Always running with time,
never out of it

i am the time keeper

With distance
the distaste only grew ,
with time and foreign lands my tree of wisdom only grew
from the confines of meditational winter sprung forth with the seasons change a fresh spring
that led to summers bloom and now with autumns orange face upon us i find myself back where i began ,

where i ran , it seems i was running back
where i thought i had no map , there was something pulling me to a home of sorts
more than one , too many to name , in people who live and in places that breathe
where i roamed , where i broke down walls triumphantly pulling the bricks and letting the river flow through the once more
no more ****** damns to hold back the floodwaters

i had an inkling i was running off borrowed time
or at least credit
death on credit
death in reverse
birthed rebirth
again and again

yet here i am still in deaths ruptured flow -
the unconditional love ran out mother ,
it ran out and you used it up
you used it so , i know you needed it
so from my child’s heart uninteruppted i let that one go
i held it aloft so you would know that no matter what you do , you are loves loved love

you are loves , loved love
but , it all came crashing down around my ears and around my throat a noose with no name
but a holy ghost escaped my lips in angry overtones = this argument for arguments sake
and tears hot on my cheeks filling up my mouth with anti-septic salt water drops
that doused my locks and you said “come back to me when you can speak without crying”

tears are but distilled wisdom and i am your teacher
i am your child - for a reason , i learnt much from you but how much more can you learn from me..
for i am not you - but a part - apart
and the smoke fills my eyes blurring the lines between reality

but i had enough , respect is intended - always
but i have respect in myself and that’s what you taught me.

That’s why i smile at people on the bus and talk to strangers ; because
everyone is reaching their own goals, shining their own light and love is shared , mother , love is shared.
and i try to love
but love seems to be distant
i love

four men

one - island man
two - island man
three- island man
four - out way somewhere i don’t know , never have graced , hope to grace and maybe touch his face ,

is this wrong? is this why i sit up at night with restless dreams
because whenever i see any one of them my heart turns to shreds
and i recall what that love is one more time
one more time
on more time

one - touches and lunch
two - dinner without touches, yet.
three - cheesy beans and laughter lines
four - astral planes baby ,

it’s raining again .
i’m siting under a tree in holloway
next to a knoll with hot chocolate , passport photos and cigarettes

are they not all one and the same
whom would i devote my entirety to , would you take it?
would you take it?
could you take it?

where do we stop?
why not stop..why stop. stop. what? stop loves riptide ?
not likely , not by chance , but by simplistic design
no i will not go
i will stay

please, please.. please.

i want to dance , with you who are you?
an enigma of epic proportions

i read somewhere that if a poet falls in love with you then you will never be forgotten
forever imortalized in their sonnets
and yes , it is true

lover why so shy? why so elusive , who is your soul
won’t you quietly tell me of the bruises won’t you tell me your secrets
and let me smooth down your shorn hair

two.

this world was made to share
and so is my love
so it is my love ,

we are wounded healers
and my , have i never heard anything as poetic as that.

but i cannot stay lone with all this love as it burst forth because it is mine. mother .
it is mine.

so.

dinner.

Today i woke up in an old bed ,
where i spent last winter in meditation -

after having went to summer party
salad mountians and a million and one stand of food
candyfloss , fair ground ride , face painting , a band , drinks everywhere in buckets with sun block attatched to it even though it was kinda cloudy but there were nice clouds

and best - some people roaming about with a sunflower cut out taking polaroid pictures

and in them there is someone holding the sun.

(haha)

What a lot has happened today..
hmm .. i collected some old things , ate a routine breakfast of bagels and home made plum jam , with the addition of a coffee -

the subtle changes even in a few months ranges from old place to new  old place

that is the distilled essence of travel and indeed a marker of journey's  progression

return to an old place - to see the new, no matter how small -
in a place one thought devoid of any new textures ,

smells sights sounds and emotions

yet, yet -  here is something new .


I saw an old friend
several in fact .

Family -

Families.

And then i sat down to write for a bit and drank some vanilla chai tea.
and listened to some good music and draw a little.

and that was snapshot of day snapshot of day 78739101-1

END ARCHIVE:

many moons ago we were best friends looking out over the rooftops. spotting the church spires and loft flats.

We’d sit in bed eating blueberries, raspberry’s, salad, whatever i’d baked that week or the leftovers of your culinary experiment. Watching re-runs and obscure horror movies.  i knew i could love you from the moment i saw you, sitting in the dappeled evening light immersed in conversation. the frown on your face spreading into a smile and then a laugh that hit me in waves.

but i never told you. How everytime i saw you my heart would beat so hard and so fast i was afraid it’d give me away and you’d hear it.

they say live with no regrets but how can i when i let you go so easily, when i should’ve fought and protested. stood my ground and bared my heart, my soul, me. becuase you, of all people, speak that lost language.

you’d cradle my heart , embrace my soul and you would have loved me back.

The tears are but distilled wisdom

After the release

after the release


and the rains soft drops have dusted the sandy soils with her salt kiss tears

there
in the  desert of desire felt the rains of faith

and how the mist rolled in across the ocean
there , the plants still grow at the edge of the fog - where the mysteries still lie vacant

yet unfulfilled
but many in the making

a soup.

And over here is the present kitchen !  ///...\\

That's just the flows , flow
speking to souls?

or am i just writing to myself
out there in the web , i see

people seeing me

and saying nothing

...


yet knowing more than they probably would if they hadn't seen this...

wHO are you?

Reading this... perhaps you are a person ; who loves fruit juice for lunch and shiny golden shoes. Maybe not.
I wouldn't know
but you see me..
i marvel at that ability we have now...

Technological.



or maybe.
you are more like the lightning with thunder happening



there is always a thunderstorm somewhere.

That's just the flows , flow
speking to souls?

or am i just writing to myself
out there in the web , i see

people seeing me

and saying nothing

...


yet knowing more than they probably would if they hadn't seen this...

wHO are you?

Reading this... perhaps you are a person ; who loves fruit juice for lunch and shiny golden shoes. Maybe not.
I wouldn't know
but you see me..
i marvel at that ability we have now...

Technological.



or maybe.
you are more like the lightning with thunder happening somewhere.

there is always a thunderstorm somewhere.