I was born, have lived and died somewhen

I was born, have lived and died somewhen
The light from my passing still travelling to the here,
Another parcel of bones and flesh that flared
And flashed on the turning stream of stars.

How is it now I see more clearly
The whole of dawn and noon and eve
At one glance, removed like some absent angel
That views the span of sleep where I briefly woke?

And laughs at the movement of shade and light
The blue sky and darkened clouds across the earth,
The sparkling fires and sparkling dew
That form and disappear?

The heavens thundered above my head,
As below my feet, and rain like bullets
Dug holes in loosened soil to find the future roots
In the muddy depths of what once was.

I cannot hold within my hand
The sliding grains and earthy liquid flow
Of present life, returning to its place
To complete this shifting landscape.

I am a transparent skin filled with watery change,
A bag of wet possibility.
I am an eye outside my head
Whose vision takes in the universe and the slow dribbling of liquid to the sea.

Only this is certain in the ebb and surge of this vast cosmic ocean:
I will be what I have been.
Will I leave faint traces of my tiny trail across it?
Will love and hope still spread from the white foam of my wake?

Drawn down to the river on an early Sunday morning

Drawn down to the river on an early Sunday morning,
I went to watch my sorrows drown,
Shoulders bent under nameless guilt or the simple piling on of life
Taking slow steps like my cousin Jesus across the sea to keep from falling in
To rain softened earth opening softened lips to suck me in.

The trees bent over me in soft lament, rustling their leaves like moistened bones
Whispering their shady incantations as they reached down their branches
To enfold me like arms of comfort for those bereaved
Pulling on the strings of my soul to lift it higher
Up to the azure deeps above my head.

But I kept from sinking in, using gravity as my lifebuoy,
As if balanced above some vast chasm of deepest blue.
The duck family floated by undisturbed by the rough waters of the river
And quickly ate the bread I threw their way,
The leftover crumbs of my unconfessed sins.

The metallic waves were stirred up by breezes
Striving to become white caps but not succeeding,
Marching in close serried ranks towards the shore
Where they thrust themselves on rocks
Like lemmings eager for destruction.

Around me was the utter quiet of a path without people
Until I stopped and turned for home.
Then they seemed to sprout from out the ground
From dragon’s teeth full blown on bicycles and roller blades.
I stepped aside to let the squads of runners pass.

I looked up and saw a single cloud between the outstretched arms of trees
Shifting its shape to become your face.
I cut the bonds that bound me to the earth and sunk upwards
To kiss the nothingness of cloud that grew to let me in.
Enveloped by the filaments of fume, I opened my eyes and saw the sun.

The rays of joy penetrated me like flaming arrows
And I was amazed that weightless as I was
Like a fire that burns and does not go out,
I was still held in this world by your image.
Beneath my feet the clouds parted to show the stars.

The double dose of living

There is the green of grass
The green of trees, light in sun and dark in shade,
The blue green of Kentucky
And the mud brown underneath
Out of which the green sucks life.

There is the deep blue of evening
And the light blue of noon
And the navy shades of twilight
Around the pink and red that swirls from
Out the golden depths of dying day.

There are the white clouds as still as stone
And the gray swirl of undulating depths
Above our heads
The dark and looming thunder heads
Out of the horizon come blowing.

There is flowing river and rapid white
The emerald sea that runs towards the shore
And deep blue lake as clear as crystal
The splatter of the rain like grapes upon the roof, the bursting
Out of running streams that rush towards the canyon.

There is the cleansing of the world
The thick congealing blood that leaks from wounds
The limpid drops that drip from eyes
The white and gray of stuff that pours from
Out the body.

There is the smile that radiates,
Evaporates like flesh into the ether.
The moment full of living and oh sweet loving
Is gone and we coalesce from blessed two
Out of air into a pair of single ones.

Alone, along the shore
Full of grief and joy in equal measure.
Hold on, hold on, my heart, to me,
Besotted by your overbrimming twain,
Addicted to the taste of sweet and salty tears.

I dreamt I was all nose sniffing at the air in search of love

I dreamt I was all nose sniffing at the air in search of love.
I smelled the crisp fruity odour of red apples and mangoes
The dripping juicy essence of berries and plums.

I walked down narrow paths strewn with cracking branches and crumbling brown leaves
The mint of evergreen pine and cedar,
The smoky draft of burning rubble and logs in fall.

I searched white covered fields that stung my nostrils with cold
The pure frozen scent of ice and water
The air empty of taste, the colour neutral.

I burst into spring and found your traces there,
The creamy yellow and white of daisies, dandelions and daffodils
The burning red of rose and the stirring up of sap as it rises in woody glens.

I tracked you here, where I hold you
Trapped in the new green grass that stirs up hunger
As if I could taste the very air.

Oh love!
There you are!
In the thick and musky violet of lilacs!

We are the grey men

We are the grey men
We are the underground men who speed from place to place
Riding the red rocket.
The grey light makes our grey skin softer, like lead,
A dull sheen dancing on our dull surface
As we watch the stops and trains rumble by.
The waspy female voice tells us
That Rosedale Station is next, Rosedale Station.
Our collective shoulders lurch to one side, then the next.
Our grey unsmiling lips purse just one bit more.
We hold our breaths and soon contract
As new sardines enter our can.
We huddle as if waiting for some giant hand to peel back the roof
Unsure if somehow by chance we will be mistaken for our grey skinned neighbour,
Whose turn it is to be taken and eaten, before we reach our destination.
The doors open and we press outward, the crowds pushing us like currents towards some uncertain fate.
We are tin men without hearts.

I climb up the stairs and burst into the living world.
The sun melts off the metal veil
I walk into the street and see people.
The two teens in baggy pants and tattoos wearing sideways hats
Strut down the street smoking cigarettes.
The two young women walk by talking about their cesarean scars,
The two men following with buggies discuss the complexities of car seats.
Two boys in helmets are riding – a bike and scooter next to their mother.
The scooter scoots and I sidestep. “Sorry,” says the mom and yells that he should stop at the corner.
The smell of fresh fruit hits me in a wave as I walk past the market.
The trees in different hues of green bend as if they are breaking in the blowing wind.
From a great height, we are random moving dots no different from those that flow under the earth.
I feel pulled by the hands of underground men to the certainty of grey
But resist by the simple act of opening my eyes and mouth.
Through which, I breathe in the floating seeds of hope.

lunacy

The silver moon hung high, alone
And poured its silver light on earth.

I strode in silver steps through black and argent streets
The empty husk of expectant waiting.

The air around was wet with wanting
An open mouth that’s moist with dripping.

From down below the blood is mounting
The ebb and flow is throbbing.

The thrum of something wild grows stronger
The constant beat of beasts in heat.

A melody of grunts and groans
A rising sigh and silent gasping.

And underneath this pulsing song
A lower voice is coming.

The snarl and snap of sharpened teeth,
The gritty growl of my thickened throat.

A sudden hunger for your voice, your love, your self.
But I am alone on a darkling road bedecked with lunar rays.

Where is my love under the waning moon, in whose arms lying?
A bitter howl tears from my wolf’s maw as it eats inside my breast.

Between then and next

Surrounded with thick walls
Built by years of living,
Failures close in like bricks, constricting breathing.

Gravity is the pull of wasted years
And love unfelt, unlost, unsaid,
A downward drag on heavy bones.

The empty vessel waits to be filled
With a bottom stretched to infinity,
Insatiable as Dracula.

The hermit in his hut yearns for light
Until the door opens
Then kicks it shut and curls up.

I prefer unsated appetites,
The familiar hunger and bitterness at loss,
Invisible chains restraining.

Nothin’ left to lose,
Is just another box
That helps find who it hurts the most to lose.

