The stream (all workshops)
If I was lightning I'd burn out Sol,
And burn both retina of you all...
...To make a planet into a star;
Churning primeval consciousness
From the depths, to way out far.
Ascend, mere embers, to furnace.
Wrenching ancient fractal plains;
Fingertips blister and scar,
And heal to pain.
A fire, pure, without bias;
Like natures ‘customed trials,
Arching light made dark suffer,
Out from Asgards mountain halls.
My father’s words re-echo
From the grave where he lay
I look for a snail in the day
Mates made good theirs at night
Separation is the knife that cuts
Loneliness trails me in the crowd
With you in thought all day long
Your cold presence chills my bone
Numbness mocked by distance
Attempted to erase my existence
From love to hate, battle declared
I can’t force you into your dislikes
For Paradise is made of brutal stuff.
But fools should strive the hopeless to attain
while Hell shall offer good men quite enough.
One’s honor is a cold, contentious bluff.
Thence, why inquire of Valhalla’s pain,
for Paradise is made of brutal stuff.
No one of us, the frail or ersatz tough
can live a life of truth to Heaven gain
while Hell shall offer good men quite enough.
A man of high regard avows with fluff,
his lies contrived to purify God’s stain,
for Paradise is made of brutal stuff.
The sky leaves it's
tattered edges
along mountain tops
Mountain tops loom over
towering trees
Towering trees cast shadows
upon the broken land
The broken land cries out
to the night skies
The night skies cloak the earth
in a burial shroud
A burial shroud for the earth
that has died
cirque
such shadow bleak
the pale cast
the dancer flight
in torch arc chase
truths leap out
and subtle
dissolution
blend
slippery like
dark sea eels
whispers of ghosts
like vellum dreams
Cauldron
slowly it began to turn
a ball of madness
sanity on the burn
violence on every page
perversions wedge
to great outrage
humanity on the edge
and open windows
mounting the ledge
to plunge into fiery hell
to demons grasp
on the sounding bell
From scripture they'd been told
would redeem them from
Hell's fire bold
where was this bright shining lord
the one the fanatics
all truly adored
I can't even lose my life, it was
never mine, someone else lived
me and gave me up before my
time.
I came undone somewhere
between the ocean and the sky;
I learned what love is when August
came, and leaves fell in September.
I came undone somewhere between
my ocean and your sky.
Everywhere I look, I am shattered, dispossessed.
Everywhere I am, I am yours.
who let a toddler paint the sky?
rub his grubby fingers
across the horizon
those fat
vienna sausages dripped in
a kindergarten palette of brightness
what are these
orange clouds
red rivers
blue hills?
a pink breeze?
has the round bellied boy
never seen the world?
with its grey blues sighing
on the green rolls its rivers
languishing in a brown repose
he excites them with
palm
smack
and giggles
smudging the sharp lines
with his pea-cocked knuckles
These discarded faded rags
Reminiscence of past struggles
Pains that once drowned me
In an ocean of nothingness
The renewed ugly condition
Brings back bitter tang of air
That once boomed in my throat
And choked my frail lungs
On a rainy day, abandoned tattered clothes
Are worn by those who discarded them
Look down O! Child of calamity
An echo from within, rocks me softly
With a little touch of amusement
As I wear the rags to clean the filth
So tranquil is our landscape,
Calm in its everest blue.
The summer moon, full in its splendour,
Keen for the watcher,
Gone apace the sprinkled dew.
Beauty few grasp to elate.
Reverent, spiritual night,
Sing silent to the heavens.
Weep with the morn', weep joy over all,
Even light can fall.
Gentle, mortal eloquence.
Godly harmonies take flight.
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