Month: November 2016

 

Here, in this silence, may we hear

Michael, friends, family

and the listener speak

 

‘He is not here; but far away

The noise of life begins again’

 

 

 

 

a man

go fell 22 years

too old

 

 

The Unwanted Mask

 

Wangai,      

take off the mask                    

this life has given

 

 

 

and let us inside

 

 

it’s been some time    since

a generation knew how to ask –

 

 

 

 

why                                                       

          

          ∞

 

 

how long will the birds continue 

lying   

         day

broken by slow 

chirping circle        light guided

 

 

and tied 

 

by tired shadow    flight

 

 

sus-

p ending us wide

 

in sombre shackle

 

        ∞

 

how long will the drums be

blind beaten silence

 

beating swollen

 

and reverberating numb

 

all around us-

 

the storm

 

dreams lifeless   

 

        ∞

 

solace is a ghost  

overheard-

 

it lurks 

torments

 

and chokes 

like loss 

and thirst

 

one cannot swallow

 

 

 

so huddle- 

 

together empty source

 

question and fill puddle

to ocean 

 

with the voiceless 

surge of water

 

 

 

sweat                 thirst   

           suffer 

 

and                   dirge

 

 

shriek

and beat aloud

 

ripple and recede

shrink and swell

 

constrict and fit 

into hearing

 

assemble and stir ash                  

to once again 

possess the form 

of our percussion 

 

             ¥

 

 

hope reach the long length 

of destination   pour-

us tender

through threshold

 

cloud    burst centre    let  

us enter                                

 

mountain blow- 

 

chalk 

and vapour

            now set-

tle restless silhouette,

 

cluster residue

and sail westward

 

towards death

and nature, spread

 

¥

 

muscle  

soak   knot   and     with-

draw                   let

 

           go 

 

oppose           and start

 

 

again

 

¥

 

thunder 

shiver   collapse

and pour timbre

 

this heart beat

.and journey-

 

this language

 

we utter     but

cannot wake from 

 

    ¥

 

 

how far 

will this sound carry-                          

on permeating un-permitted

 

as forgotten expression-

less echo

 

’til it finds 

its core-

 

a hollow

in noise   persistent

as m –

m –

more –

 

 

 

morning

 

∞

 

breath 

is faint-                         

ing pain 

is painting 

 

 

prayers

lay patiently 

layering 

 

earth-                     

quakes

¥

 

pages 

and words  

                              

are but pale 

praise

 

they endow 

the name with 

 

nothing

 

¥

 

how many feelings                  

lie behind what is seen

 

 

how many haunt

and distort 

 

one

vision of

happiness

 

 

seeming

 

 

 

so much exists

behind the people 

you love but how much 

friction is torn 

and broken

to weave

and tangle

 

an anthem

 

as beautiful

as yours

 

  ¥

 

how long will life be                     

a camouflage

 

and forgetting be a step

 

 

towards death and the present 

path        un-

 

becoming

 

tremor

of acceptance

 

 

    ¥

elephants summon                                 

 

huddle

 

and herd the dead                     

 

 

wave ears   touch-      

foreheads   open-

trunks          

 

and bless

remembrance  

 

 

listen there,

 

 

 

 

the dead 

are not deaf

 

     ¥

 

they say the path crosses             

the water 

that crosses the path

 

but where does the message 

start

 

time is old with walking

life has grown cold

of talking

 

           enough-          

is enough          it must be

 

           enough     but

 

the palm still fronds

 

goes on

 

¥

 

The river’s influence 

 

is over-

come

in loss

 

 

 

its voice 

is

 

plangent

 

 

distance seems

weak-kneed

 

shrivelled

 

and thirsty

 

 

the seed 

is slowly peeled         

to stone-

 

hop skim

 

and sink- 

 

 

skin shed

 

to tone

 

pip skip and hover     

 

        leaf spin 

       and trans-

          form

 

        sunk and

         muted  

 

 

         spill

 

        stutter

       and swarm

   

      pebble surge

         swell

     and intersperse

 

       split whole

      and fall open

        into motion

 

    evanesce and emerge

      drifting beyond

        amid song- 

 

the beetle 

 

                  flew

                        full            

 

stopped 

 

