Archive | August, 2010

woman (5 Aug 2010)

27 Aug

I am not a peachy girl
don’t kiss me as such
it’s like robbing
  my tongue
of eloquent words
it’s like stealing
  my lust
and pouring the oil of it
  into some useless endeavour
it’s like sitting in bed
  half naked
  half wondering
and all this strength
is whipped away

stop looking at me
  like that
in a partial way
  semi distracted
in some other bird song
pour your soul
  into me
and I tell you, I will
  roar like you
  have never heard
show me
Show Me!

Are you strong enough?


raining (4 Aug 2010)

27 Aug

it’s raining harder
  the sky more white
  the sea near white
almost dissolved
  into the other
  and opaque
I could step out,
a small dark bird
flies out at sea
and what I thought
  was close
is actually a long way away

that feeling (4 Aug 2010)

27 Aug

as if a dream
  were needed
you wake up
  a tender certainty
pressing all around you
because you touched
the essence of your life
the oldest Love

embraces you
oh it’s too much to
  ever want to let go
it fills
  it sates
it is complete and life
  takes you away
on a journey

  to the twelve weather stations
and you’ve passed
  the usefulness of these
recordings and predictions
  you leave, still
knowing that tender touch
and a long ago voice
asks, can I join you?

‘no’ you reply
for you have outgrown
even that voice
filled with useful
advice and offering
  a short cut

you walk
  and wake
you walk and you wake
remembering that embrace
what dimension of love
is pulling you?

dancing air (3 Aug 2010)

27 Aug

soften your gaze
let it blur and hover
  in its own shadows
let the light behind
  leap forward
let movement wash away
into a glisten
a sequinned dress
  hanging on the line

allow your iris
  pins and needles on your mind
rest your heels on the floor
  stop stretching so far
gaze at the whole thing
at once
think how happy you are
and then see the air dance
like a spider web
lost to the wind

magnificence (1 Aug 2010)

27 Aug

alter me
show my original face
where I suddenly find myself


prompt me
dare me to break free
this cautious mind wants freedom

and awe

deliver me
intimate with the mundane
and into the deepness of life

and reverence

break me
  wide open
for subtlety and magnificence

yes, this is for magnificence

the billows of the mind (1 Aug 2010)

27 Aug

the billows of the mind
  and there are many

are a subtle refinement
  of all muscles

poised and holding
  speech, memory, anticipation

and the visualisation
  of this

the billowing of the organ notes
  flutter out in subtle ease

a terrace of trees
  caught in a breeze

Mediterranean washing hanging
  in the courtyard window

a bee coming to check out the pollen
  of a tiny bud, of a tiny bud

dissolving into the eyelids
  far gazing horizons

spaciousness held
  by a wafting tone.

And when has that muscle
  the organ mind and all its notes

relaxed, ever, dropped wind from sail
  dropped cargo of letters and

leftover love, risen skyward
  for the free fall tumble

everything. When has it stopped, if only
  to allow the backstage pass

on the inner most subtle workings
  to view, heels relaxing to the floor

  (finding support there)
and the best view in town

  not in the clock tower, not the cataloguers
tower, nor the ivory tower

it is immediately in front of
  closed eyelids

  the warm air at your nostrils

co-creation (20 July 2010)

27 Aug

I’m still defining co-creation and
how I want to apply it, though
to illustrate how it plays out
in daily life, it would be like
responding to your sore and stiff back
with yoga instead of a massage
or creating your own pesto
rather than buying it, in fact
co-creation encourages you
to grow your own basil,
watering it and making sure
it’s getting the prime sun.

Co-creation is participating,
an interaction, a dialog
it is walking along a street
and pretending to be
an old man with a bung hip
because the raised stones
are every second step
and when you walk on them
you land lightly on your right foot
and heavily on your left
you protrude a limp and feel
sympathy for the old woman
backing her behind onto the car seat
as if it were about to roll away.

Co-creation is accepting your own invitation
to walk out towards the sea
along the storm water pipes
and the wooden casings that
are themselves pretending to be piers
but without the boardwalk. They forgot,
or didn’t finish it, but there they are
inviting a wide groin strut
or a disgraced ambling of wet pants
between wide legs, tentatively
stepping, because confidence
creates a rash or ill-fortune.
And you reach the end but can’t
immediately turn, it’s awkward
and you can pretend you are looking
at the discarded spine ribs and pelvic bone
beneath you with some interest, is it
sheep, cow, dog? I don’t know.

But when I co-create, I can pretend I know
I can pretend I am interested
enough to hang around and
watch a surveying dog snuff its nose
into the heart of it and break
some delicate tension that held
spine and pelvis together.
I can assume an indifference
on the part of the dog, its tail
a drooping question mark
rather than an explorative exclamation;
there wasn’t even enough interest
to be jealous at my attention
or prying eyes. He leaves a loop
of tracks behind, I leave
a loop of tracks behind. That
is our dance.

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