Dry Water

 

 

Dry……

over nothing not something

………………..

blank look

dusty tongue,

paper dry

underfoot,

toes shy

away….    ….        …………

too dry.

Mind hiding

empty fear

parched

impressions,

left

here.

Falsely still,

chalky

friction.

A

void?

 

Something (forgotten) not nothing……

something

rushing,

filling,

flowing choking

not dust but,

wet

thick

deep

water

dirty,

water

clean

wet

growth

primordial damp

hiding

mossy bones,

and…………………,

teeth.

Wet  R U S H E S

silver baubles streaming……

ruthless blue,

clearly

waiting

relentlessly.

.

.

patiently. . . . . .

under  dry

water.

 

 

 

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Morning Earth

 

Deep breath

clears the words so, like full cocoons they split and flutter off.

Morning earth makes small gestures

moist fragrant whispers dance persistently in my breast.

The sun holds it’s majesty between my eyes

and purple blossoms……hazy winter…..

What IS this morning saying to me?

What IS this dewy touch I feel

in my throat

…my heart

….on my tips…fingers and toes?

Like camphor perfume, dappled snakes and river water

green and open.

Garden music parts my heart and droplets of lightening glass smile

like freckles in the sand.

Sky God

 

 

Sky God gets dressed

behind a grey cloud,

little window of light.

Sky god peeks out whilst slipping on his yellow socks.

 

Sky God puts the kettle on,

I can hear the lid of the tea pot.

Green tea for him, it makes him yearn for the jungle.

 

Sky God yawns and scratches a wayward feather on his eagle head.

Am I happy?

He asks himself.

 

Sky God picks his nose

and drops it through the clouds.

A twinge of guilt ruffles his ribs as he realises they will

blame the birds.

 

Sky God sits down in his cane chair

with his fine china cup and watches his creation….

he hawks but thinks twice and swallows.

 

Sky God lights a cigarette….a small vice

and smiles as Chief Yellow Dog

interprets the patterns of smoke.

 

Sky God looks down at his toenails

and wonders lightly where he last

saw the clippers….?

They must be somewhere!

 

Sky God finishes his tea and gets up to start his daily chores

as he does this thousands of tiny flowers fall out

of his bum……

‘I must get that seen to’ he thinks,

A worried frown upon his beaky face.

‘Oh yes….’ as he dials his doctors number, ‘better to be safe than sorry.’

 

 

Stealing People?

 

To ‘steal another woman’s man’…

The phrase is old and unreliable

it reeks of guilty blame

and shying away from responsibility.

 

Stealing; a concept seen cleanly when

speaking of chocolate and cheap jewellry.

Woman; a word associated with shame.

 

The guilty party is not the stolen nor the thief

but the water upon which the woman states her

ownership,

the mobile depths

the lack of firmament.

 

Stealing a man indeed

whoever heard such rubbish.

 

But what speaks here?

 

The use of abstract to deny the fact; the reality of pain in this world of grey matter.

Does it?

 

Matter I mean, really… DOES it?

Do we kill the abstract also, with our guilt.

Our need to claim, to drive our stake through someone elses heart?

 

It’s not as though I picked him up and put him in my pocket,

then scurried home to get him out

and thrill at my bold action with delight.

 

Or do we make real the theft

by doing just that in our lonely mind?

 

Is the purety of experience lost

in the hackles of a jealous thought?

Notice This

 

NO

Tissssssssss

Hisssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

 

Kiss

my

Lips.

 

Which lips?

Twolips

Fresh smell

blossom

 

Notice this,

this lip

that lip

kiss lip

fat lip

 

Love me see me, touch my hips

kiss

my

lips

n o t i c e t h i s i a m s a y i n g n o t o t h i s!

 

The Paintbrush

The paintbrush sits on pale skin

and slides scarlet over kissing plain

it touches and presses

like time

and strokes the distance

between my fingers and my desire.

Eyelids close and a breath is taken…..

slowly

a small movement,

a perfumed step

The paintbrush leaves the skin

hair by hair

and patience tempers the dancing

in my chest

I am the night

and now,

my body is full of stars…….

In Your Hands

 

 

 

In your hands

I AM

cupped,

a temporary prayer

a sweet slice

of merging space

I AM

dappled dusk

a glance of playful light

falling

shadowed by grace

through velvet felted umber.