Wings & wounds

Moods that form like ice.
Primitive and wild.
Divide these thoughts one by one.
With the seed of hope lying in the heron’s stomach.
Out of sight, and beyond our boundaries.
The breaks of tolerance have worn away.
And the world calls me now, out into the dark.
Listen.
Dream about the future. The annuals of time.
Plastering over the cracks and the doubts.
But hollow is the past, honeycombed and fretful.
Don’t get lost.
Un-buckle and rewind.
Begin once more as the heron spreads its wings.
Looking up, what does it see?
What do you wish to feel?
Simple ponds and stagnant waters you wish to leave behind.
There’s a calling, from the sea.

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Peck

There, can you hear it?
A relentless tapping.
Incessant as the dark which captures the night.
It comes and never leaves. Beating out the marrow of my bones.
Do not shake your head in disbelief, it’s a nightmare for which I seek relief.
Hello, it’s me here the fluttering reminder.
You inside me, what is that sound?
It’s breaking my will and senses down.
I’m the little bird that was on your windowpane.
I came inside when you opened that vein.

And now you tap inside my skull all day?
I’m here yes, and happy to say;
better me than the moths and ghosts.
Who’d nibble at your heart like toast.
If I move to the light, will you follow?
I told you once, your head is not hollow; you know that I am here to stay.
For how long?
Well, I couldn’t say.
I hope my fluttering would lodge that organ.
Of pulsing grey and tangle webs.
Of thoughts and hopes inside this head.
Lodge them why, what do I need?
I am safe alone, without any need;
of impulses that force me out of comfort.
Or being lost, failed abandoned then hurt.
I tap and knock as an irritant reminder.
You’re wasting time here, like a static sidewinder.
An empty column of force and wind.
That’s fading fast, anorexically thinned.

(Sigh)
I know, you’re right, but what can I do?
I had my dreams, but away they flew.
I’ll tell you what, there is tomorrow.
I’ll start it all then, and dreams will follow.
Then I will carry on with my tapping.
To keep you from your easy napping.
I said tomorrow I’ll chase those dreams.
For now please cease these needless screams.
Of forcing me, when I’m feeling forced.
Very well my friend, you steer your course.
But If not today, then tell me then.
If not then why, and perhaps then when?

Set the birds free

Where are you going to?
The voice asks, cold like decision.
To set the birds free.
And act, long forgotten.
It had covered over into memory.
By the tide of life.
What will happen?
I do not know, I replied.
Opening the veins, so god could peek inside.
They did that once before.
And we never forgot.
Yet this now seems strange to you?
Yes, because the birds usually nest in the garden.
Not in your heart.
This morning, I will set them free.
Then do it quickly, for I cannot watch.
Does the action bother you, the flapping of wings?
No, not that.
I cannot stand to see freedom, when I’m still locked inside.
The birds inside you I fear, have died.
Yes, but yours can still fly to heaven.
They will fly free at least.

Climb to the air

Great opportunity led me here.
Sang the bird who sits on my windowsill.
My feathers are worn, and my wings are tired she said.
Watching the shadows cross the room.
How many oceans must she have sailed over I pondered.
What sights to have seen, soaring across bus stops.
Why do you come to me, I queried.
She whistled and cocked her head.
For that worm in your mind of course.
I closed my eyes and watched it slither then.
Oh, I answered; knowing what she meant.
That doubt has grown, and now writhes inside you.
I know. I replied.
So you’ve come to take it away? I asked curiously.
The shadows seemed to retreat now.
She hopped and chirped. That little new friend on my windowsill.
Yes, and to make you fly again?
She flew then into my skull, I could hear her in my head.
Flapping and flailing like a moth by a light.
My soul. My conscience. Trapped inside, for a moment.
How will you make me fly, I wondered.
She heard these thoughts of course.
And she answered, as she gobbled up that fat worm of doubt.
To remind you, you have always had your wings.
You just feared to take off.
Scared to try.

