Poem: The Waiting Room

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Sitting in a waiting room, I see the piercing, pungent

Eye of God cut through the reality of the hospital’s

Environs to look penetratingly down upon me

*

“Give me hope, you blistering bastard of light!” I cry, I rail,

“O, if you must fill my heart with a poisonous pain that

Recycles itself in perpetuity, at least give me hope in an

Earth-bound after-life that comes after sadness – hope

That your light is not just an illusion, but a true realization

Of sweet happiness’s rebirth.

*

“Let not this happiness, so newly come, be so newly lost –

I know ‘the course of love seldom runs smooth,’ and

I’m inclined to doubt anything that does – but cannot I at

Least experience some stability in love? I do not expect

Anything to last forever; but after so long of living in pain

And unhappiness, cannot I at last sink fully into and be

Cleansed by my bath of love, before the plug is so hideously

Pulled?”

*

“It is the nature of your love,” accused a floating nurse,

“To become all that you love – and so become a curse –

But in invading that space, you become an object of hate,

And scare away those you would most love.”

*

“Fine! Make of me a monster – a parasite!” I said

In defence. “But it is the nature of love to invade

And be invaded – it is a holocaust – a bloody fucking

War.

*

“I am invaded by the love I feel for what I love;

Wish to invade the loved one with my love; and

Have them, in turn, invade me with their love.”

*

“Sounds like a sexual metaphor to me!”

The Coffee Machine incriminatingly hummed.

*

“This has nothing to do with sex,

As sex has nothing to do with the

Full penetration of love!”

*

“Speak for yourself – I’m just a coffee machine –

The closest I come to love is when the technician

Returns to re-stock my beans!”

*

II.

Though slightly soothed, the portal to heaven

Still open before me, uncertainty yet was found

Pacing around me, foaming like a dog-foaming

Dog.

*

“Will she? Won’t she?” I asked myself

And The Universe, watching a window-shade

Tremble flutteringly at the slow, pale anxiety

Of my flutter

*

Then I thought of those I had erstwhile loved,

And wished they would find the love elsewhere

Which to me they could not return

*

Then a pregnant nurse came in and talked of the

Spiritual investment that had become her charge;

And I thought that, if the child bore even a trace of

The happy purity that beatified her face, then I could

Stroke the black purr of my pain, knowing the world

Would soon be a better place.

*

This is what The Eye of God can show you

When you have nothing better to do

But wait

*

 

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Poem: Apologia

rose.jpg

I.

Pain is bred into these walls,

So I walk out alone into the woods,

Where nightmare upon nightmare serry and prance,

All the dourness of death in a deathless dance,

Nightmares with dreams swiftly interchange,

What once seemed pure is quickly deranged,

And once deranged is purified again,

Wings of heaven and hell in the palace of a brain

II.

Come, let us love, and fear no more,

Cast all misunderstandings outside the door,

Pain may be bred into these walls,

But the tormentor becomes life-giver when duty calls,

For as unkind words cruel tongues quickly make,

Thirsty passions just as easily can they slake,

Instruments of pain to pleasure are made,

Stabbed and saved by the self-same blade

III.

Turn not your eyes from me, but pierce mine again,

The intensified eyes of a lioness with a lioness’s mane,

Let your lips find mine – speak only with sensation,

On this hectic journey without a destination,

Words can mislead – but touch speaks the truth,

Turn the next page – do not close the book,

Though my heart now be suspended as on a meathook,

Pleasure gives way to pain – pain to pleasure returns,

And the fire is contained in the same ice it burns

IV.

I cannot pretend that I know you at all,

But I want to know all of you – to walk among your walls,

And, perhaps I have been clumsy in seeking admission,

Made thoughtless mistakes with frightened imprecision;

It was all just to help you – to show you I care –

I want to touch you again – run my fingers through your hair –

Whatever wounds I’ve opened, may I seal them with a kiss,

Fear’s thorns and vulnerability are the gateway to bliss,

I wish only to love – to give you my tenderness –

To inject my soul into each and every caress,

V.

So, please forgive my mistakes – my foolish transgressions,

We can easily work beyond this unhappy dereliction,

The spell of three days should not be unmade in a night,

Even the kindest of lips must give way to fight,

And fight into light, like abyss into sun,

The tiny rippling explosions where the river doth run,

VI.

I’ll treat you like a queen – a flaming princess –

But it’ll take the hearts of two to clean up this mess,

Let me know what to do – how your mercy to move,

What acts of devotion my kindness can prove,

So what is ruptured can be restored with greater strength,

Measure for measure – and length for length –

Heart for heart – and beat for beat –

Bitterness into sweetness – and sweetness – more sweet!

From heaven to hell – and hell to heaven once more –

Though now able to locate the exits and doors!

