31st May 2007

Caffeine sweats and fevered imagination
Of a future not at the mercy of
The universe’s diminutive legislation
Subject to eternal vigilance
His pound of flesh, of self,
In exchange for fleshy gross returns, nightly
Is gladly given.

Pulse Pushes Blood
To its natural destinations
Enriching and depriving
Rushing through his extremities
To ebb ashamedly back.

Stimulants External and cognitive
Live together in the senses
Blood Pulse pushing ideas
Through his skin
Flooding out to give flesh life.

Poem (Written small hours of May 5th 2007)

A coming of age
No rituals
As far as we could see
Just gifts and tension
Anxiety and the largest small talk
Orbiting what rests snugly below
Rotating
And gently revealing itself through reflected
Luminescence
Your presence
Permanently tattoos the field

Paradigms are shifted
Belief Systems fall
The tattoo remains
Branded on our imprinted letterhead
Scorched onto our psyche
Stitched into the uniform of my grey matter

Bright, jagged
Kinetic energy purporting to stay static
The gesture emphatic
Majesterially splendid
And yet so modest in their
Lack of malice
No rituals
But raise a chalice
Raise a gourd
Break a barrel
Break Bread and grow

Another one (Sometime in Early February 2007)

Wallow in fantasy
Of precipitating confrontation
Bringin tension to a head
And leaking out the barely kept secret
Of my admiration
You are extraordinary
And were it simple it would be so
That I would show you
Just how I want to explore you
Beautiful simplicity
Reveals itself when least expected to reassert
Beautiful you.

Poem (Written small hours of May 13th 2007)

Beacons shine and sirens call
From Polished Minarets in muted off white hues
People shaped lies with children within
We congregate at the devotional call
Facing the universe with calmed smiles, damp hands
Shielding dagger rocks from approaching students

Dirty surf wets our ankles, feet flat on damp carpet
In a room with the door wide open
self-serving minutes in the name of higher learning
Dervish turning through the smallest hours
Touched by something truly divine
Head heavy clawing through fog
To martyr self on those daggers
Providing safe passage for unassuming prophets

Experience is inherently inclusive

Thinking is inherently exclusive. Experience, which comes before thinking, is inherently inclusive. Experience is complex consciousness of being, of self, co-existing with all the non-self.

Re-experienced consciousness is re-cognition. Recognitions generate identifications. Re-cognition of within self rhythms, of heart beatings or other identities, generate a matrix continuum of time consciousness upon which, like blank music lines, are superimposed all the observances by self of the non-self occurrences.

Experience is inherently discontinuous and islanded and each special experience represents a complex of generalized principles operative in special or limited size modulated realization.

Experience is finite; it can be stored, studied, directed; it can be turned, with conscious effort to human advantage. (This means that) evolution pivots on the conscious, selective use of cumulative human experience.
Universe is the coordinate integral of all experience."

Poem (written approx Feburary 2007)

I can see the convergence
Could it be inevitable that our paths,
Held at arms lentgh for so long and
Bridged by loans of culture
Will become one forward road?

Depressed by city realities;
Yours lifelong, mine adopted,
Cynical romantics with a hopeful eye
But what disillusion will result
After we lose delight in learning one another
Those curves, gaps and dead ends,
So fresh at first to explore?

What happens when all we see in one another's bare fleshy
Frames are familiar cul-de-sacs?

Poem (written autumn 2006)

There he stands
In thrall to objects beyond him
But not his imagination
The boy who couldn’t invent the courage to be a failure
Couldn’t hold the romance in his embrace
To create
So now his gaze follows satellites
In the ascendant and
By their light
Searches for tragic portals to youth and fear