Self-Portrait Of Burdens (2012)

Music & Sound

Sonny

Sonny

The world was ours, Sonny.

All we kept from our families...

the smiles atop your faker’s face...

those miles we walked at acid’s pace...

And the way the moon was pliable...

how the strings above were viable!

In the snow globe, once living...

like two fish, just swimming...

You were growing the greenery

when green was my scenery.

That sharp taste and that sour spit,

forgave and forgot for another hit.

I marvel at how the world turns,

now at our two different paces.

I am here; you are there,

now we’re lost in all the faces.

The world was ours, Sonny,

back when we were family. 

A high smile’s sheen is always bright,

soon we’ll walk miles toward the light.

The Level

The Level

When I was under control

I was close-minded and weak

I finally let myself go

I found the true power

The rules were made

Like bricks being laid

In the road, in the wall

The lie made for us all

Exorcise your soul

Sterilize the brain

Escape the media

Come to my level

When I was under the bridge

I was hopeful and hungry

I finally ate the skin

I’d found under my nails

Limits were stretched

As the rules were etched

In the road, in the wall

The lie laid for us all

Exorcise your soul

Sterilize the brain

Escape the media

Come to my level

The next level

Free Spirits

Free Spirits

And I found his eye at the harbour,

wandering from a book to my own.

The Romance of his skin and tongue,

all but a question of his tone.

But beneath his beard was mystery,

and beyond the sea, a new day.

Though the flames of desire burnt me,

the heat could not keep us at bay.

And as the smoke curled around his body,

I was caught in that winsome gaze.

Concerned words, a flash, a warning,

I heard, I saw him through the blaze.

But the new lands prompted adventure,

and the last cinders cooled to stone.

We conversed deeper than every loch,

but our free spirits still chose to roam.

And I swore to remember this man;

such is the burden of desperation!

We wore pink triangles on our back,

now resting, apart, in two quiet nations.

All The Same

All The Same

I forget the kindness of the man,

like the scar trailing down my back. 

Still, I find the face I want for him,

dipped in tar, desires of black.

I conjure my inner amorist,

roused by a tender gaze.

His blood is cold and barren,

mine, his, all the same.

I recall the strangers who’ve met me,

residing in the nights undefined.

I am caught in the shadow of others,

the dark bell chime, toll a lifeline.

I mute my inner companion,

sleepy; he never came.

His flesh is cool and clammy,

mine, his, all the same.

I conjure my inner amorist,

roused by a tender gaze.

The bell toll, cold and barren,

a poor reminder of my fate.

Desperado

Desperado

This is the season to feel full.

The sky falls at once upon a time;

where paths unfurl like pieces of twine.

I follow the crumbs along the ground,

a road where twine has never unwound.

Dirty lust poured out of my mouth.

I was primal, I was vacant inside.

And he was planted in bad judgment!

He sprouted, spoiled, my guilt was wide.

I’m a victim of desire’s tether,

a criminal, some desperado.

In my vision, that black fire weather,
those animals, sad desperadoes.

Paki play play again?

Paki play no!

Paki say say again?

Paki say no!

When I see it outside,

the tall mountain overlooking,

all my luck and my troubles

fog the view of everything.

But she had a nice song, darling!

Wasn’t she the mother to our James?

And wasn’t it just like that, darling,

how she melted into flesh and names?

Mummy play play again?

Mummy play no!

Mummy stay stay again? 

Mummy stay no!

Poetry from 2013

07/10/13

Here are five poems that I wrote from January – June 2013. The themes include politics, love, intimacy, denial, growing up and relationships.

Bait

The east and west debate.


The plight caused by Mother

will see you used as bait,

from one to the other.

To get out of this state,

to get out of this cell,

the fires burden your fate,

burning brighter than Hell.

The east and west, sedate.


Don’t forget your brother!

You are bait for the state,

by the faults of Mother.

To get you out this late,

to break out of this shell,

each sight and sound of hate,

burn them brighter than Hell.

Greece

I see the child in you

We were baking in the sun

Hot stone and a deity

One gaze of the star

You wrapped over me

As the shadows were growing

On that freezing night

You carved marks in my belly

Nimble as monkeys

I wove you new skin

Could you throw me an arrow

I, of the unknown


Transience looms heavy

We, smoothened by the rough

Scoop up the honeycomb

Think muscles and bones

Could you hold all the pebbles

Extracting from blood

I return to sunlight

But you must stay young

Refractory

Deep in the refractory,

you were thick as a forest

and wet as the dew

that collects on the tip

of the few who lie gentle.

