a few of mine, diversity and regrets included

in the shower
steaming worlds
moans that spill and run
parted lips
oh
parted lips
passion plays
small deaths and resurrections
calderas bubble
get a grip
inthrust of explosive magma
triggers deep crust tremors
imminent collapse
a naming of names

the attitude of platitude
an altitude of aptitude
brought low
wasted
oh
such sweet sore
rows

just filing

twilight comes
twice in each diurnal round
as quiet as tidal pools that slowly fill
and empty
a shadowless haunt
broken on the wing of thrush's first reveille
the backbird's liquid song as it calls on down the night

filing

transition
an incompleteness
the shell came first but never quite whole
the ability to form complexes
in colour
leaving a metallic taste
in its wake




"suspend me in your colours" he said
but what if i were to tell you
falling into the blue is to lose yourself
dissolution?
what if i were to say
"white's too blinding,
a blindfold on a rainy day
when all soft-plumage pinks and greys
hold ripples like the thoughts within my hands..."
or
"green feeds me
i can taste it, new-cut grass my catnip"
?
what if i told you
"flamenco reds and lava-glows
drive me wild and
edged with golds
fan like flames that lace a darkened bough"?
yellows are for flowers and sun-dresses
but give me shades of lavender and rose, lilacs and dog-violet -
these make my inner self smile

the black
well
the black can be too softly welcome
maybe that's what comes after
falling into the blue



|12.01|

there it is again
that time
oh happy circumstance - well, maybe

a stone of a man
but one hollowed
when you find his cave
it's filled with purple ice

but shine a candle flame
he is molten
notebook in hand
standing beneath trees
composing weightless words
stolen by the breeze



slow notes of darkest blues
woven through with black
spark shrinks to a pinpoint
seeking invisibility
wrapping the silence
closer




sometimes the tide pulls out
unexpectedly
leaves a fish stranded
in grit

a carefree child
walks the edge of the brick wall
laughing in delight at the pull of the wind
wavers
on the edge of danger
a breath away from torn hands and knees

blindfolds and ear-defenders
means feeling one's way
braille takes a little getting used to

and now it's time for candyfloss and carousels and the round and round and round
of spinning thoughts, discordant notes
waiting to find harmonies




rollercoaster
we were warned
i think i lost my hat
just don't let go my hand




popcorn on a 'coaster
sounds a bad idea
switchbacks make me
catch my breath
freeze smiles
tears
on face
heart's an incendiary device
threatening to
boom!
i'm in need of an explosives expert
controlled detonation



in the sahara of her bed
she is oasis
dreaming of his dawn
offering sweet waters
for a man whose thirst
was salt and salt upon his face

cool beneath the burning sun
a tranquil pool
where he can shed his dusty norm
transform into a fire fish
on gilden spasms spawn



a shadow-presence
brushes its weightless touch
across eyelids
lips
l
o
w
e
r
cool watchfulness
in the corner of a sleeper's dream
stroking a shiver
along her flesh
she murmurs in heat
turns a flushed cheek
pulse dancing at her throat



butterflies melt
on his tongue
in his mind
and a ceiling's slur
is a blur too unkind
a salmon escapes
slipping down to the river
where waters run cool
and in dreams
she's forever...



to get lost in the dream
can mean treading the path to madness
when each step underfoot
kisses the soul
feeds a mind
ambrosial wonder
even as, eyes closed,
butterflies and slippery fish
tremble on those inner lids
poetry spilling from your lips
dreams leading you into the labyrinth

always take string with you
and don't forget to secure your line

unless

you risk the minotaur
in your search for sunless seas




oh wet child
pour your sweetwater on me
strip away my scales
to fall as pearls upon the ground
to stick to naked feet of passers-by

eviscerate me
pluck out my bones
blow oxygen across my gills
call bright this nascent fire



risen

mind over mind

wetly slide
over secret place

release wildfire

on distant, dreaming seas

and someday after that subway ride
(where they don't speak our language anymore)
to that distant yawning shore
of the freaks and mermaid
parade

O roller coaster
O vertigo
half ride and half is you



Oh, no it is not that Brighton
you saw the sign didn't you?
Брайтон-Бич
It's Russian, means
we took this Land from the Jew
It was once their Palestine
full of delicatessens
and Five & Dimes
There must be some
still around here
Good food, but no British beer

with apologies to butters and Lawrence Ferlinghetti

twelveOh1 - thankyou for adding to my thread. don't know about LF, but not apologies required this end.

look! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=atBn2UwEx3Y

20 minutes, fabulous

sometimes she feels just like a big bowl of chili
his own secret recipe, brought on a treat,
spiced warm enough to make him open his coat
full of this and that, colourful flavours he can
wrap his hands around to banish the chill
leave simmering on the stove, gently bubbling
growing only richer for the wait
till he serves a rich measure of her up
dips his hunk of bread
wipes his lips,
dips again...

