Twist towards memories

We are changed forever.
Never the same.
Crawling out of this chrysalis.
Rubbing tired eyes with filthy fingers of the future.
Everything given, is repeated.
Everything stolen, is forever lost.
The future begins to fade like a dying star.
Caught and taken on the threshold of a coming storm.
Love came and went.
Permeated, then evaporated like the morning fog.
How we longed to be held safe in those arms.
Rocked into safety as the wind above howled.
But everything they gave, was taken away.
Everything promised, now sold.
Leaving broken bones and the residue of knowing.
A maddening knowledge of what the other sees.
A heavy heart feeling their need to go.
Now each evening I wave goodbye to the sun.
And welcome the loneliness of the moon.
But all too soon, it too departs.
And the rays that hit me in the dawn feel different and colder.
Re-birthed, repackage for tomorrow.
Threatening another day without you.

يتساءل

And after all this time, where have I been?
Picking wonderments off these eyeballs.
Peeling moments off my skin.
Weary hearts and feet tell my tale.
Of lands baked in summer gold.
I licked the rubies there, tasted the royalty.
Scared away the ghosts that threatened to follow.
A Land of milk and honey, resided in these bones so hollow and dusty.
Washing away the arthritic rhythms of a life half led.
And though sometimes I despair.
Searching for the darkness when there seems nothing else to grasp.
Tiny voices carry, across the seas to me.
From the angels, who have already won.
Promising me a winter song, still left to sing.

Seems forever lost?

We do not fade when you close your eyes.
Etched in stone, carved in lies.
Beneath those words please sympathise.
Something starts, when something dies.

And though it seems we’re miles apart
I commit to god for the pain to depart.
When megaliths fall, freedom starts.
And so will heal, your blackened heart.

Prepare a path

This heart in distant forms.
Washed with the dawn break and sudden mark of existence.
You were my candle in the night.
Silencing the lies they told me about god.
Names for you count like the stars in the heavens.
‘Eternity’ is one; ‘salvation’ another.
Sweet, like pouring honey into my ear.
Covered in gold and heavy in my soul like sand.
The wardens of this sky still call to me.
Shadows and light flitting across the clouds.
But I am not ready to fold.
This blood is still warm and runs through us both.
A matter a million times true.
For the end comes when there is nothing left.
And for now, I’m still covered in pieces.
Finding ways to fix what was broke.
Making ways to your heart.

Cling like fire

Thunder echoes upon thunder.
Such sound and pulse over you.
Divine intent, yet we are human in the end.
This I Ching dependence and temporal space.
Leaves my bones aching.
My soul itching.
My wrists are heavy when the storm passes.
Bruised and smashed like the clouds hitting the heavens.
You are a warning, unfathomed and unheeded.
Striking the town and burning our souls.
This empress in the flames. The emperor on the throne.
Centering me and aligning such vivid thoughts.
Startled screams as you nervously laugh.
A future written in the fire.
There, so far away from now. *If you need to know the end.

Alchemy

 

These souls so full they re-align.
Separated by thoughts and time.
Which hold a love that extends to all.
Who reign above, and for those who fall.
And do not let the world go dark.
But ignite the hope within each spark.
This alchemy that turns hate to kind.
 Our lives, our world, all intertwined.

 

Failures washed over his workbench, dripping down his life. His quest to find the secret of changing lead into gold had consumed and shaken his soul. Yet he had merely strayed from the path he was meant to travel, clouded by the misty haze of obsession. When a little book comes into his life, it realigns his fate and lets the alchemy truly begin.

‘Alchemy’ is a story about a man’s evolution at the end of his life and how his preciousness is valued, not in the gold he makes; but the changes that he conjures. Strewn around poems that lead from dreams to magic, and prayers to happiness; the story navigates from despair to adjustment in surreal and magical landscapes.

Poetry and storytelling collide in this hybrid tale that mixes spirituality with personal well-being.

Alchemy is out now in e-book and paperback.

