I am

I am sky; absent clouds shifting,
Bright dusk arising or descending,
Roaring quietly, but deeply and eternally
Unstable.
Birthing stars from darkness and
Obscuring galaxies into oblivion.
Like a sea of torrential consciousness
My awareness is illuminated by death.
I am emptiness; inhabiting;
Without space for nothing,
Everything.

I am; availability; the taking
And making of matters,
A steeply elusive discus
Releasing at the precise millisecond
Of maximum thrust.

I am; a consistently integrated ambition,
clustering unlimited sub-selves
With a secret objective.

I am; impossible opportunity,
Bright darkness burning,
A moonlit sun and wind;
Unmoving wind tearing holes
In the moving of space.

I am; vision; reinvigorated
By the opposition, I spread through
Shallow eternity,
Spinning slowly, enfolding
In art, biology, science.

I am; the invisible you,
The nothing and everything
In all.

Advertisements

A Ripple in time

Your life is a ripple in time;
A chain reaction of events sparked
By your birth.
Wether you walk amongst wildflowers,
Or trail along a heathery marsh way,
Pushing a cloud-spun meadow
On the blue horizon, or
Dragging along the sun,
Your seasonal skin will keep falling;
Peeling off coats of arms, smoothed
By currents of interchanging keys,
Until nothing remains but a soft wind,
Tossing upon someone else’s waves.

I Sleep out on the Moors

img_6050

I sleep out on the moors
Under the thick canopy of faraway islands
Shimmering golden against
The black tunnel
Of fear and wonder.

I sleep out on the moors
Searching for my eyes amongst
Constellations that have not yet
Taken form.

I sleep out on the moors
Listening to brooks tick-tocking
In circles under lime stones,
And dryads, aged into stone,
Choraling with the wind.

I sleep out on the moors
With tall trees swaying gently
To the deep humming
That makes up the soundtrack
Of Life.

I sleep out on the moors
Even though, there are people
Looking for me, and there is
A sea falling from glaciers,
I sleep out on the moors…

To Become a Galaxy

2016-09-21-21-33-43

There I was on the white and blue tundra
In the middle of the night.
A loneliness of space and time
Surged through me,
With the knowledge of a thousand
Undiscovered galaxies
Withering into earth
By the autumn death of leaves and limbs.
A white bird dove passed me and I startled
As it brushed its wing against my face,
Taking with it a tiny dusting of skin cells
On its migratory journey.
Maybe if I stood there forever
I would erode
As millions of birds moved south.
To become
A galaxy all in my own.

There was nothing left of me but diamonds

img_5192

I crossed that white frozen-over moor
As slowly as I could. There was only the moon
For light. The icy snow was glazed with
Hoarfrost, shimmering and slippery. How still
It was, not a breath of wind, only tree-less peaks,
Stagnant and tall. I was the only living thing there,
Against, not a sky, no, it was more of an inscrutable
Vastness threatening to swallow my every step,
And devour me in its, not stillness, but complete
Absence of sound, yet, I was not scared, no,
It was more of the opposite, I rejoiced, for this,
This overpowering inscrutability that should have
Made me feel small and insignificant, did the
Opposite, it made me feel like everything.
It wasn’t a black hole into which everything emerged,
It was white light, reflecting everything, but
Taking in nothing. And for one night, and
One night only, I was that white light.
I was the midwinter and I was the moor, and my skin
Disintegrated and there was nothing left of me
But diamonds, scattering angelically on
The icy snow, covered
in someone’s Footprints.

Gentle hands touching stone

image

As time passes there is change.
Some things get broken and some things get lost.

A bird loses its feather as it brushes against stone.
A hand touches the feather, bravely.
It carries life, eternity, unlimited grace.

There are ropes, tearing apart,
there is breaking free,
and cliffs, Rocks, Changing…
becoming soft,
and gentle hands touching stone, bravely.
Carrying life,
Carrying eternity…