flicker
fire
flame
sky
swoon
sea
ice
cold
snow
wine
warm
we
hot
here
heaven
you
yes
yea
no
less
us
two
one
three.
© 2015 threegoodwords
:blank:
grasping, grasping
but there’s nothing
not even thin air
you can write about thin air
high up in the himalayas
the crisp cold shackling all
the masks needed
simply to survive
to where earth touches sky
so no, not even thin air
not that at all.
nothing, really
emptiness
words, words
where are the words
that form, congeal
to one sentence
one phrase
that one moment
vowel, consonant
that opens doors
to new spaces
new ways
to live, be, see, perceive…
but what are lists to this
out and out grey
where silence doesn’t live
but holds all reigns
to sensation, reason…
though it may be
just a matter of timidity,
the smaller brother to that
icy little feeling, cowardice
for how spell out everything
and break through that wall
that holds everything in,
that hesitates, just when
the words want to be written
no, it won’t do at all.
© 2015 threegoodwords
clarity
where do you draw the line?
now that your reading’s done
and you’re aware of lives
lived by codes outside and beyond
everything you know
the accepted nastiness lingering
behind the famed glory
the casual cruelty accepted
behind the ingenious order
praised since time untold
…
and yet, there is such a thing as reception
that old question
how much is too much
and what of honesty?
what of that which happened
often, far too often
and must be thought of
retold
clearly, without softening
without any lenses blurred
sharp contours of thought
and feeling
of all those grey areas in between
painful, upsetting
without clear lines from A to B
but that’s what it’s really about
or not?
exploring the edges
diving down into darker depths
drawing out the essence of storytelling
finding new ways to reach
what we all strive for
clarity.
© 2015 threegoodwords
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.
© 2015 threegoodwords
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.
© 2015 threegoodwords
three good words 