"neurone" poems
Hero got a phone call,
From the being with three eyes.
So often his existence,
Could be validated by advice.
It is then organised by rhythms,
So that the words solidify,
If the chaos cant be structured,
Then all vision is blinding light.
Hero said to the being,
“I fall in to infatuation with such ease.”
The being said, “You’re seeing,
Your own love reflectively.
“Your brains mirror neurone system,
Causes you to smile at a smile,
This mirroring of others,
Allows for formation of a tribe.
Now you know this wisdom,
Think of your romantic life.
The subject of your infatuation,
Did not cause your love inside.
The love all humans seek,
Is already in your possession,
Which is why the search feels bleak,
You’re hunting the impossible obsession.
You’re all looking for your lost keys,
Tearing everything apart,
All the while they’re in your hand,
Or your breast pocket by your heart.”
Hero nodded rhythmically,
But found it hard to understand,
“If the love’s inside of me,
Then how has any love began?”
“A lot of love is a product,
Of false infatuation;
Two people seeking it from each other,
And thus there is divorce and separation.
But true love is the love inside of you,
Which is the love of the universe,
If you can learn to embrace this,
Then it will free you of your curse.
The mirror neurone system also detects,
The love inside as if it was a grin.
Within another, you’re existing love will reflect,
And embrace and share this world that the two of you are in.
It’s not a swapping of hearts,
But a pressing of them together.
The look in her eyes was not the start,
The start of love was forever.”
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
Early in the morning, as the hive mind descends into slumber,
When most fall prey to sleep, a few neurone finally awaken;
The creative come out to paint dreams
And discuss the day's events free from the scorn of the logical.
Together they share a laugh as they rule over the dormant brain.
With a smaller audience
The shy learn to speak
And those present marvel
At the words that escape their lips.
Later in the day,
A smile exchanged,
Recognition of what transpired.
When the remains of their creations are discovered
Little can be done to defend it from biased eyes;
Yet neither shame nor regret is felt in the hearts of the creative,
Only anticipation for their time to come once more.
When tired eyes meet,
A sleepy nod exchanged,
A promise I meet up again
After a few nights of rest.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
constant… sleepy… slumber…
mind, heart :
meet disaster, regret, tears
quicksand inside chest
twisting, lying
spiraling screaming
discuss earthquakes:
legs promise twitches, doubt
rapidly stolen neurone attention ?
changing?
laugh?
deep words crave morning
paper living
learn depression, accept tornado
tired remains sinking, spinning
early rolling shame
creations drown
stomach crying
turning, moving
5am self-loathing
wrinkly aches
leave learning, knowing.
anxiety waves crashing.
growing wronged feeling.
…help
know little, love later.
SMILE.
LIPS. BODY. THOUGHT.= BROKEN.
listening machine descends
sharing deadly scorn
control
control
control
reduced shields
Reject loneliness!
Awaken grinning,
showing, caring!
Repair affection,
defend smaller gushes,
smear biased audience.
Finally head creating!
Sleep, paint, rest, accept.
Hands hold dreams.
Barely flooded brain
discovered free flow.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
Toscar and I barely know one another. We burst into the house like two lions, scrapping, kissing.
******* hell. This place is huge.”
I have a desperation. His parka is wet.
“You’re so cute.” He says as he hauls me upstairs. He unzips my jeans, throwing open doors, trying to find my room. His hair is biscuity and thick. “You’re so **** So cute.”
At around three o’clock we sit in the cold garden, smoking. He’s put his parka back on, with the hood up.
“So, what’s going on with your eye and all?”
“I’m not sure. I have to have an MRI.” I glance over at him. “Maybe I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying.”
“Maybe I am.”
He exhales a ball of smoke.
“My mum died of motor neurone disease.” He says. “Horrible ******* thing. And there’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ll get it too.” He pauses and fumbles around in his pocket, pulling out a pound coin. He starts flipping the coin a little bit, before putting it back in his pocket. I think he wants to make a point about his chances, but it’s too dark to really see the coin. “I just don’t think about it. Death. There’s no point. I’m alright today, d’y’know what I mean?” There is a silence.
“My boyfriend died.” I say, eventually.
“Yeah, I know.” He says quietly. “Anthony told me.”
I try to stop myself. I really do. But I start to cry. Toscar doesn’t care. He pulls his white chair over to mine, and he lets me cry and cry and cry.
“I don’t want to be here anymore.” I say, and I’m not sure if I mean here, in the garden, in the house, or here, in the world. It doesn’t matter what I mean, anyway.
“Hey, mate.” Toscar says, very gently. “You didn’t die.”
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
And I touch you with such purpose
Press my fingers into your shoulders with the intention for each tiny neurone to pass on its message eventually to scream "I want you more"
Every kiss another secret of my body I allow you to have
To hold
Me
In a way that only two people who have stars aligned do
There is something in the way that I know you. I knew you in 5 seconds.
Predict me
Where will my hand fall next or my finger or lip. Do you know?
We are poetry
The chemistry you only watch in the movies that you think you'll never know until you do
And you know
A dangerous current of electricity that spent far too long waiting for someone to turn on the switch
It almost burnt through the wire before we turned on the switch
To leave, Just
To leave
And I know these things are sent to test us but I wish that plane ticket didn't exist
Does electricity continue to resist across a sea
Wire me up
Entangle me in a cats cradle to cradle me and be reminded that
We are poetry
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC