths.

whale

How easily, lazily, deliciously languorously

the surface-basking leviathan exhales

This skybridge to isolation futures

In the low-swell tropics to doldrums

Dreamtime sea.

I’m stranded, every which way,

Whatever I do, on this island’s

Desolation rainbow waters;

Cut loose, cast adrift:

Tranced, mazed and drawn by fascinations

Beyond the comfortable, familiar shallows …

But dreadful feared of the

Tides, depths and distances that are coming.

28/7/2013

 

Photo: http://www.lebanontimes.com/moby-trick-fire-breathing-whale-creates-spectacular-optical-illusion-in-the-sunset-sky/

The Church of Clocks

Restless are the

Seas and sands of time:

Tidespun and windworked

Lines of invested time.

Ever faster the full moon

leaps the mortal  fences.

I laugh now to think

How devoutly I avoided

Crossing the cathedral threshold

That leads to the Church of Clocks;

Ignored the insidious drip-tock-drop –

Thinking I was being somehow brave –

The doors that closed,

The ones we didn’t see.

Why did it take so long to realise

That our bodies are merely pins

Mercilessly nailing our want-away shadows

To the dry, stinking mud?

 

23/5/2013