 

and the tree

has become    

 

 

dumb

 

dry-bent will- 

less

 

and weary 

 

but it will                      

wither- 

 

crack

   

fall-

whole

 

take

root 

   

and bud meaning

ful 

 

   ¥

 

and you,             

Michael

you are

 

no longer  

 

tired 

 

so smile 

 

uncover

the shades 

of silence     

 

ray light 

 

and dance

 

dance –

 

celebrate

the life

 

you gave

 

 

 

 

 

 

and give

to us

 

   ¥

 

listen     

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

we cannot incant 

a reincarnation 

 

shepherd presence 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

into this space

 

 

and yet 

 

 

the dead 

 

are

 

 

not deaf

 

 

 

they linger 

 

 

and console, hidden

and dissolved-

 

in the airway 

and ear- 

canals           our

passages of creation 

 

The Story Of A Poem

 

 

When rain falls you are all

this story – the voice

 

of a thousand momentary mouths

welcoming the water as it drums

and drowns the thirst of soil

in its stores of silence

 

∞

 

The words have poured

and perforating the floor – out

 

sprouted the pollen of worlds

 

 

∞

 

We felt the horizon

hide absent-mindedly inside

 

the cave of innermost quiet

 

A whir flung fluting from a gulf

like a shoot sprung shooting

rushes to the light of our mouths,

a loop ballooned beginning

 

its path dug-out of inward current

 

words buoyantly kingfisher-

in between mulch and canopy

rain – drop hover-ing – lunar

and plangent –

 

catch the lullaby

one cannot touch, clutch

 

the coconut’s husk

of language

 

now hush

 

 

∞

 

breadth

less air

less breath met

wet

ness of river

less flow

 

sweat stuck solid

im-pressed

on journeying rest

 

a thin, left hair

grew there

 

a stranger to nowhere

 

it was not death

but the raw cut of a bud

 

the open wound singing

 

a necessary line

of dehi-

scence. deep reaching

 

dip of deliverance d-

is-closing the edge

 

that lends the lens

of presence

 

∞

 

Lip the rain-

bowed solace

in your chest

 

now digress

 

dowse your finger

print in limbo

 

Drought desert dirge d-

earth is deciduous rain –

made shape permeate im-

permanence –

 

made dirt

 

made hurt

 

made rain-

bird heard

make rain-

drop in oracle

 

made lyrebird im-

person-ate – all

 

and birth soak old,

imperfect

 

∞

 

drip, drown

desert, scour

and scorch

 

 

rip, reiterate, shell

and break

 

thread the rain, throw

the finger-

 

tips threshold

of ocean

 

splinter – inter-

mittent – inter-

mediate

 

∞

 

Shake the water

that sheds reversal

 

in loss, sweat source,

vein course, t-

urn return for – wards

 

pit-pat – patter-n present

 

time is cymatics, sound

spatters and s – pans waves

to cloud in the cowry

 

shake the empty well

shake it well

the water will well,

whirl and whorl, wash

over the drum hole, stir

the acou-stic wound to

re-in-verberate and vent

the mammoth – expression

 

now burst

 

cell body the girth of world

before the moment

fails

∞

Does the air feel

itself hot or cold

 –

without the whether

of yourself

to tell

The cob dropped off the stalk

of a life yet to be born

 –

it seemed to yawn

–

as if knew something more

than the kernel and corn it was

Who made whom

–

Though I may never again blink

I hold the shadow of eternity

that ventures before it.

–

I am the story of flight,

The fleeting synergy

of existence

–

Erebus and phoebus

Lay nameless on my wing.

–

I was once a dream,

A Hidden sing-song

brushing wind-chimes

in the static vault

of your mind

–

a shy thing,

giving substance. Tapping warmth

from water, the porous law

of plural

–

I am not a mimic, nor strung

by the puppet, Thought

–

Part of me is still pink,

Beneath the tint of bronze

I am molten and raw-

–

My body, a story

forever being told