sheets
like thin cloud
drift beyond the eyeline
as he finds
a new place
to lay his head

knuckled down
rolling geology
rift and waterfall
seismic tremors
thermal vents

he sweat all day
chopping the wood
splitting the logs

she swept the chimney
blackened the grate
laid kindling and filled the scuttle

when winter came
the fire burned
and burned

he stares beyond the mirror's liquid gaze
sees her face in his eyes, sharing space
her thoughts in his and his enjoined in hers
and eyes' and mirror's feedback become blurs

to stare too long can mean to trip, to fall
between the silvered glass of love's fay call

the past is only halted at the falling of the barrier
still there
for the wanderer
the traveler
the pilgrim

it is not gone
a memory
to fade with the untending
sad petals scattered on wet grass

candles will still burn for those gone before
for those keeping vigil

infinite image
funneling back into brains hot-wired
brakes on
burning rubber
anticipating
slip of the clutch





raspberries
flush lightly ripens
pupils initiate dilation
dry lips
damp lips




beneath the skin
the hunger
claws buried still yet piercing inner flesh
fur in the throat
a sharpening of canines
the need to prowl





when did someone loose the buzzing horde
to fly the pale-domed cavern of my skull
to infiltrate my logic and my words
to render all my active thinking dull?

sleep clamours in the tunnels of my mind
and awesome yawns have commandeered my lips
my eyes are rendered dim and then i find
the prowling dogs of sleep are gently slipp'd





sort of found from the exquisite corpse challenge

she scratched dirtily
a thunderhead whore
lowering and pompadoured
shoulders like Popeye
red claws and six-inch spikes

she raked me down
then up with shipwrecked eyes
whispered like gravel
i'm a delicate flower
easily crushed by a man's bare soul





infra, ultra - all a structure
birds wing it

when despair strips your lungs of air
i'll breathe for you

when the world it falls away
my hands are here

and should the time succumb
and all bubbles thin and fail

we'll fall into eachother's gaze and
cheat the last abyss




the bones of blue men dance over words that rise from the sand
halfway to meeting the song of the waves as they run uphill
wet imagination's feet while a water-child cups living flame within his hands
and pioneers learn the language of birdsong on the tongues of red-white petals
twining trunks, roots seeking only the touch of another in the blind day
and the sun, always the sun, creates



what's this? this dim, strange mood
suspended in ink and daub and charcoaled words
where words are thoughts and images primed to leap
right through the screen
right from a brain
fingertips midwive the pulse pulse pulse of half-forgotten frag
ments ripped and shorn and dragged three-quarters blue for lack of
breath and weight of darkened soil upon a head
stones
stones
run a nail on through the happy moss
think
loss
but not the loss of living grief
this someplace feel i feel
unbereaved
and taking up my chalk i mark a tree
a bird's wing taking flight
the bird is me

Don't stop butters, you are rolling.

HarryHill said:

Don't stop butters, you are rolling.

Click to expand...

just filing these, harry - mostly from live writes. just subbed the last piece to see what it draws. not even sure what i make of it myself. i see problems - it's filled with problems - but they were as close as i could get to the feeling in writing as i was able.

1: take up a pen

tool used nowadays mostly just for
scratching chicken marks on a set of sheets
pinned to a corkboard on a beige wall in work

2: stare at the strange blank sheet

one that won't fill at the dance of fingertips and pixels
no cursor goosing impatiently
no tailless, ear-less mouse beneath warm palm

3: chew pen

4: cut the crap

touch pen to paper's skin and
let words flow - they always did
communicate




red towel
on damp sand
water's edge way out
flat and cold as a
thin sheet of metal




sometimes i am the right person
sometimes
it don't matter a shit
'cos the right person
will always be the wrong one
for somebody else




an unpoem
one day i plan on sitting down
and writing a real poem

*stares at screen*

*leaves up as a reminder*

*hits submit*



bones
where's your slick poetry
your honeycomb of life
your pliant flex, calciferous stamina?

this dry crumble
this flake, this mouldered snap
beneath a foot
that makes vines bleed a
sympathetic smear of sun-won green

means what? no tale to tell
yet still we fill the blanks

stone, meet prospector

so many stones underfoot
people can't stop to think about them all
their heads are not that spacious
nor is there time
to consider how sublime a single stone might be
when it's just one in a yard of shingle
(so many shades of brown)

the clever prospector
though
he's another matter
he regards the peripherals
notices the shapes and understands erosion
so when he's drawn and dips his hand
lifts a pebble to his eye
he sees more than the next

twelveOhOne

deep
in blue
diaphanous scarves
gaze lost
ice-lattice gauze
eyes film with frost

crystals on flesh
paint the nature of delicacy
tongue discovers new flavours




fool's cake

dark
moist
neither too light, too heavy
bite
gently
allow the sweet soothe to
coat smooth
swallow with closed eyes
lick away the frosting from your lips
from your fingers




this is the thread
for those who feel like fakes
who unroll their prose dressed as poe
try
to join the gaps
line to line
muddle through
smiles sublime
me



let night's soothing shadows
fall lightly on your skin
as softly comes the whisper of
again, again, againnnn...



in a dark room
a dark road
a dark mind
vagrant thoughts look for oncoming traffic
scuffed emotions brought to a halt
by dainty-stepping woodland creatures
sunrise breaking

I'm reading a road map...

HarryHill said:

I'm reading a road map...

Click to expand...

interesting directions, no?

butters said:

interesting directions, no?

Click to expand...

Mapping the contours.

HarryHill said:

Mapping the contours.

Click to expand...

plotting ley lines?

butters said:

plotting ley lines?

Click to expand...

Oh my

HarryHill said:

Oh my

Click to expand...

lol = beyond the cheshire's grin

i wonder if holding that hand
on the pier
when the light turned wet sand to iced-lilac
and the dome glowed pinkly blue
i wonder
if it would have tethered me firm
or if we would have both floated
on more nebulous strings
lost to the wonder
embracing it all
yet anchored by touch






frozen hearts
embrace the endless white
seek its purity
empty themselves
bloodless