A Place in the stars

Lots of people were afraid. Rational and irrational fears grew like ivy in the cluttered world he lived in. As Jeremiah found, fear was just a part of life. His sister had always been afraid of spiders. Snakes too, though spiders were a more an everyday hazard, bringing out an alarming response from her no matter who was around. He never forgot the day she found one in her bed when she was going to sleep, the screams had echoed down into the street making the dogs in the neighbour’s garden bark. They had shared a bedroom in the old house then, out of necessity more than anything else.

It wasn’t until he was five years old that he had a room of his own. Of course, this came with the collapse of his parent’s marriage and he would have traded in a second the large bedroom at his father’s house, for the pokey one he shared with his sister. At least that way they would still be together. But people, like marriages collapse. His sister departing only a year into his larger bedroom life, not from a spider attack, but from the leukemia that had corroded her from the inside.

Jeremiah was afraid of one thing, and one thing only. He was afraid of time. How it snuck in on him and those he loved. Snatching away those things and people he held dear. Turning, tumbling and changing his little world that he would want to keep secret and safe under a bell jar. He would look up into the night’s sky and see the stars blinking above him. Fixed into position like reliable Christmas lights, always there like the season; waiting to bring joy.

When he was much older, he learned the true nature of space. The twirling chaos that attacked the cosmos, with everything in flux. But for that six year boy within him still, he would always see safety and security in the stars. His friends that were always there like jewels in black cement.

Jeremiah though was understanding about people’s fears. He understood why his sister had been afraid of spiders. How her mind would run with a thousand possibilities of what could happen, and the deathly mist that surrounded them and the poisonousness possibilities. Much like he understood people’s fear of flying. He had met an old lady on a flight to Rome once before, sitting in the aisle seat next to him. She was so afraid, her white knuckles had gripped onto the armrest for the duration of the flight; her eyes closed as if in silent prayer to keep her aloft and to land safely in the eternal city. He had wondered what she was so desperate to live for, what in her life was she so afraid of losing. One’s own death being usually a horrible climax of pain and distress, but momentary. What was she so afraid of not completing? What had her life really been about?

He had sat there himself on that small plane, thousands of miles above the French Alps, watching the snow-capped peaks shimmering in the sun. If they were to descend, collapse in a fiery demise and be strewn in wreckage across the snowy landscape; what was he missing out on? What in his life was he left to accomplish or leave behind? He would be missed of course. His partner would be distraught, and tears would be shed; at least he hoped would. But life would go on, time would cover the hurt up in sand and silence. Changing once more the nature of things.

Time. His biggest enemy.

He had landed in Rome safe and sound, the flight not having crashed like many unfortunate others had. He had quit his job that very day, enjoying a nice little holiday there instead of the work he had come there to do.

If he had known he were to die at the age of thirty three, Jeremiah would probably not have done things much different than he had. He would most likely have avoided a lot more arguments. Those stupid back and forths with people over things that mean nothing to the wider universe. He knew time was always against him, under his feet like an escalator he couldn’t stop or slow down. In this way, he lived a full life. He understood the preciousness and fragility of it all. He squeezed his partner a bit more when they hugged and kissed. He meant it more when he said I love you. Perfection was not to be a part of his existence on earth, yet Jeremiah saw the bigger picture. It was all a blink in the eye of God, and he knew he had no time to waste.

When at thirty three, he reached the top of the escalator, he glanced over the side to see how far he’d come. It all looked so small and crushable from his vantage point. He was alone, but he wasn’t sad. He could see his friends glittering their celestial magic as diamonds across the inky black. Their luminosity radiant and strong like a million burning suns. And he took his place in the stars, content and happy that the clocks had finally stopped ticking.

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Severing

Esoteric sounds lie heavy in the air.
A calling, during the severing.
Deep dark pits that burrow into the earth.
Lay grinning, awaiting to swallow the cast aside past.
Life, like a kitchen table; un-pretty yet stable.
Holds the weight of what the angels let fall.
Sweet apples off their vine’s.
The well is dry, the phone is dead.
All connections are lost.
In that moment of sutterment.
Keep quiet, hear the utterment.
Close your eyes to what is being read.
The future hangs in those gum trees.
It murmurs in that warm southern ocean tide.
Deliverance from the space that darkness possessed.
Awash with light in which to drown.
Soft misty words of hope, that piece the world together again.