*

And, as I pray not to lose what I would better know,

I hope for a gentle touch and not a hope-destroying blow

 

Poem: Visions of Spring

ecole-bosch-vision-de-tondal2

Where the earth grows gravid,

Pregnant with itself; that’s where

My thoughts flow. Primroses, crocuses,

Snowdrops rejoice to wheezing greenfinches,

Spring winds breathing fresh through the heather.

But we had to crawl through the dark shawl of winter,

Tear off her icy veil, to arrive at this florid juncture here;

We had to roam through lands, spectre-filled – haunted –

Every hectare sown with nightmares, wicked hags haunting

The cairn-carbuncled mountains

To where we find a boy and girl,

Both beautiful and fair, strayed

From their farm, their sunny fayre,

To a plain of nightmare, to a village

Of jigsaw-walled dereliction of Boschian

Black and cream-white bleakness

A little goblin guides them through the town,

Showing them the history painted on their walls;

Eight and ten-score years of making trophies, and

A thousand more of famine: “All the bread was burned

To black, and we never ate again.”

 *

“O, we are a poor folk here!” he lamented.

The boy and girl too wondered how they would ever eat again,

Caught in the woods, intersticed with pockets of civilization,

Which grew up like boils between them

 *

But now, reedy and wind-blown, a peace as deep and as heavy

As a hug anchors me to land, to the life of the land, and my thoughts

Cradle themselves, crow-like, in the negative spaces between the branch’s

Hands

 *

Truly, we never stop being children – each human life-span

As long as a primrose – of a mushroom – of the pre-programmed

Wrinkles in the tenderness of a sapling

 *

But life remains beneath the earth,

Though flowers soon exceed their day of birth,

And sun within the soil is cloven,

With love and fire, both inwoven,

I will savour the ease after the strain,

Though, still unable to separate pleasure from pain,

And in the muddy peace and chaos of fertile existence,

I will go on living,

I will go on singing

 

Poem: Conversations With Rumi

rumi

Sweet Rumi, and Prophet Gibran, lend me your hearts!

Let me not be corrupted by hate, nor the enmity of wounded

Pride; the mouldering coal of anger that inflames my myocardia,

And obstructs the outlets of my infectious affection

*

Let me not be a hypocrite – I have promised to give,

So let me give – give, even when I feel only the indifference

And inattention of those I give to – when I offer of myself to

The point of exhaustion only to be met with distant stares

*

It makes this wounded child want to repair into a Grinch,

A burglarizing old Saturn, and declareth thus: “I have

Given, and been denied loving gratitude, so wherefore

Shouldst I give?”

*

Abide not that Reuben! Take that Reuben –

Slap him in the face – and sayeth unto him:

*

“Give, Reuben – give until you have donated the very bones

From your back; give of your skin – give until you are so itchy

And inflamed, your tender layers excoriated by blazing sands,

You can barely stand for the pain of how much you give

*

“By all means cherish those that receive your love,

And return it too, for they heal you and remind you

What it is to be whole – to be the middle ground

Betwixt Heaven and Earth

*

“But cherish even more those who neither take your love,

Nor return it, or if they do, give back only in outward displays

Of silent mockery, or glut the ears of your heart with poisoning

Words; those who take your love as but a trifling snack, and, after

Eating it all to surfeit, with no trace of gratitude, have the temerity

To ask “What’s for dessert?” – those to whom you give your most

Precious things only to have them to converted into missiles of

Unkindness to slay and destroy, like the golden statue of a

Glorious saint or king melted down to make metal for bullets or

Swords –

*

“If those that love you are your healers, then those emperors

And empresses of ingratitude are your teachers: they show you

How to steel your love and keep it pure – to persevere in a love

That cannot be deterred – to make your love the king of all beasts;

To dine on your obstacles as invigorating meats

*

“Evolution thrives on adaptation – so make your love such a one

As this – a love that refuses to give up – that always find a way

To survive – if at first your love does not succeed, endure, and

Search out the forms it needs to take on in order to be the

Emancipating skeleton key, the hidden jigsaw puzzle piece

That connects every heart.”

*

“But the blackness of my anger is so hard,” you say,

“I am depleted, duped, dead – how much longer must

I go on refining the steel of my love against the adamantine

Point of other’s disdain, apathy, and hatred?

*

“Because I have met those that would love me;

That would crucify me with their kindness –

That can clearly see all I strive to do for the world,

And see that it is good.

*

“Why would I consent to being a pillar of odium

When I do not have to cast myself so bloody upon

Embattled plains? Why would I submit myself to

Aching disinterest, of knocking flint against flint to

Try and rouse love in an unwelcome heart when I could

Receive love elsewhere ready-made?”

