Wandering star

These wandering stars shape the night.
Pushing out the darkness.
You weigh like dark matter.
Heavy and invisible.
Watching as the other stars dance.
Can I taste those nitrogen lips?
Just for a moment, in the vacuum of nothingness.
How you have travelled, lonely across our eyes.
Blinking in and out of life.
Pulling me like the tide.

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Take you apart

To pull open your world, and sneak inside.
Tearing out your heart, giving you mine.
Feeling each rise and fall of your chest.
Would lay me out like gold.
Each breath conquers me.
As you lick your lips.
Suggesting that is where we build our home.
On the tip of something beautiful.
We’ve cried out our past.
Knocked down each remnant of uncertainty.
Covering our delicate present in feathers and down.
For this is where we shall collapse.
And watch true love collide.
Collecting it up in a bucket of flesh and stars.

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.

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.

Fake dawn

The stars are so bright tonight.
It sounds childish, that you want it to last forever.
You see the same in my eyes.
Stretching the night.
Trusting the darkness.
Tomorrow was a failure.
Today is weakened by the sight of it.
That returning thought of Saturn.
Shrinking once more into the horizon.
You marked it there.
It’s easy to hope for the dawn to take you.
Easy to grapple that hand of mine into yours.
Sending postcards and roses to your sixteen year old self.
A secret message that you made it.
It’s harder to wipe the sleep from your eyes.
Harder to beckon in the day.
Which threatens to stain us like the ones before.
When we were lonely.
And afraid.

Hesitate

Lay down in stars.
Sweet dust on the back of your neck.
I lick you there, into forever.
The heady taste of tomorrow.
But can you tell I’m faking it?
Caught between sleep and infatuation.
I want to love you, but I’m covered in shells.
Deceit and artificial reckoning.
The smell of the ocean.
A wave of self-doubt and your words in my ear.
The return of sadness.
That never truly left.

Lay me down

To sleep, in a dream that never wakes.
Flying on stars and tears tonight.
Lay me down.
Into the air or the earth.
For that is where my soul seeks silence.
Covered for a hundred years, a thousand tears.
Rusted and weak.
Lay me down, to sleep.
And tell me stories of the future.
A harkening of new truths.
When this time has died into a yesterday.
I will wake, and drink the world in again.

Empty waves

In the night, when the velvet dark covered my skin.
We walked the beach, feeling each grain of time beneath.
To look into the sky, was but to cast over a hundred million jewels.
Twinkling there like possibilities.
The ocean, so vast and endless lulled me with its tune.
And the ocean spray tempted me at first.
Drawing me in with ideas of Atlantis.
But now, the harsh sun burns down.
Cooking the salt in these wounds.
Listening for you in empty shells.
And now, all that’s left;
is to hold my breath before your tsunami.

Angular resolution

Lost to everyone but myself.
As I stream through the cosmos.
Touching the stars with my fingertips.
Pausing by the swirling galaxies that shine like glistening pools of diamonds.
Would I find you here?
Carved out of something seen by no-one but God.
You speak words of another time and place.
Resting softly in my head like feathers from the future.
Plucked from a comets tail which snakes back to earth.
Threatening the order.
Teasing from above like angels dropping thunderbolts.
All around but absent.
Could I lose you there?
In that place only you and I know of.
Cut in half if you begin to forget.
Faded in the half light of a dawn you once promised.
Erasing the earth like a solar eclipse.
Yet I feel you, on this night.
In this skin that’s cratered like the lunar surface.
And I touch the place you once kissed me.
Believing once more in ghosts.

Your pilgrimage

I love your silver dressed dreams.
Darlings, that call us all to look.
To peek and prod in an unforgiving time.
Hook your hate around my hand, thrown in the bag to drown.
Kittens, pebbles in your pocket.
You call this your pilgrimage.
A racing stumble through our great beyond.
But that was where I found you.
Heaped and tired, all covered in stars.
Can you walk the line?
Can you take some time to change?
Wrap this love around you heart, swallow and then re-arrange.
Your pilgrimage.
You deep mistake.
Your breaking through, my privilege.

