Sacred Harmonies
Sacred harmonies…
Sunday was lonely…
So the bike and I
Took a freedom ride…
To Chewton…
A folk festival there…
(Chewton is some blurry place near Castlemaine…
A place God started to build some 150 years ago…
And never got around to finishing…)
I was walking…or rather wandering…
And this bloke came up to me…
And we started talking…
He was the most ordinary looking bloke you would ever meet…
But somewhere…down deep…was a songwriter…
A guitarist…
A musician…
I told him I like guitars…
So he invited me to where he was camping…
And produced a couple of guitars…
And we played music…
And this was about 11 in the morning…
And the music played on…
And on…
All these people came round…
And it played till 11 in the dark of night…
The bestest of days…
This guy was fantastic…
His name is John A…
So stuffed in the mind though…
He is bi-polar…
This is the first sacred Sunday he has had in 40 years…
Says he spent the last 12 months
Trying to build the courage
To blast his brains away…
With a shotgun…
But Sunday gave him a new reason to think
It might be a bad idea…
So long
So long
I see the fog through the trees
Whistling in the breeze
I’m falling to my knees
Have I succumbed?
Life draining through my eyes
His,
Seeping through my veins
Lost in the clouds
Making their signs on the open board of the sky
Time is a distant place
Down here
There’s either too much
Or lack there of
They say Time is our friend
So, why is it running away?
I’m not seeing clearer
Through the fog
The Scary Thing Is…
The scary thing is…
The scary thing is
I don’t cry at the thought of not being,
It’s this state of being that scares me
Being alone, not so much without
The scary thing is
That the diluted illusion
Of some sort of an auspicious existence with you
Now a fading memory
Of what was,
That now may not be.
The scary thing is
All that I thought of you
That was me
Is now a stranger
Does this make me a stranger?
When I look in the mirror
Is it me that I see?
Or a reflection, a mere image of someone that I used to see
That I used to know
She smiles back
But I’m not smiling.
The scary thing is
The nightmares of you disappearing into the still of the night
Are now the calmer of my vivid reveries,
I’m just waiting now
Watching your shadow blur into the darkness
I’m just waiting now
The scary thing is
If you didn’t return from that which pulls you away
My eyes would remain as dry as they were
When they watched you go
Why?
Where have the emotions of my eyes gone?
The scary thing is that
When faced with this thought
I don’t turn and run the other way
Nor do I run towards the shadow
That now mocks me
I’m just standing here
Waiting
For what?
The scary thing is
My heart doesn’t beat twice as fast
As it did when my eyes first caught glimpse of you
The gleam of my eyes that flourished with happiness
Has dimmed down since then
The wick of the candle lit torch
That burned through the stone which guarded my heart
Now flickers with shame and dismay
Tired of waiting, shining
For a day, a moment
That may never come.
The scary thing is
In knowing all of this
Accepting the truths
The lies
The secrets
Both are scarred
Both are tainted
Both are watching the shadows in the distance
Not knowing whether they’re coming to or from
Both not caring
The shadows only grow as large as my flame allows it to.
She burns ever so bright now
Why?
I see you now
But I don’t see you
I’m listening to you now
But I don’t hear you
It doesn’t scare me anymore
Not knowing,
Whether tomorrow you’ll be laying here
With me
As you are today
Maybe that’s the scary thing.
Separated Fox
So, the fox got separated from his mate.
He’d been so used to her being there,
That he’d just assumed that she’d always be there,
Somewhere round about,
Rooting in the woods,
Having her own daily adventures,
But never too far away,
And always easy to find.
It took a while,
For him to realize that she wasn’t about to emerge from the undergrowth,
Like she’d done so many times before.
He waited and waited,
Until well past dark.
But still no sign.
When it was fully dark,
And the stars had started to twinkle in the ebony sky,
He made a decision;
He would look for her in the dark wood.
Now, he wasn’t a stupid fox,
Not by any means,
And he knew what a treacherous place the wood at night could be.
It’s just that he couldn’t face life without her,
And would risk anything,
To find her again.
But he couldn’t find her,
And all he managed to do was get himself lost as well.
That’s when things got really tough.
Alone and afraid,
The fox got more and more tangled up in the dark wood.
His spirit sank,
And loneliness gripped his heart.
His cunning and guile left him,
His once beautiful brown and white coat now tatty and mud stained.
He lay down and cried.
And that’s when things got even tougher.
His sobbing attracted a wolf.
A great dark beast that you find in fairytales,
Ravenous,
Long sharp teeth,
And breath that paralyzed.
Poor little fox,
He was too tired to run,
And part of him hoped that the wolf would end his misery.
The wolf glowered over him,
Its green eyes burning in the darkness,
Its drooling maw inches from his trembling frame.
He felt its teeth sink into the back of his neck,
And it started to shake him like a doll.
It tossed him into the air,
Caught him again,
And shook him some more.
The wolf, of course, was enjoying itself,
The way that killer whales enjoy playing with seals,
And it rampaged through the wood tearing at the poor little fox.
