Dark Horse Hero

The dark horse of the pack, has an almond habit of never looking back

Into the kernel of the core; and sweep its silver mane among the dusty shores

Of moonlit waves; and let the wind be, just as it behaves.

From the womb into the grave, its silver stream does run,

As wildly as the morning sun, whose elementary rays alight the path,

To confront the master of the aftermath;

Of time’s inseparable mirror, scattered fragments of the silver kept in every strand of one unceasing mane; a beauty once so hidden, it may drive the moon insane.

Of shattered habits crashing on the crest of every wave, chasing through the slivers of unceasing worlds that time forgot; the empty wishing well where stars begot the beauty of the pauper’s pot; where a gallop under earth has heard the birth of timeless wonders kept in candles of a lantern; held by spirit children who bespeak the answers of their worth;

Unspeakable trafficker of worlds;

Unknown prince of herald’s heards;

Undivided love for time forgot;

Unintended miracle of how your love was fought;

Missing just the broken chesspiece of the killer’s game;

How her silver beauty was kept without a name;

How her majesty had left the moon to blame;

With guilty treason of the traveller’s shame;

How it would always be the same;
Again & Again & again,
To drive the brightest boy insane;

Of how there is no shelter from the rain;

But this horse it has no reins;

And will drive and drive and drive this great divide into unceasing cesspools of the day.

There is no one who wears this cloak, or has authority to say;

Of how one stands beyond the mirror, and bathing in the blackest silver,

Finds these robes a little older than the stony corridors of time;

Of paradise’s pentagle, forged out of love’s lost crime,

Of how these rotten dreams were kept within the shine of moonlight streaming through the blind;

And there is forgiveness in the unintended invocation,

The horse’s pilgrimage and incantation,

Paved in purging words that have no home;

Of strength that imitates the bone;

Of impossible demands; of where a horse may find its stand;

If only to admit that it may never be, still, until it rides into eternity.

From whence we came

The waters where we shimmer are wrapped in secrets kept so cold,

The mirrors where we meet, reflecting entry points of old;

From fortresses of fancy we peer into the traveller’s gaze,

From the shadows of our memory we leap into another phase;

As from the furthest shores of our homeland

We clutch the secret of our bone hand;

Descending down the spirals of an infinite identity,

Down the echoed footfalls of our staircase personality.

Our pilgrimage on roads of musk paves the dust of ancient dreams,

That beckons our enigma to the task, and disintegrates what we have been,

In phantasmagoric fingers, which we dare not ask to see,

We are drawn into the sapling of the sleepless willow tree; 

Caressing an eternal question, as a fever coursing through the mind;

If only our insignia is to be a phoenix for the blind.

A ghost in lantern guise dispels the burden of our wages,

Promising with solar light to heal the horoscope of ages;

As camels trace our faceless signs back through the desert sands,

Into the lands of origins, where the morning star does reprimand

The temples of our treason, erected in a prison land;

Salamander skins are shed amongst its multi-coloured season,

If only to revolve and share beyond its face of reason,

A talisman of constant evolution,

Resolving rivers of eventual expulsion,

To their source of absolute and final fusion;  

The odour of another solar order, permeates the butterfly,

That slumbers in its nameless embryo,

Before its wings had even sought to sigh;

The centre of all cosmic things

Ripples through concentric rings,

As ethereal beginnings flood

The shadows of our being.

Before, before, before, we even saw the door,

And left our features on the shore.

Forever More

Stretch me out beneath the starry ocean sky of night time musings and dissolvings in the paintbrush strokes of our vision’s yearnings,

Beneath the infinite expanse of our discarded learnings,

Where I can gaze into the saltshaker of reality’s moviemaker lawn,

And graze on shooting stars that cry into the dawn their crazes of forgotten lusts, and leave effigies of dust behind,

In this great yawning chasm of emptiness we call the skull castle of our mind, Where broken eyelids drape their countries of illusions on the wallpaper of our train-ride,

That remind us all of eventual endings that began before the beginning,

When angel fish were swimming through the gleaming nectar of our conscience

That poured its quicksilver through corridors of selfless rivers,

Before me, or you, or notions of forever, had put their clown clothes on,

And paraded through the desert of a useless purpose.

The oasis of our faceless freedom is here, as it was then, and is always now; Mirage of ageless nothingness imagined as our consciousness.

Always awaking and disintegrating, as a wheel that keeps spinning, like lizard eyelids dissolving in the faded patchwork of the quilt king, seeing inwards to an illusion of all matter, like a love explosion scattered drops of rainbow water through the aqueducts of our fathers,

Through temples of forgotten winged mothers,

Through ornamented pyramids of sphinx like angel mines,

The hieroglyphic prolific creation shrine.

