dean-jonesWhisper

South African

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2 minute poems1: / The moving quietness I sit with / A morning that begins to open

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Late afternoon symbolism to guide you through the haunting minutes that rush by with astonishing speedHere we are again / Twilights waiting, / Of ancient holds and heavy curses

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For Tertia; from that small, now forgotten Italian restaurant so long ago...And the conversation turned / toward us / and I thought

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Ideas of vulnerabilityMy feelings, / A little melting point, / Elemental.

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monday's twilight colouring these words I wrote for you...afternoon. as the day dissolving, / then with the nites coming question / how i claim, moments, do you know its you?-

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Excerpts from the Lost Travel Journals**15 June:** / “...its half way in a morning that glistens with slow reminiscences from last night. We find ourselves a respite for the hour, an oasis of sweet temper and our favourite elixir. We sit at the burdened edge; separated by transparency from passing furies; watching with rapt attention and fascination the range of creation displayed before us...We hunt down todays metaphors on clean pages; virginal expanses that congregate with a sublime notion of the art; death; logic; lust and wonder...we span serial glyphs across our vision to prevent a dissolving into the expanse before us; forming borders; signs; structures...Only to be de-constructed again and again; time dissolving; seconds inverting the quantum flux as HereNow paints the Tao over the moment...nothing-everything...we blink in and out; existence define by our presence; the reason and the way forward...delicately; smoothly; succinctly; we pick out secrets from between our worlds; Heartblood squeezed from the cries of angels; the force of supernovas; the very point of transition...again and again the universe spins us. A point – transition-how we create. This secret way. Again and again we play the Fool...again and again we play the Wizard. The tattooed skull of Intimacy grins from the ink on our backs...” / **21.8.2010**

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Late night excursions to places that may not be...My mind dances a whirlwind / but my face, ah my face - displays my infinity / ...................

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monday's coffee with Lulu...and can I write today / all that (perhaps and maybe) / heart deep

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towards night in Hong KongThe empty park, scattered / The onset of afternoon rain / In hidden symphony reflecting my thoughts

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words for Mignon from a wednesday morningwinter snuck in; thief-in-the-night like, when we were all sleeping. / Woke to the cold and blanketing grey, / clouds that hold fast,

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