Next year

Next year, maybe next year
it'll all be back on line

Somewhat wiser over night
less the fighter without sight

Next year, maybe next year...
you won't take it back


..

Seamless

Rules and regulations state
it takes lots of space
to fly

Hearing in rewind
you take chances
to realise what you’ve got
and leap into the sky,
forcing liberation
to clear the mind

and that is where you find
… it not

But when every open door is closed
there is we, face to face,
clinging to the soundless
confinement
of our subconscious space

A merging of thoughts
beneath the surface
of this troubled sea

Such an unsuspected precision
resonating
bound and free


..

Dividend in diffidence

It is a careful process,
slowly sinking in;
a wave of conscience setting sail,
and no opposing argument
to resist the track
of this reasoning’s trail

As oscillating comfort goes,
safely washed ashore,
it’s a deceptional effort
-this accomplishment-
that leaves you slumbering
for more

Is now the time to realize,
a better swimmer
would’ve known the cost?
That with the tug
of undertow's e-motion,
it is courage I have lost


..

Tie

your intention was not to hurt me
I am now sure of that

impetus decline was already steep
before you caught on

over the rim beneath the waterline, I fell
while once -still sure- on shore we sat

wrapped now in your soothing arms
your lips whisper a mantra in rhyme

take my breath away
and fill me up with light

… but I can never find myself
when I find myself
in darkness

adjusting to drowning

and I wake up

in the middle of the night


..

Travelling

What ever happened here
must have happened while in sleep

A dream fragment slowly travelling
on dissipating currents

Sounds that were revealed,
(hear them) re-deform their static

Clear impressions suddenly flap
their beautiful wings
like ghosts of thought

Soon it'll all be forgotten, and gone

Prove of your existence
will no longer be needed
neither missed

But what I always wonder, is,
that nibbling voice inside
your ever inquiring mind,

what would have happened if you knew,
that when the dial broke,
it was Time, you watched run out


..

Interpolation

in retrospect
our history
is somehow
more complete

one silent joint
in frozen time
from which to radiate
transition's
point of view

I scrutinize
and cross examine
thoroughly,
search through stills repeat
- never, to rearrange

but when silence was,
in retrospect,
abandonment …

history changed


..

Challenging ISO

You were wrong
to mark it Personal
…
It never was


Enter the great white open:

cans of spray paint
find their way
from night
into exposure

shutter speed playing field
it is here, where I am
…
somewhere

never crossing the outline
to your world
when placing my tag,

saying:
it would've been wrong
if I didn't make it personal


..

Distinct

There are many words
reminding me of you;
Distraction is none of them

Coated in your colours -
a distinct mixture
of sound and poise,
all of which trembling
a song, seemingly sung by you-

is a strange attraction that strings,
reeling all the ships
into a beautiful current
to hold on to and never let go

There lies depth in the distance
and I wonder

How can it be wrong
when all are headed
in the same direction

Who am I
to recognize a distortion of light
that makes me see beyond

And then I know

when one single tear
in each eye, wells up

…
it must still be worlds, that we are apart


..

Picture (im)perfect

It is a perceptive gaze
that sees the creases;
those shallow lines
and hidden canyons

No one knows
- really knows -
the exact meaning of all of this
The constant balancing
to make it all worth while
The sum of gain and loss
caught forever by the painters brush

A cautious stare
catches that fading twinkle
to sudden sadness

And silence intercepts

There must have been, initially,
days of joy
that strayed into tomorrow,
untainted and full of light

Where have they gone,
I wonder
What has gone so wrong
to cause this binding with doubt
Was there too much caution, unwarranted?
Or too much pain, implanted?

A denial of joy

There must have been
(at least) moments
where wonder reigned
and curiousness was still
a first step forward
Abundance, waiting to be assigned

Those must have been the days …
I see it in this picture
I see its prove reflecting

Then why, oh why …

stuck
in the mirror’s mind


..

Tuning

how do you explain
what does not want to be explained

is it
a futile attempt
to accept the want
or need
what eyes cannot see
and hands not reach?

explain while you still trail …

your fingers search to outline the form
over and over
inside your head
until you dream

feel its structure with imaginary tips
and leave it with your fingerprints
of fleeting image,
screaming
I am there ..

but
what-if …

this is freak coincidence
an incident of foolishness

...
we are too cast into reality’s spell
to even consider otherwise

and broad horizon
stays
- unread
- untouched
- unpronounced

- un – wanted, eventually

for its reality is moot

we have written the manual
and analyze it as a chart to everything
a set manifest with all the answers
from structural stature to diction
...
that actually leaves me chilled and wondering

when did we intend to become a work of fiction?


..

Spring

..

Splash ... into puddle

Atone then tumble

Embracing colour

...

Boundless suit


..

Seconds

It never stopped raining that night.

Little pieces of debris
whirled down in slow motion
and carefully covered the ground
in an awkward caress.

These are fragments of photo-memory;
a million pieces puzzle
spilling out from over-exposure
in a second(‘s) impact.

Where once was,
is now saved forever from knowledge;
unrecognisable to the inner eye.

Are these shards, in supervision, made up of me?
A cloaking monument to former structure.

Then where lies the blue print?
There should be a roadmap
from Stillness to Re-form.

Instead,
I have no more thought on this...

With distance comes the quiet.

And ignorance...

A haven
of sudden bliss.



..

The crux

oh, I’ve been winging it, alright
that has never been the problem

it’s that wall
where rules are kept unwritten
a do-not-come-near
warning at the gates of reach

even breath, cautiously unspoken
equals bilateral flaw;
denting space
just a little too near
a certain percentage of
possible breach

bring out the clouds obscuring
- once you know who I am
too many take what they think they can -
followed by rain's distortion
flushing out what’s left
of whatever plan

and now you’ve found your reflection
of notice on the wall
…
how did you not-know this?

it is basic irony

that I too,
am cautiously disclaiming:
handle with care
clause containing
plausible deniability


..

(Minor) detail

the place where we connect
should be a handshake, or a hug
a common ground on … common ground
not just a thought we write down
before we forget

and with every significant amble
roots reach deeper
plotting out new corners
of this sumbiounic detail

a non-existent word
that can not be explained
nor shrugged away;
the presence of a present
constantly unwrapping its veil
until more connections remain

and finally,
the last hurdle we face
is this fear of drawing out
a direction, unseen
which, we already have done
and therefore is a moot
convention
of still wanting
what Is
and not
could have been


..

Is it true?

is it true what they say
accomplishments are self-delusions
pretending
to lead towards extant wordplay?

is it true
no matter how many angles you peruse
(and I’m exhausting all the while)
uncertainty equals mediocrity
for which I’m blind with denial?

is it true?
there are no odds
only endless disinterest
and just,
who am I…?

is it true
you’d rather do without?

… Then I am done!

swimming in this sea, leads
to further scrutiny and self doubt

… and all this air to hold on to


..

Catching the worm

Recycle: tr.v., -cled, -cling, -cles.

1. The process of taking abandoned material out of initial context and re use it to create/explore ‘new’ (possible/awkward) intent.



When you’re in for a penny,
ignorance is bliss
but when you’re in for a pound
- in the land of the blind -
it is always darkest
if two ride a horse and
you must ride behind

Before dawn, Rome
– which was built
.. a stitch in time
.. by long friends
.. saving nine
.. short reckonings –
can not serve two masters
when one eyed man
is still king from an armchair
and asks no questions

It’s therefore
the pen makes a healthy man
mightier
than the wealthy and wise

For whose tongue wounds more
than lance and sword?
The never too old to learn
or the early to bed and early to rise?

When the going gets tough
actions speak louder
than telling you no lies

Or is it … gold is not its own reward
it's the early bird that glitters
when the tough get ready
to kill one to worn a hundred
and doing it virtually, in a day
… with words


;-)

..

Impression

dancing under waterfall

every single drop

colours suit

and I am wearing canvas


..

Caught up

a cluttering collection of thoughts
is piling up;
waiting to be scrutinized,
indexed,
categorized

then utilized
and shared
(for your interpretation)

‘t is a scream for fresh air;
to shed the cope
aka
new destinations
accommodate a bigger scope

or,
less short:
gathering this notion
needs consideration
to release it from its place


… if


it wasn’t for this last minute catch:

error 22: Defragmentation Denied
Not Enough Free Space



..

Idiosyncrasies

And every time the bottom
falls out from under
and you're not there to catch
These stitches and braces
are prove of failure
Of never reach out and touch
what need can not believe in

It just doesn't suffice,
these too many maybe's
Lost in between
Left in the middle
at this hidden floor

Hello, I'm right here
Idiosyncrasy
catch superstition out loud
Stay out of reach
or you'll fall
and than, we'll fall out

Better left up there
misinterpreting the word
Unbroken
Musing your visions
clearly
but softly unspoken


This,
as I am sorting
through the noise inside my head
Where you are one
And I try to think of many reasons
why there is NO reassurance
with always the same answer:
"We'll never be really done"


I just want to break the hinges
that opened up this door
But I just....
can’t' believe it anymore


..

Severed from whole

Echo of loss
searing at the edges of
this void

There really are no words
only hollow expressions
(and many incomprehensions)
not saying it at all

Irrevocably connected
-we were-
and intricately woven
into a flawless pattern
of profound significance

You have always been
so much more
than paw prints on my soul




6 February 2010


..

T's travellers

Since back then, in the beginning when ...
we tell each other bivouac stories.
These only times we get, we never choose.
While the hours chase us through the night,
we hold on tightly to creating
memories we know we'll lose.

It's easy when perspective's out.
Energy is sound; vision we doubt.
Over and over again but without a clue,
some of us will be erasing
while we are chasing
to remember sensing through.


One last word before we're gone,
perception burns the light
and belonging starts to hurt,
so much so we cannot hide it
any longer:
If we fight it, are we strong?

One last word and than she's gone.
Inevitably transparent, invisibly forlorn.


..

Passenger

new arrivals
eager to stand in

there's you, there's me
and space

enough

of marking us redundant
in many separate ways


..

Sudden stop

suspended in mid air
is where I'd like to stay

swaying slowly on the currents
that never touch ground

still, I seem to see you
always in clouds of gray

such conclusive indecision

when fire was just flames
that took my breath away

and up it goes ...
...


it is like they say, after all
... never the fall ...


..