Tag: poem

From the archive: I did sing to you, dreams

I did sing to you, your dreams (long)
As the moon did shine upon us
Come hither, to the grove
Deep inside the big Forrest

I did sing to you, your dreams
I did sing to you, your dreams

You did sleep upon the leaves of autumn
And woke upon springs first rain
The fires of summer did come again!

And thats how we met,
In time again and times that pass
We meet again, and then we part

Four of us will meet again,
Four of us when sleep began

I did sing to you, your dreams
I did sing to you, your dreams

Well meet again and meet to part
Feet will take to the path
March upon the winters ground

And thats how we met,
In time again and times that pass
We meet again, and then we part
and then we part…

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Mysterious Caribina

A rock face looks at the sunset beach

As I climb towards your love

Each place to hold my hands, to drop would be certain death

Breath, and hold me tight upon this country facing jade

My cave heart, it’s gentle beating heard from eagles to insects wings

I reach you, up upon this place we always meet and love

Gently as the other moons rise and deep into the night

Our love is beyond the reach of anyone with spite

Scared leaves, shaking

(to the tune of Creep by Radiohead)

I can’t hear you breathing. I can’t hear my thoughts. I am close to panic. It’s all out of sorts. The poison on the water, and flames in the sky. A crane hanging dangerously, one day it will fly.

I can’t hear my heartbeat. I can’t hear your sigh. Square cogs in my engine. The hell of reality, the heaven of the night. A sunset of a civiliation, one day it will die.

It’s all a dream. A horrible nightmare. Tell me I’m going to wake soon. Tell me I’ve already died! It’s just to much to bear. This ignores all the facts. We aren’t the only ones here, but we will take them with us when we go. Go. Go. On.

Milk hogs

”40” posted the hog, his snout elongated and sniffly

Nursing a cold like a new witch nurse’s a baby familiar

He looked at his accounting books from the milk crate factory

Beeswax slipped slowly down the morning milkshake

Shining yellow wattle light upon the poster on the wall

His old friend’s monkey and fox, and him, and the band they used to play in

Monkey had what? Gone to be a chef at that restaurant, in where? the London grotto?

Fox was Vixen now and made silk scarves and could she still forge the fakes?

Back to it, working, in the old accounting books, no cooking these he thought, taking a sip and trying not to sneeze

Clean now. Could the band still play? After all we were called

Crime’6 D0 Pa7

that was it! 60. The hog typed the answer into the log and decided to take a break.

He would give the old band a call, as soon as this cold passed.

Sniffling and wiping the last of the shake off his bristles, it was snowing again and time to go

So far, soft enough, warmth comes

Pricks of starlight frothing from the formidable sky. Grey clouds smothering the moonshine. Down warmth from the old fur knitting. It’s just soft enough to sleep soundly.

Blue sun rises on frosty plains. I wake and begin the day. Warmth coming and kissing the ground. Softly melting, and bringing a hope for spring.

Lacertae III: Bessemer Cruciballis

Pain. In the darkest places. Seeping, dripping, seeking, eating all it can.

Ice. Falling. Hail from the sky down to the frost covered ground. White, pure, but killing any hopes for spring.

Longing. I’m hearing you speak. Say words at a coffee table. Knowing that you will return to this moment. Knowing this is the moment I will remember in the weeks…

Ducks. Snow. Tamed memories.

Little things I remember. 

Your presence. Essence. The place in the world your had. 

Eclipse. Moonshine. 

Water. The lake. Roaring waves. Iceland. Dark smiles.

Juxtaposition, and it’s still a hot coffee I’m drinking. Another morning. I’m here. I can still here you. It doesn’t feel fair. But since when was the goddess fair? She made both the grass and the snake hiding in it. Or just perhaps the precursors. The soup that makes our reality. The memorial service.

The ducks. The lake. The Lacertae.

On side road, meet me

Leftovers from the night before

Eating them for breakfast

Gallery of the meals we have

Have been posted to instagram

The clues, we leave behind each day

To find each other’s here

This empty city, just us all alone

And I walk in my best coat

To were your first clue is

A sign that used for me, says to meet me on the side road

Of course it isn’t that easy

Another clue their waits for me, and I’m in no hurry

For each clue leads me to your heart

And I’m in love with your mind

Playful nothingness

Begin my Chicago travels

punk scene and strong coffee

smoke clouds amoung blue hair

Future my demise, roll diagnosis experience

Peak rice blooming under sunset clouds

Can’t touch one sphere without spreading all the others

Neon man has a hat, slumps in the bar

Running lie, low swings, marksman’s eyes

Little did I mention, xylene chains and planting in the rain

From ghosts, black soap, hotel copies of the tribune and the post

Cuddle heart

Every day my heart smiles

Every place we are together

Cuddle heart

Love to hear your voice

No matter your mood

Love the feel of skin

Especially, nude

This is our place together

Joined by love, angels feathers

We’re in our cuddle heart

I hope we never part

Every day my heart smiles

Every place we are together

Cuddle heart

Love to make you breakfast

Eggs shining as the sun

Love to see you smile

Tea and some bagels too

Love inside our house

Especially, you

This is our hearts together

This is our place together

Joined by love, angels feathers

We’re in our cuddle heart

I hope we never part

Every day my heart smiles

Every place we are together

Cuddle heart

Cloudblades

Cutting edges of the sky. Ishmael flies his pigskin blimp high. Drinking brandy, and some handyman takes the hammer wheel. Antichrist, the redeemer, or is he just a dreamer? Limited to dreams of living rooms?

Boost June of the markets, and harsh republic darkness, we can ensure the commissary looms. Flying over forests of eucalyptus, listing to Rick from The Band sing Holy Cow. Eating some cheese and doing nothing else now, except float along.

Wetlands forming where once were roads, greasy warthogs eating roots in an abandoned carpark. Wet silky grass growing out from this marsh, ghosting building aching from times past. Mikes dropping down the street, potatoes growing under his feet, have you heard the news?

Ishmael continues to deepen their search and steal all that girths, floating again by the sea. Still, there are plastic shells, creatures dying yells, the marks from little wars. No one thinks this is fantastic, the night that seems elastic, and a fortress full of ghosts.

Outgoing kiss

Blissfull darkness

Comes with grey sky’s above

We fight among ourselves

Our money not worth the cost

By the time its to late we still have not stopped

Kissing us kindly death says goodnight

Walrus falling to their deaths

Seas empty of fish, full of nets

Angry boys yelling at us to stop shoving it down their necks

They are already choking too their deaths

Kissing us kindly death says goodnight

Road number 2 1/2

Flossing the neck lamps.

Tramp built guillotine sat.

Glamour daemons anguished upon their fishing from the lists of dark moon rituals.

Calculator buns, fresh from the oven, ready to eat upon their half of the second street, horns and a coven whom hath been gathered.

Onion, Top Hats, Potato, Coal and Hatred used to summon the Captain of the great flush

He’s a tough nut to crack, even standing overdrawn by the rain next to a tobacconist. Muttering sweet hatred into the street corner, hoping your pity is worth another box of dime store magic.

Ever the half-life, shirt stained by ignoble truth he watched them, and all who come to pass. Daemons pay him little if any attention. Go about their endless quest to hear the fires of hell just a bit longer.

Shagging off the last of the most important smoke of the day, sagging and calving edgy cardboard boxes covered in blankets that keeps just enough of the downpour out. Aqualung is muttered, as he slenderly steps into the Dreamlands.

Diswasher is working

Harsh have the meals been

Plastic simple working memes

Water keys keep us tidy

The beige wall I hate so much

Fire guns and eat mush

All times materials hushed

Oh tea, glorious tea

Cold and wet and stuck in mud

No tanks or even armoured drunk

Ducks in vees, so bend our knees

Hair full of nits and fleas

Dust waves like the sea

The egg of comfortable numbness

In their shell

Egg beyond the pain

Yolk of a unknown self

to find the self truth

Balloons on the brain

Lifting me far away

Helping sit in the abstract beyond

Fine, gone, wrong

Am I good for the hen or cock?

Reciprocity motto layers the beast

Always asleep next to me

Never hatching, like me inside this shell

Paper machine in a paper shell

Egg made by the same name as I

Will I hatch?

Will I latch?

Will I merge with the other me?

I’m scared.

Scared of what will be

It’s ok for now though this egg is comfy

One day though, all the futures I can see

Self-truth is my me

Trinity illustration

Breeze says me

Best come in three lot

Today, tomorrow, yesterday needs

What from this do you hope to achieve?

Can you describe sixty things you have done in the past that demonstrates this?

Are you a robot?

I’m not, but I am,

the product of but social and physical learning and conditioning within…

Instead they ask

I’m a yes but I’m a no

Strong my human blood flows

Can you describe?

Describe

How

You

Are?

But I’m just one person

One thing

A object but not

Money in the bank bank

Food in my fridge

Dream it learn it be it

it it it IT

Shorts working

Saturday morning car drive

History and my sigh

Feisty gritty remake

Watch it now

Again, binge

Consume

Create

Change?

Allowing the thoughts

I’m allowed to feel bad

It’s a personal thing

Not to block out that thing that was mean

Parking it isn’t the theme

We gain more life from letting it seed

Grow from my sadness

Grow from my pain

Grow in the garden

Enigmas grow again

I’m allowed to feel bad

It’s a personal thing

Not to block out that thing that was mean

Parking it isn’t the theme

We gain more life from letting it seed

Grow from my sadness

Grow from my pain

Grow in the garden

Enigmas grow now again

Buggy sapience

Trolley lives in a allotment empty of grace

She waits for the summer nights for her race

Trips to the arthropods doorstep

Eats lunch with the queen, oh yes

Buggy sapience

Trolley gives a simple box of nuts

Payment for protection from buggy mace

Sips tea and nods agreeing sets

Going back home to bed, so wet

Buggy sapience

Trolley takes her axe to another growth of jinx weed

Sees the nuts from it gather on grounds she is pleased

Kid, it’s not a dream, you bet

P’hore

In the darkness, they are waiting

those thoughts

Cycles and rhythms

Tether that has reached its end

Reaper of the sameness

They are full of mindless fury

each day to fight and fight again

For what?

To fight again

This pointless samsara

I am but a performance

Combined of the thousands of deaths

I became the end

They are still waiting

Anticipation for a long war

Rampant growth and angers

I get up and fight again

I cannot be killed

flames lick me

Lava falls upon my shadows

Stars exploding from my depression

Paths close

it will be again that this happens

The purity of that again

I fight against

Which just adds to it

Snake queen and the devils

Flames of the devils have come among us, first tickling then stabbing at our every pore jarring it future open. Blistering blood floats to the surface bringing with it further heat as if it’s been equally possessed by demonic charge.

—-

Tightly she squeezes, the serpent of winter. Sucking all the heat from the land into her body like a black hole, scaring the landscape with her frosty tendrils, and taking with her the heat. She will lay an egg mid winter and the devils will find it with their heat and incubate it, when it hatches again her daughter will scour the land in her place. Her death and corpse will lead to spring, and be turned to ash in summer. One day though, her body will not die, her daughter will not be born, the devils will not come back, as the frost envelopes the land allowing her to suck all heat forever.