Beacon of prayer, flicker and be
the light of sky. Call me to your
worship and break me into
two. Danger and endanger me,
extinct. Match or game? And game?
Start at the end and end in a pool
of molten silver, molten treasure.
Get on your knees, look to the sky and
call out to the deities, for I am burning now.
I trusted you, ash and all.
Now I see; all that flickers ends in dust, anyway.
that al
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 12:52 PM UTC
The calendar maker don't know tragedy
is gonna happen on the day
he takes most pride in, it ain't visible on his screen
and it ain't wrought and wrangled in
with the pixels on his
paper or on the
walls of his custom.
if he knew, d'ya think he'd bother
caring for september,
June July or November
d'ya reckon he'd bother
to name the days at all?
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
Of cherry blossomed orient
and of deep desert Sahara
I thought, and in the same moon shade
and under each dark sky I walked.
Of grey ****** mounts
and of green turf fells
I thought, and under each effervescent light
and beneath each blue atmosphere I walked.
Why did I walk? Through orient and Sahara?
Why did I think and have these thoughts?
Well, I had a question and I thought my destination
had an answer to that question. My destination was you
and I have my answer.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 6:06 PM UTC
last night I dreamt of a world with no money,
100,000 sunsets passing without a clash of a coin,
and the ghastly humans with copper under their nails
who spend all day dreaming of having gold there instead,
were nowhere to be found. Lurking near the oak trees
(which always stand, perpetual and insistent)
are aliens with smiles (perpetual and insistent)
who only feel happiness (that strange, absent feel)
and have free time to do free things with free minds
and don't have mankind's titanic burden of worry.
in my dream state I dreamt of states with no war,
poverty or famine, and I dreamt of leaders leading
and people peopling, and indeed the leaders lead
with no other incentive than purely to lead.
no money built walls between homes and lands,
no barriers put up between the wild untamed landscapes
nothing stopped people from traveling their world
that their ancestors created for them and seeing the
sights before they pass to the next stage, all of life
being free of charge, if that were a thing.
money never happened and no man laid awake at night
(or in a deep calm dreaming state) wishing of a world
with money. what would we offer the dreaming man?
a world of misery pain greed and men who dream of
the world the first dreaming man is in? no. it is
ludicrous and ridiculous.
last night I dreamt of a world with no money,
and I turned my head on my pillow and tried to dream
of a lonelier world.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 11:43 AM UTC
I saw you walk to me, across
the Place Bellecour, and I smiled.
The shuttered windows
and my unshuttered expression
told you that it wasn’t the time for this,
but the recessed windows on the grey roofs
and the off-white brick told me it was.
I saw you walk to me, across
the Place Bellecour, and I smiled.
The spires of the distant churches
and the unbroken line of sight
called to you that we better hurry on,
but the lines of windows (like members of an audience)
shouted at me to kiss you.
I saw you walk to me, across
the Place Bellecour, and I smiled.
A deep blue surreal sky and the
whisper of a floating white cloud
shouted to you to say yes,
and the white cloud of up and above
cheered me on, evermore,
to Paris and to Lyon.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
If I painted all the world
your favourite hue,
and lay it on your lap,
and sprinkled it with golden dust,
coming from the golden tap,
would you permit me
to hold your hand for now
(and forever more)?
If I discovered all the world’s
riches, put them all in your view
found the Holy Grail,
and gave it only to you,
would you allow me
the honour of being yours for now
(and forever more)?
If I climbed all the world’s
mountains, swam all the seas,
crossed every desert,
and saved all the trees,
would you let me
be your one and only for now
(and forever more)?
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
Oh, planet of the azure,
Cypriot sands,
Nordic beauty,
Amazonian lands,
Nile river plains,
It’s plain to see that our world
is a paradise for the
paradisiacs and the aphrodisiacs,
The business suited men,
The wedding dressed women,
The children of the soil.
But also plain to see are the
oil-stricken sands,
Viking battlegrounds,
Deforested lands,
Dry river plains.
Unknowns and ****** deviants,
Power hungry animals,
Divorce cases to be,
Already dead.
Oh, land of the azure,
Strike up a match and burn us all down,
Won’t you?
Oh, paradise world,
A giant floating blue pearl,
Cut us all down and burn our ashes?
Let us make amends,
Blue and green marble,
For we have doubted your sands,
Lands, and beauty,
We have doubted them whilst we have stood upon them.
For we are too tall to see what heaven lies beneath our feet,
And we look to the skies for heaven whilst we are among angels.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
Today, on the streets of NYC
or London, I passed a future president
in his stride, and I passed a disgraced
soldier, discharged for discharging
a round of ammunition on his friend,
I passed a man whose uncle was
Neil Armstrong, and a woman whose
face was drenched in acid by
an evil ex-boyfriend.
I was walking along the Champs Elysees,
today, when I smiled at a man who
is a relative of Gustav Eiffel, perhaps
even his grandson, or more. He was wearing
a suit, a normal, plainly dressed man
blending in.
Today, as I wandered past the skyline of
Vancouver, Chicago, Shanghai, a little girl
cried, and cried and cried. She’s to become the
scientist to cure cancer, the common cold,
or more. She has blonde pigtails and a giant
pink ribbon in her hair.
Underneath the Japanese bloom,
the leader of a gang stopped in front
of me to admire the white blossom,
and I did the same. Perhaps we
shared a word or two, me not knowing this man’s
crime. He not knowing mine.
Underneath all bloom in all the world,
seven billion future presidents,
seven billion disgraced soldiers,
descendants of astronauts,
acid scoured people,
seven billion Mr or Mrs Eiffels,
seven billion cancer curers,
and mob leaders walk their walk
and talk their talk.
No beacon shines upon them
and no beacon ever will.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
When you were broken into
one million pieces, I had to pick
up the million and first piece,
to make sure I had you back.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
Under the Spanish bloom,
and beneath the perpetual sky,
a young boy walked with a girl.
She was struck by the beauty of it all;
the gentle breeze and the subtle ease
of the night. The boy was less pleased, though
and continued to stride, his pride effervescent
in the bland moonlight.
Under the winter bleached trees,
and beneath the star spangled sky,
the girl was alone now, crying.
She was hit by the sense of loneliness
that she found curled below the undergrowth
like the runt of a litter or an injured mammal.
She was injured now, that’s what she told
everyone else, anyway.
Under a spineless, leafless tree,
and beneath a white, all white sky,
a boy sits with a hole in his heart
and a gap in his speech.
It crumples up in him like
a poignant piece of painted cloth.
Like a prayer mat or something.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC