the colour of our lives

poetry • celebration • faith • nature • humanity • imperfections • glory

Archive for the category “poem”

more of the kingdom

this Kingdom is
like prayers in
breaking voices,
rising from
the cracks of a poem

skyit is like
being surprised
by tears in the
retelling
of heroic deeds

like
a rush to the heart
in the fluid slide
of fingers
on silver strings

and a story
bursting like
an excited child
from life-
hardened lips

αΩ


Some of this was inspired by Marie Howe’s wonderful poem “Part of Eve’s Discussion“. Image © Dan Trewear.

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but, the soul

There’s a situation;
Neverman always has
a situation, but he has
no time, no appetite
for Dr Freud
and his learned progeny.

The sages dig deep, no
doubt, but the eclectic
smorgasbord of Jung
does not satisfy, nor
the dry bread of cognition.

Adler’s insight rings true,
and we all fear to drink
the cup of death, but
these things make too
much sense to be of help.

speaker-for-the-deadBut, the soul. Gestalt,
impotent, slinks to the back,
with his weary brothers.
A Presence, huge, electric,
is Leviathan on the table,
carving Himself for the feast.

Still, Neverman aches for
the gifts of Love, while
hiding, vainly, from the Lover.
Heart, torn and planted; a
scion of the tree of Life
springs from the bloody ground.

αΩ


Image from comics.ign.com. Some of the last stanza inspired by “Speaker for the Dead” by Orson Scott Card.

prodigal

Almost Once by Brett WhiteleyWe sat, listening to the simple story gripping our hearts. Grown men swallowed, blinked back, with clenched jaws and shining eyes.

How could we not weep, or dance? not sit, still and struck? not give all in colour and song, wild emotion, the blood and mess of the humans we are and the bodies of light we shall become?

Because we are safe, back in the hard but hidden hollow of our imperatives and rituals. Holy fire wavered above fearful brows. Over a few, or all, potent embers still burn.

αΩ


Image is of the sculpture ‘Almost Once‘ by Brett Whiteley, installed near the Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney, Australia

extropy

the new earth will appear, not too far

beyond imagining, and the universe will

resume its holy point of origin. science will

discover, but not care, that its laws were

correct, mostly, for the older cosmos – but

here, matter and energy spring forth from

golden streets while disorder and

chemistry’s potential cascade lose their

entropic pull, yielding helpless to the push

of heaven. a new biology, a blazing life of

fantastic and unimagined subatomics,

draws on its prime and ancient source, free

at last from the old Laws.

hover

if I lose my form
to the void • will the Spirit
soar over my face?

then again the acid

CorrodedHandit will return, of course
wheel and all its
moving parts securely
attached to its blue frame.
then, again, the acid
in the air
pocks the chain with rust and
in a rush of bile
Neverman’s bicycle blows
mojo and lightness dragged
roughly
into viscous singularity


image from metaconscious.tumblr.com

in tune

being or
not
reverberates
to
achieve resonance;
touching the divine may prove fatal

found poem

…but if you want to dumb it down to geography
“East is East, and West is West”1
it naturally oscillates
history, literature, biography, art, religion;
revolution, spreading the true
Qualities of Angels.

Energy, with a slight chance of causing moderate fire;
please stay out of here, unless
in trouble,
“thy soul with crosses and with cares”2.

Whether or not it hurts
a state of total nakedness, as at birth
engaged in a discussion about power,
cut from the trees
near the beginning
of the world.


1 From ‘The Ballad of East and West‘ by Rudyard Kipling
2 From “Mother Hubbard’s Tale” by Edmund Spenser
.


The rules:
For each line,
1. highlight the titles of successive posts on blog
2. right-click ‘search Google for “. . .” ‘
3. choose some words from the first page of search results
4. add punctuation, capitalisation as desired.
[Some of the control lost in steps 1. and 2. is regained in steps 3. and 4.]
Repeat 1.-4. until finished.

resonator

jerked from sleep by a loud name – his – urgent
stumble down the hall, into her room.
– Dad, I had a nightmare, and he lifts the weight
of her growing body into a hug.
– Want me to sleep next to you, in the spare
bed? – Yeah. – Let’s go to the toilet first. – OK.
Carry her down the hall, and back, still sleepy,
clinging.
– Want to tell me what the dream was? – Yes.
And there are good and bad lands; white-striped,
face-painted warriors milling on the far shore.
Mum is there too, defending. The narrow water
between good and evil is leapt, breached, and
none of it makes sense in a narrative way…
– Thanks for telling me … we’re going to go to
sleep now. Love you. –  Mmm.
A single rustling turn; breathing, regular, quiet.
Nothing, then a bronze-shelled insect, closer,
along a vertical wall, closer in the pale tungsten
light, and he is awake again, facing his own
demons.

postscript

years or only
minutes into a
future-spiked present
an older version of
someone with no
tears on his face
rides Neverman’s exact bicycle
angling across his
darkstep path and, in a
moment, gone

above the dark house, God
laughs. a star falls.

only

when the blue bicycle gets
lost
as
it does sometimes, Neverman walks
loosely of limb, tight
of mind. earworms:
existential, the same fat tired old
questions hacking up,
phlegmatic clichés, clouded
dullness of a demon’s
eye.

there are no con
versations only acolytes
thin, dutiful smiles on
shiny sleeves but
never hearts. fury is
in his house tonight and
god he
needs to sleep,
please, explaining
the missing bicycle. maybe
explaining
everything.

soft lonely
shoes pad, pad, head
up, stand
tall, just
in case, and never the
same path
twice, or someone may
notice, under a
perplexing sky where,
still, the meteors do
not come.

gaps

blue_bikethey all have
smart
phones and intense

powers of
deep
concentration;

worlds in their
palms,
friends on their mind

he rides a
plain
blue bicycle

picks up good
lengths
of string and wire

in case they
may
become useful


Image from seeker-of-revelation at deviantart

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