White/Blue – Watchers In the woods

Watchers In the woods

The little cottage by the stream was a lovely thing to behold. It filled every notion of quaint and picturesque, and with the white snow whipping around it and settling on its old oak window sills and thatched roof, it may have seemed magic was its maker. But this was not the case. The lady of the jars put much time and effort keeping her little home pretty and practical. She tended the garden when she chose the spring seasons, and at the rear of the paddock she kept a giant domed greenhouse, full of orchids, dahlias, hibiscus and all manner of strange and unique plants. All kept under the huge dome which, now this she had bewitched, repelled the snow and kept the natural light shining in, bathing the plants with the life giving ultra violet rays.

Aesthetic wise, her house was all her own doing. But for the maintenance and security, the magic she knew dripped through every stone and brick. She was not against a bit of hard work, and she had known years of toil and trauma as much as the next person. She did use her magic to keep the house dust free (though she had some jars filled with dust that she tainted different colours, shaking them and watching the motes shimmer in the coloured light), and a little help with the laundry and such was merely a perk of knowing the inner workings of such deep and sacred magic. She also held spells and incantations over her little abode which kept it safe and secure; warding off bad spirits and deeds which promised to slither in with the shadows. But inside she was safe, and she knew it.

Outside, creeping around the back and down towards the stream, the gentleman of the boxes pushed through the huge snow drifts that had piled up by the hedgerow. He knew the place was safe for her, he knew he would have a battle on his hands if her were to challenge anything here against the lady of the jars. And he didn’t want to do that now, or perhaps anytime. A part of him knew something must be done, but for now his curious mind and eyes were searching the backyard for it. The place where she had landed. It had already been covered in so much snow that the scorched outline in the ground would be, to an average eye, hard to see. But with a magical twinkle that now twirled in his own lenses, he could see, even feel the place where heaven and earth collided.

He moved slowly, bending down every few steps to pick up a little piece. Digging his fingers into the white covering and extracting the soil, droplets of blue that permeated the thick black earth. They looked liked tiny sapphires speckled in the ground, the residue from the cocoon craft that had landed not long ago. He knew that only a grain of this would be precious to him, to fill only one of his little matchboxes would give him foresight and energy, to be able cancel out the retched snow and bring back the blaze of the summer sun. He collected what he could, searching for the large chunks of matter that sparkled abnormally in the dead snowy light. Too concerned about his diamonds in the dirt, he did not notice the others. The eyes that had appeared in the woods all around him. For it was not just the gentlemen of the jars who longed for the new gift from the stars, but others as well.

They watched him. His dominant gait slinking abnormally along the path towards the cottage. He moved like a shadow, whereas they moved like ghosts. Only noticeable if they wished to be seen. Spectres of the forest for now as they hid their figures and their intent. Woken from their slumber by the power dwelling now in the cottage by the stream, it had cracked open their hibernation and murmured within their DNA. They quickly gathered, shaking of the sleep of a thousand years and rattling like old bones in the clearing. Collecting themselves and moving on mass to the throb of the heart that was warming itself by the fire, sipping tea and eating blueberry tarts. They watched, their eyes translucent like the stream that ran behind the cottage, following the shadowed man collect the falling shards of space, pocketing them in the deep caverns of his coat. They watched, they whispered, then vanished into the ground.

“And it is your home, as long as you want it to be. I know you mean in the bigger picture, the bigger sphere of this planet, this space in time. But my home, my little life, its here for you if you need it. I want to help you, and I know why you must be here. Please, let me be the guide for you in this place.”. The lady of the jars said, her heart shifting inside.

“You know why I am here then?” The girl asked her.

“Yes, I know. It’s been foretold in a way. Well, I’ve read about it, and I feel it within me. I’ve been feeling it for a while now, something on the horizon about to appear. Like a dream where I reach out and grab something like a rainbow, beautiful, but untouchable.” She added.

“I understand. I would like for you to help, I know this might be hard for you though.”