Beauty lost at the Heron house

The world collapsed in thirty seconds there.
A beauty aged in a moment while the rose petals died.
Who faded into the future, without the knowledge of the past?
We all did.
We came once to that spot, to watch the herons dance.
To see how they cast their wing’s against a backdrop of stars.
Through tears we watched them fly, soaring along our fingertips.
But we did not know, or care to wonder;
if they’d ever return.
And the days folded into years while the crows walked across our faces.
Milking our eyes into the blurred canvas before us.
Sight dancing into all but silhouettes.
What was destroyed there, at the Heron house?
Was it love? Was it power to hold in the wells of your hand?
Surely love never dies. Love always saves the day.
But beauty was lost forever there.
When it was valued more than gold, in hearts that feared to fly.

Love

Nobody knows what love means to you.
The bud of a rose in your life.
Or the darkness that creeps under the door.
You cannot convey, explain or say how it makes you feel.
As it fills your soul.
Or leaves you suddenly, like a bird taking flight.
Love sinks down into your DNA.
It washes over your desert like a great flood.
Trapping those grains of sand of you beneath its waves.
You will never put into words, how your love makes you feel.
Or when there are only ghostly embers of it, dying in your eyes.
Love, so relative.
And relatively unclear.

Love come rescue

Arrived, 4am. Too tired to see the world for what it was.
Slipping into the cracks and shadows that fill my eyes.
Too drunk to notice that I couldn’t notice you.
Standing with arms outstretched like a bird’s wings.
The wren that always had strength to fly.
That slipped into the open wounds and found our hearts.
It patches us up now, flitting inside my skin.
Pulling feathers over broken bones.
But like me, it does not notice the cartilage cage it builds up around it.
It too now needs help. To lift up and soar again.
Love, please come and rescue us all.
Make us fit to fly and leave this place.
With only fallen feathers to show we were here at all.

Caged

A song that rattles deep.
Light, like a feathery touch.
Drifting slowly from my soul.
To break a cage is to break the fear that makes my bones.
Chalky claustrophobic bars that dull the sound.
But do not diminish it entirely.
The bird in me longs to fly.
And like love, should soar into the heavens.
To taste the clouds on its tongue.
Yet entombed it flutters. Making a nest in the nightmare.
A locked up lark who wonders if it’s night or day.
When to sing its morning chorus.
The sun has been stolen, so it sings as the hours fade.
Desperate to soar.
Eager to believe.
Hoping the song will someday be heard.

Haunted hunter

A mournful tune to play as the bones buckle.
The hum inside your gums while the night lingers on.
What sound called to you, rose you from that grave of regret.
We sit and watch the world tip over, spun into a dizzying dervish and lost in the mind of God.
These darkened eyes that haunt you, casting casualties and consequence.
Do you leave them to turn to stone?
To honey up and glaze like the milky itch of remorse?
How heavy the skin of the idle.
Bleached into the alien grey like driftwood on a beach.
Turn on that apology and settle into an xstatic rhythm.
Shaken from the willows of the wilds. Shaking stars and dust from your mind.
The black swan which follows you, cries out for change.
Etiolated in the darkening world you occupy.
Be still its cries of the dying, the call for collapse.
For this flightless bird of paradise craves warmer climates.
And a world much brighter than our own.

Skylark – Soaring

You made this sky your own, clogging it with stars.
Oh sweet little bird, are you a phoenix in disguise?
Where have you gone, to light different skies?
I look for you always, in the midnight sun.
Hoping you’re no longer afraid of the dark.
Looking for that birdsong, to vibrate my own heart.
Aviate this dream of mine, deep in the feathers and down.
Peck it into reality.
And fly me to your moon.

Skylark – Soar

That sweet melody of promises you made to break.
From that little bird inside your heart.
As the daylight fades, it bursts into flames.
It’s burning wings signalling the setting sun.
Falling feathers that tickle my soul.
Oh little bird, where have you gone?
Out of the air and into the dark?
One day you will find me, your naked sky to soar within.
Scattering stardust in a different light.

Winged

When it rained silver, I yearned to fly.
Broken winged and feathered down.
Patching this ache that intertwined.
You throw your shadow over time.
Then force this need, looks me in the eye.
That terrible force that begins to take hold.
Once more, this feeling.
Begin this flutter with splintered souls.
Feeling it splutter.
These heaves of my heart.
I wonder now, and breathe then cry.
A falling star.
A fading sigh.

