words words words – Page 37

January 25, 2015January 25, 2015

à la carte

eating fire
divine
made of secrets
known twice
during meetings
met thrice
at tables hidden
plates steaming
filling souls with light

a glance
a nod
a smile
words praising
this light in darkness
lifted softly
to scents awaited
loveliness
filling one’s plate

heartfelt thanks
sung with crimson
held in goblets
with plates swept clean
and souls filled to the brim
with true and real delight –

Merci.

January 24, 2015January 24, 2015

sum total

that sad laughter
shock in their eyes
that silence that asks
where are you?
where did you go?
that person
we once used to know?

that moment
of cold understanding
a stranger in your own home
speaking in a voice still known
cracking tired jokes
stealing away for another smoke
yet there’s still hope
that it’s all a really bad hoax
a stupid prank, a circus trick gone wrong.

only it’s not
it’s happening
too real, too clear
the scuttling despair
stunned, confused
indignant, silenced
by so much tranquility
all without special effects,
sudden hates, or hollywood flare.

of lives kept whole
through trials, tribulations
by effort, hard work
perseverance, devotion
and that little bothersome pea
piled deep under a comforting surface
that unrelenting pebble: decency,
the artist formerly known as morals.

but these are all unknown words
to the fugitive at the gates
searching for hasty rest
in nests and labyrinths
of snippets and illusions
of a life once spent
in anger and blissful contentment
which the patient forebearing eyes
start to suspect
was never the actual truth
but something close
interwoven with delusions and lies.

and yet, the shock, the surprise
that fortunes could be so drastic
so completely opposite
to everything hoped for, expected
but all eyes remain dry
some calamities are obvious
rising, growing, ominous
like darkness towering in the skies.

as to the moral of the shambles
of the hastily-told story:
it sneaks up on you, life.
it just happens
and suddenly, almost abruptly
a quarter of a hundred’s over
and the happy would-be wasp,
all flash and excitement,
knew not how
while the boring bees
went ahead and led
quiet industrious lives
buzzing away in their prosperous hives
bothering no one
generous with their produce
(what sweetness, what honey
what gold!)
seeing studiously to themselves and their own.

so make sure your life’s truly your own
and not borrowed, dictated,
delusional or loaned;
we are all bees of the same stock
human, from foot to forelock
(which needs no tugging, mind you)
we’re all working away
building, expressing
making, creating
with our personal pollen
in our private honeycombs
filling the expanse
hand to mouth, ear to heart, earth to sky
all that will combine, comprise
the sum total of our lives.

January 19, 2015January 19, 2015

alma mater

strange to retrace
the steps you once took
eagerly expecting an eduction
and getting more, way more
than you first expected

not just the books bought
and the papers written
but the friends and heartbreak
the clandestine lovers
breaking up in furious tears and shouting
once discussed and inevitably discovered
yes, you two, I know who you are…

the novelties found
the loyalties broken
the real friends made
those many words said
and unspoken
in between and all around
the hours sitting, pouring, agonizing
studying, practicing, memorising
and finally, finally, understanding
all those things you’ll actually
– I guarantee you –
really need later on
in the big bad rest of the world
with its sharp fangs and cold snout

that wide open place where suddenly
being clueless is a country of its own
which you have a permanent visa for
coz it doesn’t get better, does it?
oh no, it gets so much more
like an effing sitcom

where time and again
you’re made to understand
the connection between bat excrement (urgh)
and fucking crazy, excuse my French
(why French anyway?)

and you know youth is not wasted on the young
it’s exactly what’s needed to get through it all
and not end up neurotic, eccentric,
not to mention unnecessarily high strung

oh, wait…
naw, it’s all good
it’s the simple fact that
now, years later
you’re no longer either one
or the other
you’re who you are:
still a kid and genuinely grown up.

January 15, 2015January 16, 2015

terra nullius

I read and think
and admire
what others are willing to sink
into the blankness of the virtual page
like treasure chests
waiting to be opened
full of virtual word-gold
mined from the precious veins
of lives unknown
reams and reams of history
soundbites of the personal
notes on intimate spaces
all their own.

I read and think
and admire
but I know I do not know
how to lay my life on the written line
how to confess, confide
openly
aggressively at times
showing, telling
pursuing a presence that should be me
but what is ‘me’
in this sea of words and stories?

It is maybe not about not knowing
but more about not showing
not wanting to self-colonise
the wild, the life
the terra nullius inside
unknown only to others, outside.

For to present
it must be shaped,
to be told it
must be formed
– mapped –
turned from elements
earth, air, water, fire
to geography, weather, astronomy,
all things (wo)man aspires,
histories that can be traced
followed to the first word
explained to those
who do not know
the secrets hidden in holy waters
the powers whispered in sacred fires
the life living on unknown soils
that quiet, powerful magic
nascent in all
from arctic to jungle
from tundra to grasslands
together, all at once
landscapes galore
that place
unmapped, unwritten
spoken from mouth to ear
riddled in tales, held in rhythm
allowing those shifts of sight and sound
perception
obvious one day, intangible another
tumbling from skies above and below
swelling once, blooming twice
blossoming wide
showing what detail is possible
to the inner eye:
perfection.

It is not then, a not-knowing
but more the need for a closed garden
a pairidaēza,
a paradise
known so well to me, myself, and I
the firstborn trinity
that holy space
the home and solace
of what lives in blissful hiding
creating what is seen outside
an infinite space
one of the seven of the billion
in form, shape, and colour
that secret place within,
that which is my life.

January 14, 2015

wild weather

sunlight shimmering
hazy over darkness, grey
clouds gathering swift
to mountains high
almost black, broiling
skimming, skating
racing across the endless sky

whirling, swirling
tumbling, ecstatic
in muted light
pouring itself out
into innocent eyes
open wide, staring
past the window
lips clouding the pane
mother! mother!
look, there!

a muted flash, sharply soft
a warning, first
of more to come
a rumble of sound
like a beast of old
rolling, roaring, above the dark
so heavy, so close
looming so low
yet above, a glow
bright, thundering
the ancient gods
hurling bolts oncemore –

a crack, a flash
the ear-splitting break
of light electric
connecting the ancient
to ground unknown
a pillar of power
sudden, sharp
making the young innocent
gasp and jump

shocked to see
light untamed
so bright, so bold
look! did you see?
there! there!
more and more
violent lines
jagged blades
all at once, exploding
in deafening sound
jabbing, jarring
the whole horizon
until a world awake
falls silent in awe and wonder.

and the child watches
wide-eyed
the glass pane clouded
seeing, believing
knowing this is very much real
always present, for all to see
fantastic, sublime
a gift almost, but frightening?
a laugh, oh no:
incredible, unbelievable, divine.