My response to Rilke’s Duino Elegies number 8
Reaching again, stalking this thirst
for who I am, we are
splitting in parts,
raw light leaking
but blind and believing in
sweet
enduring
allowing
death
public slaying
guarded by pulsing spectre
keen eye follows
flickerings
by bee or ant
marching chaotic to unseen nothing
but not because it isn’t there
to nowhere
but not because it isn’t there
only hidden in syrup and crusty flesh
…. nectar lies puddled on the shore, caged in hopeless thought
but the tapping and seeking
silently thrusting
and
tumbling beasts
spiralling downward
wooly rainbows
skein unwinding
through wells of damp
information
landing
repeatedly
Silver Poetry 
Just love that drawing…another fine pairing of words with you artwork.
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Thanks Charles, I also love this drawing it reminds me to breathe xx
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Much respect for your syle of writing..I wish we can meet some day///
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thankyou :)) the random releasing of reckless, wanton grasping words…
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love
your
way
through
it
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:))))
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I read your words and I hear music…
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I wonder if it is the same music i hear when i read yours?
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I wish, Poet… I’ve not posted fiction in a long time, self-imposed moratorium… but I feel like breaking it. I love the music that words can bring, especially yours. There are very very few people out there who move me the way you do.
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its a strange love story, held by hieroglyphs and other eccentric shapes crawling in formation, making magic where there was previously just energy… oh you know I think it is a MARVEL , the way energy forms thought forms pictures forms words transmutes into planets of wild action, imagination is as real as anything… spectacular!
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Strange, back-breaking, essential love story of the masses, talking to our need for storytelling and feeling our humanity… and we wonder why some people are compelled to write. The reasons are myriad. Or maybe there’s only one. Doesn’t matter, as long as there’s words to be strung. I never understood this compulsion or why I didn’t choose to draw or paint (I don’t have your talent) or make music… but they didn’t beckon. Strange love story indeed. The strangest.
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i dont think i ever had a particular talent for art or writing as I grew up but i did have a strange hunger and the more creative i was the more satisfied i felt, art and writing were just prevalent in my environment. , i think the talent is in the intentional touch, the deliberate conscious action…everything else is just skill learned over time. I think the more conscious I became of my need to turn myself inside out and the more deliberate I became in my effort to do so the better the art and writing seems maybe … hmmm I do talk in metaphors. I watched a show on Asian art last night and it has opened a portal of understanding in me. They spoke of ‘right action’ (not a moral thing i dont think 🙂 meaning that the whole body and mind is connected and delivered into the artwork…oh it makes my throat full…see the need to open the throat hahah it is probably what some people call inspiration!
i could have been a surgeon
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