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The Tidal Surge

 

 

From an unofficial sound within

Perpetual motion of recurring dream

Where nothing make sense without that a…

Pause

And all the while

While overplayed as forever is

I was noticed travelling hazardously

On a tidal surge

Leaping frantically

From debris to ever flaking debris

As to be floating somewhere still.

It was endless

And then it was a sunset morning

With no time to kill.

 

 

The Ditch and the Den

The repetitive patterns in the winter leaves made Clarke feel like he was playing on a carpet; from a once forgotten lounge.
Swallowed by the forest, the air felt milder; an invisible, unscented smoke hovered high above the refrigerated mince of woodland soil.
On the ‘Otherside’ (from beyond the ditch) were perfect branches and twigs a plenty; perfect for finishing the greatest den.

Clarke jumped into the ditch whole-heartedly, a ditch created by the landing of a clumsy giants arm, and he disappeared toe to head in the deepest, softest patch of leaves imaginable.

Miraculously, Clarke discovered he was on the ‘otherside’. Standing there, looking on at his parents; they seemed statuesque in their mid stretch and bend to collect their woody additions.

‘Mum… Dad?’ He called out to them nervously. 

They couldn’t hear him or see him, for they may as well of been painted on canvas and hung as stillife in a hallway.

Clarke panicked, and jumped into the very same patch of leaves.

Relief immediately surged through Clarke’s small frame… He felt he was somewhere safe after all. Clarke ran like a bouncing, rolling jack to his parents who continued to forage with renewed vigor.

Night (darker, longer)

Dark hoto of the sky at night

 

Deep in the night

You’re living your life lonely

Strung out before the dawn

Standing in the lounge

Silent

Motionless

Dumb

Rush blended

On palette

Many shades of night

Exhausted by being awake

And self-consciously

More awake than ever necessary

Overcome by the nocturnal

But sleep is somewhere

Someplace

Misplaced

Lone

Temporarily in common with

You

 

I’m Not Bitter But…

While some of us are thinking about it, some are actually doing it, and those who are doing it are usually telling me all about it. By all accounts, there great at it too! And feeling greater about it, every… single… day!

Honestly, I’m over the moon for you, I truly am… warms my cockles… no end. But, In my thinking… and trust me I’ve had the time too (about what it is you’re great at doing), I have got to say, that I’ve decided I would be so much… much, better than you! Even if I wanted to do it, but I don’t even need to, (I’m actually laughing in my mind), I haven’t even thought to try it… unbelievable!

So, just in case you’re thinking about telling me all about it… again! Don’t bother because I won’t be listening from now on, I’ll just be… thinking about… me! Maybe not trying it, deciding not to do it… again!

Thanks for listening.

Daphne Slowly Drying (In Her New Rain)

Daphne’s rain was immense and abnormal; weather so adverse that individual drops of water (the size of one of her own fists) exploded mercilessly upon contact with her petite frame; her shoulders sharp; set to be coat-hanging for a lifetime.

Then at a moment; when her dry humour was her only shelter, she decided she would stand, waiting, slowly drying in her new rain; showing loyalty even beyond her understanding.

Firesky!

At an aggressive speed

I was losing my way

I was feeling so alive

Seeing what could never be

The atmosphere burned red

And so I thought of what will be

…from now on

I noticed then what I never see

Chrome slithering roads and bloodied sky

With all moistures weeping in blue

Rolling, cruising, endless

On and over flattening mountains

This is what I’m telling you

Those slow buildings in green

I’ve finally found out what I almost lost

And sensed what I had never seen

All around while dissolving out

Through and into the Firesky!

 

 

 

New Old Woodlandia

 

IMG_1946

Earlier, you found yourself at an edge of woodland; you stood at its beginning or its end, you couldn’t begin to tell.

Impatiently, the trees blurred together, all around you, trees branches holding others that spun ever wilder, entwining into an eye-shattering carousel.

In the loop, you do not know or fear the time it takes for the motion to slow, winding down, tired, the branches let go, clumsily flicking leaves at each other,  like young children; engaged in dance, then distracted, but always pure and in play.

You, look around you with your peripheral vision desensitised, you were somewhere else, just left of wherever’s’ centre; you could breathe deeply, consistently as one; with a carpet of mimicking leaves.

Now, feeling so spongy underfoot, you’re subtly falling and rising, falling and rising in exact time with your steady pulse; you were now at the heart of everything.