Skirt your soul

Coughing on the brick dust.
Not complaining.
Just re-arranging.
This sanctuary you’ve housed us in.
Licking the light that shines through the stained teared windows.
You cover me in everything.
You wrap me around you like a piece of string.
Feeling the blood pump through these veins.
Skin on skin. Lips to lips.
With an infinity smile you harken me forward.
Out of this church of our hearts.
The fresh mountain air hits my lungs.
Breathing in the butterfly breath of your exhale.
You tomorrow’s sigh.
Hand gripped and stable. Grounded when I was falling apart.
Steadied my soul.
And when I was letting go, you let me fly.
Soar.

An interior rhythm

How to rise, when you’re broken.
Like lofty branches that scratch the sky.
Down here on the forest floor, tangled with the roots.
I feel collapsed. I feel free.
I want to tear it apart.
I had to burn it down.
Pick the thorns out of my bark, the chattel from my teeth.
Swaying with the world now. Rising on its axis.
I swing to a new realm, on the pendulous heartbeat of tomorrow.
I allowed myself to fall apart.
Welcoming the termites of time. Destroying all I had.
Whilst watching the watchers in the wings.
Birds who fly with nightshade plumage.
Cluck their tongues and talk of responsibilities.
Laying eggs for a farmer who will devour their friends.
You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what I grew through.
Such hard terrain and unholy winters. Sprouting to my own spring chorus.
You don’t know me, how could you?
I don’t even know myself.

Auspices

Candied appled smiles that dapple this heart.
Pulling the pieces back from the deep lagoon.
Resetting them like a Picasso in reverse.
Hope is irresistible, dancing on my fingertips like butterflies.
After years suffering those gloomy caterpillars.
Fresh Artic water rushes my soul.
Cleansing all that had rotten within.
Funnel down this love into me, fill me up with the golden light.
Can you see the truth in this statement?
A tinnitus ting-sha in my eyes as I consult the i-Ching.
This heartache is wavering.
Threatening to collapse while strength begins to blossom in the cracks.
Cotton candy turns over this dusty broken soul.
Lighting tiny lamps in my heart for love to follow.

Her birds inside cry

She always comes a minute too late.
Peeking over emotions.
Waiting for the birds to take flight.
She named each dream in her mind.
Building for them a special home. A place of comfort.
But the fires, they raged for almost ten years.
Burning them all down to cinders.
Destroying her spirit to ash.
So now she steps. Carefully and broken.
Side-stepping hearts and crowds.
Like the pigeons in the square, she is present and yet vacant.
Keeping all at bay, as she paddles in her shallow soul.
For her waters are no longer there for swimming.
The sharks left nothing behind.
Silent and full of feathers.

Wounded wings

Fallen feathers and fear.
Nestled in my hand.
The bird with the broken wing, looking up to God.
Quivering and silent, scared of the touch.
How I’ve longed to switch places and fly away.
With broken wings and torn heartstrings.
On the ground it lies, swallowed by the leaves and an ocean of time.
Flapping, tumbling, freewheeling.
Desperate to flee and be safe.
The eyes dart, in panic and silent pleading.
Make it quick, they call.
Kill this love that’s dying.

The Dye is cast

You try to love again but you’re miles away.
You throw out words like a tourist lost in the city, all broken English.
I love you.
It sounds so odd to hear.
Like you’re naked and cast ajar, with the window open as the world tumbles in.
….and I slip away.
I’ve lived these words, I’ve breathed that world.
I crashed and burned into that wonder that found me hearing the echo of the sound of I love you.
I got sick with it, lived with it, threw up and fucked it.
And so it remains.
Buried deep within, washing around in my blood.
The light flickers and I catch your smile. Too different for our own good, it cages the bird within me.
A victim or volunteer, I still do not know.
You speak to my soul and play my thoughts like a piano, you move away from others.
Everyone around me tells me the world is flat.
When I tell you it is round; you smile and hold my heart and whisper “it is also surrounded by stars”.
And now I know.
The dye is cast