I am most loved when I have nothing left to live for.
I love the most when I give up on love
And care for what I’ve never cared for.

I never looked at birds or flowers
Colours were all gray
And I just rolled down the years like a wheel.

Eyes and ears freed by death
Have never been so much alive
The open maw of soul never so searching.

I am stretched taut like a hide
Between the reckless dare of being
And the quiet downward slope to where I’m heading.

On the edge of the blade
I make no choices.
I sit and wait for the upward cut.

Adventure in a dark forest

The dark giant trees cut off the sun.

The stream ran by in a gully, now small as a puddle, now wide as creek.

We climbed pieces of old forest that lay across our path.

Thick fallen trunks stuck intricate roots emmeshed in soil into the air

And reached the other side.

We were like children in an ancient decrepit garden

Stepping gaily up the path.

Skirting mud, we made our way beneath the rusted girders of the bridge,

The solid cement legs now crumbling in the moistened air,

The distant trestle quiet, waiting for a train.

We held hands to ward off evil spirits

And boldly went towards the far off lights,

The slopes on either side now looming

An unnamed threat of falling earth and sliding stones,

The menace of the blackened cliffs.

And then we gasped to see

The skeleton of a prehistoric beast athwart a blasted pine,

The smooth white skull and lightless socket for the eye

That was not there, yet transfixed us with its stare,

As if the tree had peeled to show the creature at its core.

As if the trees are hiding bones from dinosaurs

Within their wood,

Which emerge as the trees themselves just rot away,

Leaving bleached remains of animals

From a world so old where even we were young.

We turned back

The apparition standing there had warned us off.

We turned around and strolled to where the path began.

Behind, the valley narrowed towards a point we did not reach.

Before, it opened to a plain in grass, a broad expanse beneath the sky.

In open air, our breath returned

The heavy humid load that lay upon our heads was lifted.

One last slope remained, the shifting soil of shale and crumbling rock

Uncertain floor at each and every step,

The risk and thrill of falling.

The lidless eye within our minds, we joined our hands.

Like birds or angels, we strode forward onto gray clouds

And fell to earth like bliss.

The birds flew in circles round our heads.

We lay full of life on the ground, looking up, and smiled.

I have filmed you standing straight on bikini beaches

I have filmed you standing straight on bikini beaches
Slender as an arrow through my heart
And watched you bend to kiss the one you love,
The tender touch of lip to cheek.

I have seen you hit by trucks
And rise to catch a falling child in each hand.
You have lifted aged bones above sharp rocks
And placed the frail on waiting pillows.

The view screen shows
That years have softened the edges of your penetrating gaze with spectacles
While you still, mysterious medusa,
Can turn my strength to mush.

I shot pictures of your smile
Engraved inside my skull where I see it when I close my eyes.
I have observed you living through telescopic lenses from great distances
And for years have held your hand without touching any skin.

And if I had arms that could stretch that far
I would bring you here from throughout your ages,
And lose myself in all your landscape:
The camera lies abandoned on the floor.

I hand you a bouquet of flowers red with flame

I hand you a bouquet of flowers red with flame
Yet unconsumed.
Pushing out their petals to be kissed by your lips,
Sending out their odour like a message.

Open up these blooms and look into their depths
Drink up their heady wine like blood,
Drawn from within my chest
Where this bouquet has roots.

Place each one into a vase
That receives them like a mouth that purses
Like a vessel that waits to be filled
With the sharp pain of thorns that cut through water.

I lie before you like a planter
Bone and breast and breath,
Waiting for the squeezed juice of roses
To drop from your pink tongue.

The hair on my naked chest rises like charmed snakes
In anticipation of the slender tip of clear liquid,
The red colour now absorbed and spreading
In your neck and face.

You are a burning bouquet of roses
That I unwrap and savour.
Your smile dissolves me like ice in a fire
Until I cannot find my borders.

We are the fluid flow of you and me and flowers in spring.