*

“Why would you, indeed?” said Rumi. “Take the easy way

And all will later be hardness; take the hard way, and, as you

Now know, much else will become easier thereby – better yet,

Unite them both, and be indifferent, accepting, and loving of

Either.

*

“No one said you had to make a choice, because how can we

Ever just make one choice about anything? In selecting one thing,

We also create the anti-matter of all we failed to select, and, by

Opting not choose one thing, we are still kept in the pall of

Non-choice’s shadow. One may choose The Path of Happiness

And still find sadness pursuing them like a silent cat – one may

Choose to renounce the world, only to find that the world still

Pursues them in their renunciation, and nothing has been

Renounced at all. One will always find many things one did

Not choose, so why place such great esteem in choices after

All?

*

“Instead of worrying about what to choose, be mindful of what

You do with what chooses you – be kind to those things you do

Not choose – you’ll have to learn to live with everything eventually

Anyway, so why not make things easier and harder for yourself –

Isn’t that what you’ll do anyway?”

*

“So, this is what I get,” thought I,More of the hollow philosophy

I went into the desert to get away from: survive – live – die – or

Do not die; choice against choicelessness – self-control verses

Recklessness – egotism verses selflessness – virtue and sin in

Psycho-sexual union breeding more babies of ambiguity to

Keep the world going on and on and on.”

*

“I hear you, brother,” said Rumi, tugging me by the hand,

And pulling me further into those golden desert sands, “I

Hear your cries, your confusion, your incertitudes, and

Desolating and uplifting attitudes. I hear your thoughts

And all the sly silky nothings that slink between those

Thoughts. I hear them all as clearly as I hear a jukebox

That spurs on a barbaric barroom brawl.

*

“You want what we all want: you want to love and

Be loved – to feel that confusion is something you

Can overcome – that there is a direction, a purpose,

A motion in life you can eternally trust in – and

Even though you rebel against all linear things,

You still wish the course of life wouldn’t always

Be so frustratingly pinball quantum.

*

“Think of your friends, Rube. Those who are your friends

May later becomes your enemies, and, by becoming your

Enemies, may prove better friends in giving you things to

Strive against.

*

“How often have those you loved only proven to be stepping

Stones towards those you would love mightier later? How many

Dashed hopes have unleashed greater joys from the corpses of

Those they lost?

*

“The problem is the question of Finality – of Certainty.

The desire to have things so, and to have them always be

So: to have an eternal day, and be done with night – to

Have an eternal summer and be done with the savage

Ineluctability of winter – to have just enough love and

No more than you can manage – to have just enough

Solitude, but not enough that all your hopes are ravaged –

This golden mean – this constant ratio – this middle income

Of truth and light – of sustainable joy somehow always able

To vivify itself with an insurance policy against discontentment’s

Canker

*

“But we live in a seasonal world – an excessive world –

A world that will always take things too far, and, in the

Process, take you too far along with it:

*

“So why not smile and shout when you are happy,

And wail and cry when you are sad – and then reverse

Them, and dance and sing when your are unhappy

And cry with mightiness when your joy stabs you mindlessly

In the heart?

*

“Either way you experience –

Either way you keep on going –

Because there is no true stillness in this world;

But, like the ball in the pinball machine, you will

Always find yourself rocketing between one point

Of light, and a pair of pincers always ready to strike

You back.

*

“Like Homer’s Odysseus, you must choose between Scylla

And Charybdis, knowing that, in this union of sea monsters,

There is no real choice at all; between this rock and a hard

Place, you will feel the hardness of hardness, the softness of

Softness; the softness of hardness, and the hardness of softness;

And you will find joy and sorrow in them both; wisdom and ignorance

In them in equal measure.

*

“So what does it matter? It doesn’t matter which way you sail –

The point is that you sail. The point is that you have the courage

To be freely buffeted by the winds, lapped by the tonguing foamy

Surges of Neptune’s inconstant lover’s broil. Stay at home, and the

Sea will only seek you out – go to sea and seek out, and you will be

Sought by land just the same, if that be not the crux of all your

Seeking.

*

“Feeling stable, you long for change – feeling only surging

Tides of change, you long for the certitude of land to give

You a supply of paradise’s incorruptible currency.

*

“Again, the point is neither in choosing change or changelessness,

Finding both in neither, and neither in the above – the point is in

The motion – in the desiring, the end of desiring, and then the returning

Of desiring all over again.

*

“That is the point:

Motion – stillness – love.”

*

“I carry no assumptions about anything,” said I,

In return, throwing a bolt of lightning against the

Sand to make it into a glass to mirror us both.

*

“I know that one cannot choose happiness anymore

Than one can opt to completely outdo the conniving

Machinations of suffering. I choose neither an easy

Love nor or a hard love, for there is no love to choose,

Love being all there is.