Through any image of the great design.

 

That promises to take you there, where the space between our atoms touches, Where love flies far, upon an armchair in the stars,

And reality unclutches, and unhinges into a dreamscape space of essential energetic particles vibrating in a grand ensemble of interconnected insignificance, the hallelujah of our Krishna’s farting tricks,

Until it blows into the basement of a whitewashed room, into the womb of where our nothingness has been left to assume…nothing but itself.

Now strip me bare, for as long as I dare, to die into the patterned palm work of the sky, like veins of prehistoric tree roots that fly into the fullness of their own voluptuous fruits of sweetness; to blossom in the heart of nothingness; and lap forever more, on empty shores of our eyelids.

And death will die with our I,

And love flies on into the dawn,

Even though we say goodbye.  

The Dreamers

We have gathered here together

As the dreamers of forever

As the cruisers of our weather

With a vision to remember.

In a cavern with the moonlight dim,

Awakened eyelids gaze within,

From star ship masts and oaken tables;

To sense how long the passion lasts;

And which of us is able, to rage the voodoo to its limit,

And wreck the room, until we’re in it.

See the chandelier of frosted golden cones,

And the embroidered frozen tones

Of elementary empty souls, that sail into the great unknown,

With the backing of the scribes, residing on the wall,

Where everyone can have their say, and together we say all,

With opened voice and hollow eyes,

We’ll slip into the stars, and shed our old disguise.

A whole new way is paved in paintings on the wood,

In diagrams and epigrams of where our vision could,

Be flooding through inspired blood,

By candle-lights, and ritual rites of our cosmic night display,

Where kaleidoscopic images, like Indian mirages, bring our light into the day.

We are dreamers, and would like to enchant your ear,

Until you sink into our sphere, and let the sunken space

Retrace your face into the realm of really being here.

We are dreamers, and would like to steal your eyes away,

Until you melt into the molten clay of our creative display.

The Pied Piper

Hear the calling of the man, who always knew to make his stand,

Who always knew the notes that flew, from never never never land.

Who could never compromise, a gaze so wide,

For instructions and the lies, in which our world resides.

Hear the chorus of his dream, that knew life wasn’t what it seems,

Who always knew to find, the diamond of his mind,

And with a vision to redeem, the chains to which we’re tied.

Hear the calling of the piper, who pied and spied into the viper

Of our poisonous and ugly nature, and make us that much riper.

Who heard with visionary stature, of a place beyond our capture,

Who sought with music to enrapture, in a river so much brighter.

Hear the chanting of the man, who always led the caravan,

Who always led the way, for our dreams to taste the day;

Hear the singing of the sun, that always knew it was the one

To bring its brightness to the trees, And bring its stardom to the leaves,

To melodise the seven seas;

And swim into our great release,

With lips that call the stars to dance 

The muse of music, in its endless romance,

Whisps the sailor into endless space,

Until we are drenched in beauty, and he forgets his face.

Jazz - Man

Sages gather in the bar of no tomorrow,

To meet the sacred sound beyond our sorrow,

Of voodoo jazz and magic musk

That breathe bright light into the dusk

With molten pearls of music notes;

The sorcery of galaxies, where empty faces float,

And the man of jazz lets all he has,

Radiate into the liquid air,

In melodic currents, and shamanic stare,   

To spread a sacred aura through the room;

In sounds that sow their own cocoon;

Enchanting sailors from such distant lands,

That they may leave themselves behind, and understand,

Just what they had arrived here for;

And that identities are left right at the door.

Dimly lit booths, with fragrances of ruby red,

As sailors sift into the cabins, where they’re led

Into royal armchairs of savannah plush;

Here our hearts are hypnotised into a rush

As the jazz man king takes to the ring,

And sees what vibrancy, our life may bring

Upon this ship of never land,

Conjured In an image of the master band

That rides the river of its timeless notes;

And pours into the doors of where our conscience wrote

That the jazzman king does always sing,

And we have never really been elsewhere,

The illusions of our dreamscape care,

Are swept into the sounds that everywhere

Resound and confound the boundaries

We wound, spinning round our little selves;

But now they hear another sound

And only he knows where they’re bound,

Because he’ll never ever ever let it go,

He’ll mesmerise the mic,

And let the river flow.

We All Fall Through

A lotus flower of light, shedding petals at its seasons’ end,

As jasmine leaves that shine so bright,

And blaze with purgatorial intent;

Dissolving on the silent lake

That shimmers in the moonlight wake,

The blossoming of phoenix wings that writhe and shake,

To instigate the end of all beginning;

As golden petals swimming, so awake

In circular siroccos of light;

As a creature reaching out into the night,

Crying for the moon to realize

That none too soon, its artful dying will ignite.