“It is time I think. Locked away in my little cottage, doing good but not seeing the wider world. It is time for me I think. So let’s get started. You need some decent clothes, and I need my book.” She said, heaving herself up out of the seat, quickly snatching up a stray blueberry from the tin and throwing it into the air, catching it in her mouth. “Time waits for no Europan!”

…to be continued 


To read the full ongoing story, go here.

To go between the jars, visit this one.

 

Jamais vu

Lies are what you make of it.
Icebergs that tower on such frigid sea.
Who were you anyway?
Through the haze and the snow that falls like sympathy.
Worries that sprout like the spring is sprung.
Needling a brain that heaves and shudders.
A death throw in a maternity ward.
So young was the idea of change.
Yet now it’s a fading star.
Peppering my sky that is being painted black.
And somehow you purify.
Allowing the colours to blind my soul.
Then testify, that I’m still growing old.
These colours merely blur to a hue.
And force me to ask who you are.
As you reach in, and pull my eyes free.
To save me from never being seen.

Shine

The little lights inside that twinkle.
Burn bright and strong within.
A beacon like a church’s steeple.
To good, to god and sin.
Yet the ones that burn the brightest.
Must therefore burn half as long.
And your flame has burned the shiniest.
So soon, from our eyes you’ll be gone.
But do not let your eyes fall in sadness.
Or collapse into grey despair.
For your light has led the bravest.
Who will always remember you were here.

Weighted

The only explanation, to the thoughts stuck in your mind.
Is that the fairy tales so familiar, are just lies on the end of sticks.
Princess you are not.
Cracked though, like a porcelain doll.
Washed up in the flood of life.
God didn’t want to throw you away.
So you stay.
Married and marred to another, while the butterflies escape.
And the eyes of others, circle like filthy black birds.
Keep your eyes open, and follow the stars in the sky.
For the earth will only replace yours with little lights.
Dull black candles.
While the stardust flutters away.

You’ll see

You will see, said the little whisper.
The sound within.
A distant whimper.
From the voice inside my skull.
The quiet reasoning.
My heart’s strong hull.
That sails beyond a galaxy.
Down here on earth.
In complexity.
These defiant words did manifest.
Into action.
And I must confess.
That I was able to walk away.
From all that trauma.
And sad decay.
And close the book of you and me.
A tired old tale.
Which you will see.

Adeline

Adeline, why do you trouble me so?
Why do you pull down the stars and the moon?
Chalking up these eyes with lunar dust and wonder.
Oh Adeline, do not speak my name.
It crumbles my ground and shakes my resolve.
Moving my inner mantle with volcanic changes of heart
Oh sweet Adeline, keep those lips the distance of the sun.
Rising from my eastern treasure like the dawn.
Blinding if I look that way.
My Adeline, I wish I knew you then.
When my world could make a house for you.
In the forest of fidelity when we were both young.
Goodbye Adeline, you will always dwell in my hope chest.
Covered in gold at the bottom of the fathoms.
Yet locked away in time by a key you will never own.

Anywhere else

I want you to remember.
As you struggle to breath.
While you shake and crack, and wither within.
Close those eyes which hang like dying stars.
And dream.
Welcome in the disassociation.
I’ll hang the universe on you while you sleep.
Remembering where it all begun.
You and the stars will fall silent.
Drifting once more into the beyond that calls to you.
Which has always called, but you’ve never responded.
I want you to remember.
All the things I feel.
All the ways the memories form like ice around your eyes.
A Siberian shift into summer songs.
Flavoured voices caught in the air and on your tongue.
Try and remember.
Which days to savour, and which to let go like planetary balloons.
Floating out of your solar system.
As you fall into now.

Distance between blue & yellow

The church bells song of a new dawn.
Accompanies the veneer smear of an autumn sun.
Hazy like the mind that watches.
Trapped in leaf browns and turpentine.
A new day, to take the past away.
Taking flight like fleeting thoughts of love.
Wash over the night like dripping star light into a black hole.
Paint my dying summer the orange of the flame.
The red of the devil licking a new untouched wonder.
And wander, through the conker laced land of another day.
Captured in your memory forever.