*

“But I am human. I ask questions. I look to the future

And I speculate – I hold up and comparatively weigh

All the possible journeys I make. No one will ever truly

Know if they are the in process of experiencing the best

Of all possible worlds; but still – still there is the desire

That with every action and new direction one takes, that,

In the motion of that direction, we take it and make it in

The best possible way – that we leave no stone of potential

Wisdom, knowledge, joy, difficulty, or obstruction unturned,

Unfulfilled – that we do not lay to waste all those gifts that

Are made to us – that we make sure our cup runs over –

That we do not cease to drink wine until the vineyard has

Completely run dry.

*

“Who would do otherwise? In drinking milk from the tits

Of the world, who wouldn’t suck at and lust against every

Sacred udder they can find – who would be content to see

The dizziest of dizzy heights without being quest-proud in

Their vertigiousness to see them?

*

“But I don’t know really know what I’m saying anymore.”

*

“Then say nothing,” said Rumi to me, sweetly, “say nothing

And be sweet; say nothing and sing instead; say nothing and

Be ceaselessly still and silent and unceasingly without silence

And stillness in your dizzying quest for life and quest to seek

Repose therefrom.”

*

Then we took one another by the hand

And carried on walking through the sands.

*

 

Poem: The Return of Ecstasy

paradise

Who visits me in these sanctuaries of aurorean night,

And pours the sweet nectar of delight down my throat?

*

Thoughts can fly further than bodies, and, when they

Meet in the merging of breath-swollen mouths, wings

Are appended to every limb, and all your worries burst

In a torrent of starlings – a murmuration of sweetened

Madness that carries you aloft to the paradisial gardens,

Where your children greet you in the happiness of Divinity’s

Own Body

*

I will try and recreate it for you,

To cast my spell over you – to

Transport you to that floor where

I lay, hungover, in an ecstatic state,

A vineyard flowing through my veins,

Poetry erupting from me in hysterical

Leaps – singing madly, haply, with the

Full rainbow trout, rainbow song, of

Hysteria – of marriages between planets

And stars – of the invention of new birds –

Of all the wonderful, wondrous wonders I can

Show you once I’ve rebuilt my garden immortal

*

Let me show you that garden,

That garden, where the sprouting of any daisy

Is the dynamite of happiness – where every solar

Flare is as soft as a falling feather

*

You can see no cars – hear no motorways here –

There are no roads – cement is an abomination

Yet to be brought up from the bowels of hell – the

Wind is the tickle of the hoof-fall of horses: and

The sky is the sempiternal portrait we see whenever

We open up our souls. Clouds are the only traffic,

And kindness is the law of the land as we look

Out over that edenic ‘scape, hearing a stream

Saunter casually by

*

But, it has been so long since I’ve been happy

That I needs must find a new lexicon for my ecstasy –

Words that are the alembic distillation of purified, rapturous

Sighs – words that inflame the enraptured tongues of all those

Brave enough to sing them.

Thank you for making me feel whole again;

The smell of sulphurous death has been about me

For so long – I hated myself – I hated my body – I hated

All those things about myself that I felt kept me away

From others

*

But now clad, re-housed in the satin garments of

Loving appreciation, this bone-barren body feels

Warm and snug – this prison hath become a palace,

This agonizing dungeon, a citadel of pleasance,

*

I do not feel ashamed to be myself anymore,

But can wear my self in all my spectral majesty

*

I am beautiful.

I am enough.

I have nothing to be ashamed of.

*

III.

And, in that paradisial re-awakening,

In that absence of fear and worry,

I want for nothing, except for the want

Of wanting

*

And if you can feel me as I can feel the sensation

Of Psyche arching her splendorous back before me,

Then you can feel oceans and forests teeming in your body;

The epic release of surcharged electricity – of the shoreline

Warmly consuming the outlines of your body:

*

You can feel what it is to feel and be fully feeling

*

And, if you can take that feeling, and let it linger

On your lips for the longest of lingerings, and let its

Breaths haunt you like the eroticism of half-known

Winds; if you can let it sink into you like a shipwreck,

And embody it in your pores like a microcosm of

Riotous applause; if you can feel the sunrise rise up

In your stomach, and let all that is within and without

You be swallowed up in a mouth of luscious light

*

Then take all of that purified energy,

And concentrate it into a single kiss;

*

For just as we all have a bullet with our name on it,

So each of us is the recipient of a healing kiss – deadly

In its healingness – crafted and created just for us

*

And once you’ve found the person worthy of receiving yours,

Pull back taut the bow-string of your lips – and, as their own

Lips come into soft collision with your own, inject with full

Force the revivifying light of your smile – then collapse in

The perfume aureate of eachother’s souls, and eat of

The fruit of your bliss

*