So, gentle are the few

made wetter by the dew

from the same mouth fueling fires.

Yet, sodden is the skin

but deeper lies the sin

drawn from the well of desires.

Deep in the refractory,

grew the fields and the meadows

and green was the blood

that collects on the tip

of the mud caking on my grin.

Those glances spinning gold

though our lives are growing old,

recall that same comfort at midnight.

You were open as the petals,

flower stretch around the metal

that fence, those barbs, that might.

Self-Cognition

The simple cares of a woman

with love deep as the bones.

It’s something to remember

as she slips you off her toes.




You wish for the thick sleep,

though you will never return

to that vacuum whence you came

with the mumbling hums inside.

You were baking in the oven

long, long before you knew

all that space between the bosoms

and those sour teats you’d reject.

You woke up at midnight,

with hot piss on your sheets

and the quiet of the house.

Not one woman on your mind.

As your time here slips away,

you wasted precious seconds.

Every time you dream, alone,

never a woman on your mind.

Sadly, you’ll always remember swimming in the lake,

such rich, deep darkness lurking in the waters.

Sadly, you’ll always remember the stains of the knuckles

and the teeth from the mouth that should have swallowed.

Son

I carry my son against me

Clutched, close, bosom

I feel his heart beating

Loved, life, throbbing

I’ve kept some time for him

Allocated hours of the day

I’ve kept some time for him

I love the hours of the day

Keep an eye on

Leave it open

Keep an eye on

My son, I carry against me

Bosom, clutched, close

His heart, I feel beating

Throbbing, life, loved

I’ve kept some time for him

Allocated hours of the day

I’ve kept some time for him

All of the hours of the day

Keep an eye on

Leave it open

Keep an eye on

Somerfield

07/10/13

Here are two poems that I wrote in May 2013. They explore some of my experiences as a child at my (old) family home over the course of my life. The poems are very much connected, tangled by the vines and roots of the back garden. A part of me is still tangled there too, caught in my childhood and refusing to accept the present. The inevitability of change is sometimes too overwhelming.

Q&A

Please excuse me as I mourn

the trees felled by my mother.

Meanwhile the grass is torn

by the absence of my brother.

My family is a flower garden

whose existence is long forgotten.

I’m a glass bottle with a cork in,

that set sail across the ocean.

My family is a flower garden,

though the beds are bare and barren.

All those who have remained there

wilted in lonely pairings.

Please excuse me as I mourn them,

my overturned, spoiled blossoms.

The very seed of my forebears

dried up, died over the years.

I remember ma on the mountain,

a quick quake exhumed the earth.

All the layers caught underneath her;

were black dirt spoiling the turf.

The chain’s choking, chain-smoking

in the land of the third eye.

The just joking, just toking

in the land of the dead and dry.

Some bridges will lead you over

to where trees and flowers grow tall.

Since the present’s held over a candle

leave the memory on the wall.

Since the future’s an elm’s shadow

leave the old candle in the hall.

Since the future’s an elm’s shadow,

you’ll be the best of them all.

Well, the beans are scattered everywhere,

sprouting the stalk of an eerie dream.

It was I, baptized by nature,

that somehow slipped out in between.

Please excuse me as I mourn

the trees felled by my mother.

Meanwhile my heart is torn

by the absence of my brother.

Will I walk the length of the bridge,

or will I stand where my feet burn?

Will I hold my book to a candle,

or will the pages be willed to turn?

Cold

When the vines arched over us,

and the plums stained our toes,

I heard the swelling inside you

as we lay in the earth.

You were a mother that day,

though all the children had strayed.

But now whenever I lay,

I hear a cold, grey voice say:

“Two, but never three,”

my grandmother to me.

“Two,” though I’d’ve three.

My grandmother let me.

All your hunger pains grew,

into a tumour or two.

I heard the empty house cry,

and saw the fish pond turn dry.

The very source of your love,

was where you placed me above.

Warmest womb of them all,

I hear a cold, grey voice call:

“Two, but never three,”

my grandmother to me.

“Two,” though I’d’ve three;

my grandmother let me.

The first shock like a quake;

still we tremor and shake.

Sometimes a loss can’t be just,

but in that grey voice I trust:

“Two, but never three,”

my grandmother to me.

“Two,” though I’d’ve three;

my grandmother let me.

“Two, but never three,”

alternate memory.

“Two,” though I’d’ve three;

did my grandmother see?