Wake on Up

Won’t we come out to play, dear prudence?

Basking in the sunlight folds,

Robed in forever’s skin?

Layed and hatched into another mould, where we begin;

Of what was told and kept within;

Written in the gaps of space between the walls,

Withdrawn into the iris of Anubis,

Fallen from the eyelid of a new bliss;

As a diamond tear beckons to hear

Of frothing fountains like acidic inspiration,

And lava gysers spilling information;

To wake on up and leave our slumber,

And let our tongues be bathed in thunder.

As we’re begging just to be, so open and so free,

Who were sleeping just to see, their dreamscape boundary

Who had nothing to be waiting for

And keep their ships chained to the shore

As it all leads back to how we feel,

Releasing that which makes us real;

To release ourselves and get our fill,

Let childhood fountains overspill,

In midnight howls of rooftop dogs

And endless flows of driftwood logs;

As symbols slanting on a page

Leading back beyond our age

To the yawning mouth of our cave;

As hierogplyphs, loaded with bliss,

And the meanings that we gave;

For us to give All, as All is given,

And re-invent what was always written.

Until we return to the womb of our room,

Enveloped by this boundless me,

Eloped into the sea;

Truly gone fishing,

Fell into the well of shooting stars and wishing;

Of where we always are, before our minds go missing.

Here, in the centre,

The central crystal radiance;

We are home;

This is the centre of the Puzzle.

Sarabella's Slumber

Hush, Hush, Hear the midnight rush,

Here where candles flicker and flush;

Crackling, and reddening, into a blush,

Where they gather and collect our ears

To fill the silence of this lantern dome;
Drifting on a dreamscape throne

Through cavalries of stars,

To where the moon has flown.

This is Sarabella’s sacred sleep,

In drifting flocks of cloudlike-sheep;

Or Sheep-like clouds, like midnight shrouds,

That pour onto the sunken ground

The magic that our dreams have reaped.

As the moon does weep, to take her higher,

To timeless lands of full desire,

Where her eyes dare feel the fire

To fill this dome with breaths of air,

And ripple through her silken hair;

To plant an answer in her ear,

That all which she has dreamt, is here.

Upwards, upwards, and away,

From the centre where she lay,

To fly on winged lantern feathers

Washed in visionary weather,

To sail forever on the seabed of her dreams.

To the pearl of what she sees;

Until the dreamlike bubble bursts,

And slumbers rumble into the day,

Where the light is washed away;

Where Sallabella rises, and reality demises;

Fading to a shade of grey.

The Time Gardens

It was once upon a silent spring,

On a starless night, with no beginning,

Where all but every light did lie

Asleep upon the moonlit sky,

And the hedges and the ferns

Were enclosed to learn,

Of what they had kept

In the Gardens of Time,

And of what limits they chose

To encircle this shrine,

Before the bells had arose

And decided to chime.

Before every second and minute

Did crash and resound,

As temporal grains that fall to the ground,

Who sleeping and creeping

Their way through the game,

Slide into the dusk, where all is the same.

These glasses of dust are kept in the trust

Of the old phantom reaper,

In the skeleton grin, of Time’s secret keeper;

Who surveyed and sedated

The forces he fated to wander this lawn,

As they search through the gardens, for where they belong,

Where marble slabs are formed in steps,

To where the queen and king must get,

As they wander the meadows, just to forget,

Of how they had entered the slumbers of Time,

And dreamt on the stages, of a great pantomime.

Where over yonder, the house on the hill,

Does witness the night, so silently still,

Where outside the gardens

The golden gnomes see,

The roots of their homes

In the nest of every tree.