26 Aug 2012

Soul Attitude


To awaken to a droplet that cascades into the pool of the present moment;
And many moments dreamt before in existence’s shell;
Into the honeycomb and well of harmony imagined suddenly;
Flourished, surfaced, intuited in the remembrance of the past as nothing.

Created in the thing;
An evanescent plume of eagle wings.
A pavilion diamond whose corners are carved in faces more ancient and timeless than the tracing of acknowledged forms may grasp;
As the stones lead through such forests of ancestral murmuring;
Of yearning scrolls and shores that wept the waves in folds of clairvoyant brilliance,
How eventual emotional emptiness sweeps across the sands of time into momentary castles of sun struck illuminations paved in rhyme.

The features and the structured faces, bricks and sunset spaces, pavements and timeless gazes,
Beheld within infinity’s hourglass that nothing in the sand would last;
But every grain of sand does breathe the ocean into a dance, a swirl, a motion;
A dream so deep it almost seemed awake;
But is it real, or does the dream create these hands so made of dust;
As scrawling hieroglyphs, sketched into Egyptian lanterns halls,
Across the skylines’ eye drop crawl,
Seen across a dandelions sigh,  worded in the deserts of an Arizona cacti.

It is a sense, a touch,
Where unfamiliar eyes gaze back across the mirror into the nameless lands where sight began.
When sages forge a purpose out of the stars and earth,
Dancing through Imagination’s death Kingdom;
Forging out of magma, meaning in a baby's breath

Where silence seals the circle on those forest elves,
Whose selves eclipse, in hoods and staffs of wordless wisdom;
Whose designs sweep worlds into our vision;
Conceived in caverns deeper than man could dream a sphere;
In the mosaic of all moments here,
Where the dream of death is light forever light,
And silhouettes of alphabets shine forever bright.

24 Aug 2012

Lunar Words


Allow the honesty to flow in hieroglyphic form to solve the mysteries of never-ending language carved on timeless trees;
And left as sightless clues for all to see.
Allow the choiceless sight that every word responded
Is respired in the diary of deja vu;
Replayed in human memory as a recorded, sacred, clue.
Allow the trees to whisper names upon the windowpane;
Hear the movement of pacific shores;
A Backdrop alley core;
A supermarket war;
An elemental drizzle on an urgent car.

Allow the unintended images to speak the Mayan lungs of mountain breath;
For in the shedding of an outer skin,
The sages of the alphabet do flourish from within.
Allow this flux to conjure up creation,
As a dedication to the silence written, in the motion of its flow
On post-it notes of speculated temporal time;
Whose core does soar within such secrets tuned to rhyme.

Allow the truth to be in every falling grain of sand that sifts in every river to a timeless sliver of the great eternal clock;
Where wanderings depart into the bricks of pyramids;
Where star ships find their dock.
Into insane hotels, in which our masks are spelled
As winged words who wrote their meaning as a travelogue;
A synagogue of interweaving answers,
Sitting in the ward where words began,
To bear their birth upon the shores of human tissue,
Where silence is the seat from which these worlds of words are issued.
As rusted syllables nest in crystal dew,
And each do reinvent the world, in momentary light, anew.

Allow the fiction of our life to plant a seed of breath
Into the birth of earthy tokens;
Of celestial ellipsis suddenly spoken,
Where the sanity of sight sees within its dream of being
The hidden language of reality conceiving;
A metaphorical devotion to the motion of an interwoven space.
As a gesture to a golden painting, emanating from nameless place.

22 Aug 2012

Birth Dream


Flourish, fair wanderer, for the earth has not forgotten you,
Let the streams invite your stride into the mystery of evening dew;
Let the pendants of a moonlit tear receive the earth anew.

Let the silence of your step envelop in the mist,
Whose eyeless gaze may sift into the shapes you’ve kissed,
And reappraise the harmonic pendulum that swings to lunar bliss.

