"refurbishment" poems
"looking at the future of your creation...
when creation is the art of being in the moment"
~program notes from the Grand Finale, a dance by Hofesh Schecter, choreographer, composer~
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*as one who makes their living, affirms their existence,
by staring at the blue-white screen,
a blank black backdrop, an empty stage,
a blue lined spiral-notebook, stationary store fresh
thinking only of the inky black commandment of
what next -
a contradiction comprehended with perfect understanding,
for the composition unborn unimagined yet
shaping, chafing, child birthing, will be seeded thru
many tiny moments of webbed connected secretions,
imaging the whole, yet the future arrives serialized as drops,
slow and singular, additive and adhering, even addicting
throw them all up to the ceiling tableau,
a letter, a note, a visionary imagery
of many dancers bodies
in photo time-lapse time captured
what sticks, what returns, the returns
needy of refurbishment, a fresh dice throw,
the retrofitting of a new combination moment
thus the future forms, the wet moments fill the crystal glass,
spilling over, spilling out from within, when all spent,
all the next moments are silent, water stilling,
le futur est arrivé,
but the individuals that are its construct,
wave friendly to you, asking do you remember me,
tenderly, parentally, I concede to each their birthright,
how they transversed from the past,
presented into the future, only to arrive in
the here and now,*
as a present to us all
11/11/17 8:55am
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 2:13 PM UTC
The pain was too hard to take and I lost my way
For the only outcome I want, that I ever wanted, is the refurbishment of the foundations of our relationship
A renovation of our house of love
Where the sun shines in every morning and warms our souls as they are intertwined
And the walls don't give in after the inevitable first rains of tomorrow's tears
Instead, after every rainfall, we re-secure the foundations together
Finding the cracks in the walls, floors and doors and filling it with the glue of our bond
I want this house more than any other
I just hope the foundations don't fall while I'm stuck below
Trying to repair the damage that I allowed to set in
Because I had no clue what I was doing
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 8:09 AM UTC
My Vascular ***** to an Animate Object is threadbare.
This Thing is at my center, this insubstantial machine isn't connected.
So neglected, It sits. Fragile and feeble and splintered and split.
And here I will be,
Captivated again by your ameteur refurbishment. You remedy and patch.
But I know what you are. The grim orange streetlamps illuminate you.
And you devour.
And I drown and I loose my breath as I give in and I am absorbed completely.
Soggy, damp, and oh, so obsessed.
And as expected, nothing tangible remains, just a wreched spectre, a terrible being. Not an animate.
My Vascular ***** will sit and stare and will remain threadbare.
May 14, 2010
May 14, 2010 at 5:28 AM UTC
Once upon a time
You opened my mind
With ****** inter course.
Now your so deep into your flaws,
Your closed.
For refurbishment,
You heard my thoughts.
I miss you.
These issues are beyond the metaphors
Of what's mine and yours.
Behind closed doors,
I think of you
When you dismiss me so easily,
Whilst I think about how it used to be.
Buts that's a memory
And reality is mystery.
I don't know why you don't want me anymore.
I stay true.
I'll always stay true.
And hopefully,
We can be what we used to,
Someday,
Sometimes
One day.
I held my breath and died
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 9:36 PM UTC
In that moment,
I felt the god **** sky fall on my head.
I felt small.
So humbled.
the patience
the grace
echoing in my brain,
a cleansing refurbishment
of things unseen, hauntingly obscene
a belief that there is saving for my soul, wretched me.
forgive me for the things ive done
forgive me for the things ive said
for I let my demons take control of my head.
this part of me, i don't ask for returned.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 1:23 AM UTC
tell me what it is you want,
the bits that make you tick
when the doors shush shut,
the want that scurries within
like some electrical current
making your skin tickle.
tell me what you feel
when he doesn’t ring back
and the phone sleeps,
an inept white brick.
tell me. go on, your head
a knot of faulty Christmas lights
and how you wish for someone
to grab your heart (not literally)
and make a home there
or just renovate it.
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 3:49 PM UTC
Which are often spelled as doughnuts.
My confession comes next.
I thought about those donuts a lot, and wondered if it is the jam or the crispy sugar coat which is the main delight.
So guiltily thought of visiting while in Portmadog and eating one without you and then feeling the need to confess on meeting with you.
Even pushed the door yet they were closed.
The alternative was Spooners yet even there would not be the same without your company, so went to the Port and just had coffee.
Bought a pack of donuts in Tesco before catching the bus.
On return see on Social media that Spooners was closed for refurbishment anyhow.
I hope it don’t snow.
Hoping you have had a good week also, maybe with some donuts…
With all this talk of donuts, remembered Mum taking us to an ideal home exhibition at the Wiinter Gardens and she bought a metal donut implement to fry batter.
Delicious.
Note..If you are arrived in Blaenau early on Tuesday, the Model Bakery there used to/may have donuts, the heaviest I have ever eaten…
That got me through the first months on my own.
Looking up observe the doll has dusty hair.
Jan 24, 2024
Jan 24, 2024 at 12:33 AM UTC