Swimming through thorns

High is the wire, and lonely at the top.
Fighting for a chance of hope.
Fighting for it to stop.
Rationalism is fleeting, insanity prevails.
You cannot change the unwilling.
You cannot tip the scales.
So carry on regardless, but do not seek applause.
For though your side is righteous.
To them it’s a worthless cause.

Aureole

Changes take you to the place.
The feelings, dressed in faith.
Little voices whispering your name in silent spaces.
You take me there.
Gripping my hand which shakes and flutters.
A heart, in flight like birds of paradise scratching the sky.
The only thing that fades is the darkness of the past.
The bright light I see in your eyes illuminates and deafens.
An unknown, which used to creep like ghosts, now welcomes like a field of poppies.
Oh that heady take on life, blurring into our bones.
You come to rest on marbled floors.
An altar in which I can pray.
But you lift my hands and shake your head.
Kissing me with our new commandant.
The only religion is love.
You fall into my skin, changing the air I breathe.
Needing me, as I need you.
Worked from our souls rising.
A Perfect circle.

Trying not to breathe

Trapped under a bell jar, while the sun is silenced.
You put this in us. You creep into our bones.
Plucking the feathers from the birds of freedom.
You show us where the darkness grows.
This infection is massing.
Rampant, like you tongue.
A hatred and loathing that was born from a seed.
Deep without our own lungs.
The small parts of me.
Something other, that I cannot understand.
A difference in us as the night to day.
I’m trying not to breathe while the red mist rises.
A fractured state of things, little pockets of disconnect.
What horrors have you exposed?
Which queen of hearts have you disposed?
I pick the wild flowers of hope.
And tuck them into my sleeve.
Sniffing at a fragrance I wish to be within.
Smelling the chance of change.
With each barricade we rise.
A flood of ebb and flow which pulls at the mud below.
Pushing up to the crystal sky.
Smashing this glass that covers us.
This is our Vietnam. This is our Notre Dame.
Running wild out of the despair, into the arms of others.
Who breathe such cleaner air.

Accelerate

What have you done?
Today, this life; where have you gone?
Which root did you pull out?
What bone did you break?
What flood turned to drought?
Which love to an ache.
You may forgot everything in the end.
As time shuffles by, and souls begin to bend.
But you have each moment, each second in the sun.
A little tiny diamond, reserved for each one.
To pick up today, and more the day after.
A small little treasure, like happiness and laughter.
So forget the mould and oil that covers you like gloom.
And go out and discover, and shoot for the moon.

Some kind of stranger

There were stories of course.
Bad childhoods and frequent trauma.
Violence was like the rain, blown in like a storm.
But she did not live in the past too much.
Her story was colliding forever into tomorrow.
Wiping off the fever that electrified each night.
She had been beaten and adorned.
Wrapped both pearls and handcuffs around her arms.
Flesh was to be devoured.
Ghastly and exciting, making a mess in her soul.
She wiped away the blood drool.
What lay between her lips, her soul, her hips.
Was given by her own decision.
A consensual barging, for being alive.
For being a creature so prone to movement.
The survival of the imagination.
Her look that cuts the room.
The heart pierced by gloom.
Made her a provocateur for a classless age.
You would smell her on your sheets.
Crave the wet drip that smouldered still on your tongue.
But she would be gone.
Side stepping a fall from a grace she named herself.
Wearing her own crown, made of tinfoil and treasure.
But it will not always be that way.
The legs that part make way for opportunity.
Which always finds its mark, if ready or awash with indecision.
She was the girl that left too soon.
She was the guy who bought the moon.
And sold stars instead.
He is not one to remember fondly, his past indiscretions.
But shame had no place in his beautiful heart.
And his story starts, not with a departure.
But a glorious homecoming.

Devoir

The noise was smothered by the night.
Lain down in god’s whisper.
So deep the mind fell.
Beyond fossilised creatures and secrets in tar.
The moon hummed in its milky orbit.
Delicious solitude descended.
A quietening of existence.
That is where I’ll find you.
Beyond the chaos and the trauma that litters these lives.
Your sanctuary for my soul.
A marbled palace adorned with tears and precious memories.
A temple I wish to practice our religion.
So light those candles and sing me to sleep.
With conflicting thoughts of tomorrow.
And your voice crawling over me.
So when the day blazes into this skin.
Purifying each sin.
The renewal within, is possible.
Only by your sweet vow.
To remain.

Violent Psalms

Hallelujah.
The stars inhaled.
A waking darkness crashes into these eyes.
I hear the havoc in this hymn.
And see the shapeless violence crawl forth.
Please, swear now to god and offer forgiveness.
Excuse the trauma that rages out of heaven.
It rained down like this before.
I saw London swallow whole the eternal demise.
It never exhaled this life, this evening, this being.
God left beauty for the angels.
The ugliness of change clings to his fingertips.
Such violence.
But sit, crouch, cry out into the nothingness that now stretches endlessly.
And pull apart that blackened struggling heart.
Which heaves with knowledge and remembering.
Then wash it out with diamonds and blood from those who cared.
Smile towards heaven and forgive those there.
Redemption bears down on all.
Then cry out black tears which curdle in the air.
While the world wipes clean and shudders into tomorrow.

Depths

Surface skims the night.
Trapped with semi-smiles stained with uncertainty.
Secret sanctuaries hide inside.
That the world wishes to throw open.
Grecian columns made of hope and sand.
Dive and swim, crumble within like the seahorse threatening to climb.
That octopus deep in the sea, down in the sweet depths.
How coiled and unrelenting.
Unforgiving to its own antipathy.
A monster to the untrained eye.
Evil to closed off minds.
The deep where the angels swim.
Sieving the sand for diamonds and long buried treasure.
Still frames and traded air.
Unaccustomed to changes of weather.
Happy below like a clam.
Silent like the sea.
Yet pools of the mind reverberate and threaten.
Strumming to the forces of life.
A sweet sound known before.
Down, where the sea smashes the earth.

 

F(l)inch

The air is alive, black on blue.
A multitude of ravens, seizing the world.
Magpie eyes on anything that shimmers.
You unfurl and follow. Placing the ties that bind.
Half asleep, half blind to predicament.
But something murmurs. Something calls.
An unfinished business that followed from before.
Each step, eyes down.
Stepping out from a dream, feeling the floor.
A product of now, naked and true.
Let the feathers unfold, and roll into a climb.
Un-flinch. SkyWest. Un-crooked.
Drop the grey.
The waiting in line.
And sing, distant and near.
A song so many wish to know sincere.
Eyes closed, breathing in the new air.
And let your colours paint the sky.
Wiping across a new dawn.
And darkening their sheltered lives.

Save yourself/serve yourself

Now that we are so anaesthetised.
We settle for blankness.
Without any compromise.
You suck the soul from us every day.
Filling the void with countenance and suspicion.
Such a beautiful paradox, what a time to be alive.
So lazy by design.
You wear the masks of the familiar.
Cutting the ties that bind us to our future.
And who are we to utter, the silent stutter into separation.
Your IS desperation to keep us scared.
There is no oil here, only pits of anger.
Bubbling to the surface.
Such disturbance now at the house.
The roaring of a mouse, of a nation who were followers.
Now numbering the chorus that’s out of control.
Democracy hangs in the air, like the miasma of the 18th century.
Fogging London once more with a noxious distaste.
We all wear our own tin foil crowns.
Crunching the bones of despair.
The Fear of standing for something.
I am but one of many, lounging in my paralysis.
A self-inflicted state of disconnect.
Waiting for the numbness to arrive.

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?

Turning blue

Why is my world painted red?
No home, no hope, no heart.
Cast on a raft headed to the end.
Your vermilion tongue spits these thoughts.
A fever and the fakery that expands.
Yet these lies break in my hands.
And the hope swims beneath.
Blue and enticing. Like the ocean in god’s eyes.
A Sweet expanse of blue.
And nothing like you.