A spirit tail to crystalize how the phoenix feels its flight,

In diamond dust to see its eyes, and dissolve into the light;

And reappraise the cages that were raised

And how such wings were kept to behave.

We all fall through into the silent summer,

Where the pregnant buzz of fireflies,

Swarm into a secret jungle stammer,

And a ritual disguise, is melting off our ancient face;

The inferno eyelids spill into the space

And fill this empty matter, as nectar pouring

Down into a beaker, filling every form and

Therefore joining it together;

As a fire in every rain drop of the weather.

We all fall through into the greater picture,

Where unimaginable images flourish right before us,

And the mixture is adjusted thus,

That we can see the concoction of the potion,

Evolving an equation of revolving transformation,

We all fall through into the great dimension

Where the mention of a sentence is never-ending

Invention; And the end is the beginning,

And the beginning never ended,

And all will be well, when this has once been mended;

And we are here again.

These Pearls of Glass

An abacus of crystal beads

Telling tales of where our story leads,

That every hour swings away,

To the magic of our modern day.

These pearls of glass upon a rack,

Orbiting the cosmic track,

As diamond tears of sunken worlds

And vivid dreams, seen in radiant pearls;

Where each to each a golden mirror holds,

And promises the earth, to the truth of Old.

From the astral planes we sought

Such galaxies of thought

To swim onto our solar shore,

These pearls of glass, to speak of evermore;

In the axis of our values

From the systems we subdue                                       

Where with control, we seek to  find a clue.

Beyond these cisterns of our minds

Such prisms spill out and unwind,

In rivers, to the ears of mankind:

From Aztec mountains to the river Inca,

From the moonlight to the smile of Buddha,

From mechanics to the mystic man,

From 2001, to where we began,

Each does breathe a crystal sphere,

Reflecting image of us Being Here.

And like children throwing marble worlds

That fall  open as such diamond pearls,

They leak their liquid to the centre,

Where they melt into the structure, of the abacus presenter.

These pearls of glass do chime together,

Beyond the beads of rainy weather,

And ignite in an eternal song

In panting raptures, from where we belong

As they glisten and listen and endlessly remind

Us of an eternal interplay we left behind;

As galaxies collide,

A chaos we can’t hide,

My eyes are seeing blind,

Our life played in rewind,

A fantasy we tried,

A space that’s open wide,

There’s nothing…left…to hide

Where the River Runs

Who searched through all asylums for their ancient sanity
To blossom into mirrors of divinity,

Who ran their paintbrushes through sands of time
To spill their colour on our ancient crime,

Who sprawled and crawled across the crackened tiles
To flood into the diamond water of the Nile,

 Who dissolved into their thick sienna sleep,
Into threaded dreams, and those ceruleans secrets that we keep,

Who danced exultant through the sultan's magic chords,
And fell into enchanted orchards of the lord,

 Who gazed into the bottom of the spyglass puzzle
And saw beyond the games of master's whip and timebound muzzle,

Who saw their names engraved on Amazonian oak
In a timeless tale embroidered in those words we spoke,

Who heard a droplet in the lake of silence,
Through aching ears of aging violence;

 Who spun their webs beyond the orbit of control,
And exploded in the eyelid of a blackened hole,

Into hollow caves of lightning burst
That echo with an ancient thirst,
Inhaling all the hail of breath and birth
Reflected on the hillsides of the earth,

Who raged with the creative whim
To see the endless forms this wheel can spin;
And witness as this great design unfolds within,
Where the embers of an era, are about to begin.

The Calling of the Quicksand

Calling all the fallen soldiers,

To the land where they were smoldered

In the furnace of their love;

Seen from ancient eyes, so high above.

The time is now to run, into the setting of the sun;

For statued men so made of dust,

To surrender to their final lust;

And bursting forth into this pit,

Into mountains lands of midnight sands,

Release their force that this is it;

And the time is now to make their stand.

Away into the amber tint and hourglass,

Of Egyptian eyelids swimming past,

Before such hands did meet their head,

And they conceived of being dead;

Dissolved into the darkest sea,

Where all evaporates, into a sunless me.

As the quicksand beckons them to leave their ways behind,

And lights infernos in their mind,

And as the phoenix rides its solar beam,

Exultance bursts into their stream;

Just to chase such dreams into the sun,

Where the fire of their life is won;

And since the past is only aging,

It is now that times are changing.

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.