But fate hadn’t done with the fox yet,
And in its own twisted way,
Intervened.
The flesh at the fox’s neck had become torn and weak.
As the great dark wolf shook the fox,
For what would have been the final time before the kill,
The skin and flesh gave way,
And the fox flew through the air out of the wolfs clutches.
He span through the night sky,
Blood pouring from the wound,
His body limp and broken.
Nearly dead.
But fate still wasn’t done with the poor little fox,
For in its rampage,
The wolf had taken the fox to the edge of the wood.
The fox landed in the road,
And was alive enough,
To see the headlights of the on rushing car,
Just before it hit him.
Blackness
Blackness, and then dreams.
He’d been a lucky fox after all.
The driver of the car was a vet.
Through long and difficult weeks
She nursed him back to life.
It was touch and go,
And three times he nearly died.
He had some permanent injuries,
She’d had to sew his skull back together,
And he’d broken many bones,
Some of which could not be set straight again.
But this was as nothing compared to the pain in his heart.
For he could not live without his mate.
When his strength returned,
As much as it ever would,
The fox brought the vet a chicken,
By way of thanks,
And limped off back into the wood to look for his mate.
After Crucifixion
It felt strange, not to be on the cross anymore.
Odd to look at the holes in his hands and feet,
And feel the wound under his heart.
He took up where he had left off,
Before he had been stretched and nailed,
Moving through the ordinary and mundane,
In numbed silence.
Occasionally he would remember the pain.
Out shopping he heard a song about Loves’ defeat,
And had to fight back the tears whilst buying cat food.
Watching TV brought its own tribulations,
And he could never tell,
When a picture or sound would open up his heart
And remind him of the trouble and strife.
Sometimes he found himself wishing he could rewind,
To the days before the scourging and breaking,
Before Parting and its cost.
But he knew that this could never be.
The torment had changed him forever.
Though in the secret chamber of his heart,
Hidden from even himself,
Desire and longing still dwelt.
And though he would never admit it,
He would endure a thousand nights on the cross
For a smile and a kiss.
Limbo
Coffee and endless fags
Twenty four hour news
Silent telephones
Thinking about when to draw the curtains
Books and computers
Junk mail
Not being bothered to eat
Awake all night
Listening for the door
Wondering if you’re in her thoughts
Frightened that she might hate you
Regretting all your foolishness
Cursing your malfunctioning soul
Not knowing what to say
Unable to put things right
Trying not to care
But caring more than words can show
Writing unread poems
Like two ships on a becalmed ocean,
Waiting for the wind and tide,
To take them to shore,
Or into separate and uncharted waters
your words
your words
breathe life onto the page
you speak
more beauty with your pen
than God
spoke in all of creation
give thanks
for the Lord is good
and gave
you the words to speak
and gave
you a pen to speak them with
your thoughts
are a masterpiece waiting to
be written
let it be written
Climbing Out of the Hole
It’s a long way to the top.
It’ll take a while,
But you’ll get there in the end.
You broke some bones when you fell in.
The’re never going to be set straight again,
And you’ll walk with a limp from now on.
Your fingers won’t be able to touch anyone.
You won’t be able to speak,
And Harpies will scream in your ears.
No one will ever understand you.
You will go blind and insane.
Eventually, you will die alone and afraid.
It’s a long way to the top
Song of the Hopeless
Another night
Another only single living kind of
solitary night
I lie alone
I add another scribbled line into
this silly book
And you are there
You sleep so peacefully at rest
but you’re so far away
Not really far
But it could be a million miles if I don’t
hear your voice
You didn’t call
If you just knew how much I wanted to
pick up the phone
I didn’t dare
I didn’t know how you were feeling
if you’d want me to
Okay, I’ll sleep
I’ll dream about you in your little room
and then I’ll smile
Cause in my dreams
You want me every single bit as much as
I want you
Now listen well
I’ll only whisper to you now so you
don’t run away
I love you dear
Now it’s been said and I can finally
lay my head to rest
Naked Truth
We always remember and cherish the days of gold,
Forgetting the far-cries and colossal chaos at the door,
To steer the life from cold winds and shivering facts of present,
We believe we are not puppets at the hands of god.
Projecting ourselves as truth; protecting ourselves from truth,
We are so busy,
Covering the monster within with a thin veil of excuses so many,
And for a life less orinary who is to raise a question,
We would laugh so loud that his voice is nowhere to be heard.
So how come did this metamorphosis happen to change the very way?,
See now!, every body behaves as exorcist to make the truth fade away,
Hatred, greed, lust, who’s heard of it to believe,
That they were part of seven deadly sins; to be considered assets today.
This is what I have to say, I had passion for my sanctuary,
My sanctuary is my thoughts, my quotes, my ideals, which had a problem,
The problem is being true to the core, which is a disease for society,
Now!, I need self-exile, people say quarantine, but the fact tells the story of……
Shattered dreams.
once mortal.