Let the midnight moment scatter into interstellar spaces;
Where the ennui of darkness relieves the maker of our faces;
Where the dream of death does soothe the tangled birth of our confusing living,
Mere etchings of a superficial understanding,
Posed against the ever changing origin,
The orifice of faceless men.

Receive the world in moonlight, as in honest sun,
For when the balances of waves have blessed the baking shores,
A revolution’s done.

Receive the light of molten rock,
And do not ask beyond the fragments of our reasoning,
For in the cycle of a season’s spring we may perceive the weaving of a golden painting, Breathing everything into an Esher, lunar, solar order,
Once the tide has told its tale, and time’s a little older

Receive the figments of such fluttered images anew,
For In sounds of spacious breath we drew the misty waves of our own beginning,
A majestic mystery is swimming;
For the crystal flower diamond prism has arisen in the jewel of our eye,
Now there is no one to see the light-revolving cry
Of ever burning souls, yearning to be born,
As myriads of clay-soaked creatures,
Swimming in the valley’s dawn.

Flourish, fair wanderer, and do not hold a map upon the path,
Rather sink into the compass, and the crested dreams of birth;
To behold is being in the trust of truth
To hold is to impose the past,

It is not the moon that changes
It is us, fair moon-children
And we must change
We must begin
To step into our own beginning

Sign o' the Times


Once the piercing sound of blazing horns
Has spilled into the shells where we were born,
And the makers of this music let these selfless chords just run,
Then the calling has arrived, to be embellished in the sun;
Once improvised magic has drawn the sickened soul to rise,
And let salamander sentences overwrite an old disguise;
When seeds of sound sow light across this room,
And we are crowned in drowning waves of a lunatic monsoon;

Once the webs of our retina yoke have been soaked in starlit night imagination,
And angel tears besmear our painting of creation,
That smudges into forms of unborn solar clay;
A whisper in the ear-corn of the valley’s day;
That explodes into the naked sun-drops of our sacred rituals,
Swimming in apartments of imagination pools;
Filtered through the snooze of mother earth’s creation tree,
Whose archaic branches unfurl into the foliage of all that we can be.

Once these sightless dreamers have abandoned seeming destinations,
And are formed into collective crystal constellations,
Gathered in the fire of this central commune flat,
And extinguished in desire that this is where its at;
Embrace the path released from higher drapes
And following the flight of incense candle shapes;
Are marooned onto the moon, where voices fall into the flow,
Where timeless travellers have made their nest, in the centre of the glow.

Once this weathered burst of thirsty wanderers
Are washed onto the shores of their creative sorcerer,
And fill into the caverns of their Emerald light display;
Where cosmic chords weave planetary lords
Into these soldiers built of clay:
To let the dust of ages rain onto the pages of every uninspired eye,
Until the rock & roll has burnt our soul,
And shadows merge around the light, where they embrace to die.

Once these homeless prophets have been led upon a pilgrimage,
And felt their forest feet into the foliage,
Where forgotten silence whispers through the poppy fields,
Leading ravished eyes into the marble temple, where their lips are sealed;
And all their heart burnt smoke returns into the golden Buddha statue,
Flourishing into the light mosaic that we knew;
Where on fallen knees we greave in gratefulness
For a return to human emptiness.

For once these doors are drenched in light connecting nodes,
That swim between the veins of our sane abode,
We roll back into papyrus scrolls,
A sanctuary for our souls,
And in the aftermath of where our ego must release its hold,
We sink into the ink of ancient tales we always told.

And once the void has shed
Its voice onto the ocean bed,
And shared its silver mist
In which the ancient image does insist
To see this dawn arise in snow,
We step into our own beginning, where faded voices flow
Into horizon’s holy morning dew,
And recognise ourselves as all the same,
As enchanted endings sing the splendour of the circle,
And hidden in the light, arise without a name,
To see the revolution of, eternity’s awaited cycle.