She wandered pale, sweet light of a dawn
flesh-faced morning sun
Daybreak lingered sweet
spoke low of steam
of star wet dew
and dream-bright grass
of hearts lost along the river's shore

She wandered slow
through deep drunk fading night
the thoughtless shades of time
bleeding gently grey-green dirt
soft past lacing tree trunk branches
lost in winding summer waves

Breathing deep she cried to earth
of his unmoving heart
burning days
spoke in gentle days of sin

sleeping slow she loathed the world
thought better of her westward ways
dreamed lonely in her darkless nights
broke fast again to days

breaking daybright wandered pale
remembered long by broken-hearted men
whose eternal skin spoke lonely sweet
of long-sung songs and her ephemeral heat

Bright faced she spoke of star-wet dew
while weary men walked blind to clouds
bleeding still from their forgotten dreams

........................................................................................

I don't remember when this was from. Possibly a time when I was heartsick over the poet man?

variations.

Tell soft of dreams, of painted taste
drink cold nights slow
through everlasting haste
beat still the hearts of dying time
lost told the love of never-mind

speak sweet of steam, dream stars by cold
cry heartbeats lost along the river's shore
drown lost in light of stories never told
speak sweet of steam
through waste of our ephemeral dream

pass low through screams of dying night
sink soft through songs of thinking sand
burn bright away the self love does demand

fall low to altars of his burning face

......................................................................

newborn dawn of dreams
untold stories of a skin
speaks starlight low
dreams darkness long
drink cold nights slow

drowns in light of stories left untold
beats still the hearts of dying time
finds daybright close
lost told the love of never-mind

Cry heartbeats waste along the river's shore
see long dead life by dreamish light
though hearts stay shadowed torn
long dead through sunlit brite

deep into the bleeding river of our hearts
shadowed on the edge of flesh's pallor
sleep slow the death of our eternal night

..........................................................................

condensed this into that small piece? seems like it.

              painted taste
          tell soft of dreams
        drink cold night slow
               speak sweet of steam

         drown lost in light
            throw off the shore
                 shine fever bright
              dissolve the core

..............................................................

Was spending a lot of time with a poet-man, at one point. Was deeply influenced by him, and his writing - he was writing pieces a bit like this at one point. I basically copied him - and his were prettier. But still, I enjoy how this turned out.

Ugly (unborn child of a dead and screaming love)

As the leaves dance,
I celebrate our dead love

That once upon a time lived and roiled inside of me
that unborn child
now drowned by the blood of this slit neck,
thick blood pouring forth what was to be
silkily creeping down the inside of thighs.

Now this love unmakes us both
as you flit onwards, new loves already welcome in your soul, in your bed

(is her cunt as wet and tight as mine? does she cry out with you? is it good, is it good? Does she move with you there, as I did? Is there a making of love between you, as there was between us? or are you lost in that small black room, where no one has the key?)

And here I am, alone with this child of grief.
bloody body of this babe,
slick blood on my thighs.

.................................................................................................

And, just for the fun of contrast - here's what I was writing when that relationship broke. I will possibly regret sharing this deeply... (especially the melodrama of the brackets) but hey, poetry. is the art of making oneself vulnerable? Doesn't Alex Gray talk about the relief of art being taking what is inside, and making it into something outside? This was very definitely something that was inside, then, in an intense time. Also inspired by images from dreams I was having, then.

Lovers

We are the sun, the earth, a dreamy heaven's mind.
We are the forest, the trees, the water sweet.
We are the taste of love, running long and deep.

We are the dreaming flesh of God, the prayers of the world.
We are the darkness dreaming, we are all our dreams have longed to seek.

We are the endless flaming sun, the wat'ry moon.
We are the seed of the earth and her ever-loving womb.

We are the flesh of god made whole,
We are the all embracing forms and emptiness beyond the deepest place we know.
We are the dream of a waking sleep
We are the taste of water running soft and deep

We are the sun and the soul of the Earth
We are the dream to which she is giving birth.

We are the trees, the forest, its roots.

We are the sweet world of sleep together born,
the new dawn with its lovely breathing morn.

We are the soul of time forsworn.
We are the taste of love run long and deep
We are each other's promises to keep.

.........................................................

Wrote this one for a man who was my beloved and partner, for a handful of strong years. Loved him a whole bunch. yup. Was a Christmas present poem, at one point. Somewhere in the middle of those years. We were in Ottawa, at his folk's place. I remember his eyes, as I read it to him. Felt so loved. I really like this one.

Morning.

Sweet morning
Kiss thy sister sleep goodnight
And hear no more the songbirds cry

They have left us, morning
Left the dreams of sleep these years
For the song of  lonely human tears

Cry no more, the morning
For what a human heartbreak brings
And seek a lighter sorrow,
Which may, tearless, in the morning sing

Seek no more the heartache
Of a sweet and sleepless light
But seek a lighter dawn
Which is forever streaming bright

Dream, dreamsong, morning star
Crave a night which loves you
Yet knows not what you are.
You are the morning, dreamsong!

The morning smiles on lovers, and calls them softly to awake
You are a goddess, dreamsong, for lovers who have prayed
That you their soul may take.

................................................................................................

I seem to remember riding my bike, on a particularly pretty and beloved bike path, during my Peterborough days. And having these words come into my mind - and ceasing my bike riding adventures for a moment to write them down on some scrap papers.

Dreams of unborn children, stream forth.

We are the water, we are the cloud and the house from whence the rain comes.

We are the circle wherein the fire dwells.

............................................................................

Yoga teacher training, in Costa Rica.

Of Bones and Hate

In the heart of every human face
Lies the sweat of our lost grace
For in this shadow world of form
We are from each other torn

And knowing not what we must be
We wander lost, and long for to be free
Free from all our shackles torn
Though without our flesh we are forlorn

And from our thoughts which wander there
From there is all our terror born

And so we cry for what the broken morning brings
Caged birds alone are the only ones which sing

planting.

This day of ragged breath and weary bone
Is hell and heaven such as we have never known
For weary souls must struggle forth
And pain, being damned, lies heavy on our forms

We have grown unbroken
Grown whole in lives unspoken

This is now immortal time
Where we have died a thousand deaths both quick and fine
Or longer than my dreams were mine

We have lived a thousand worlds
Where friendships lived forgotten
Or broke in waves upon our smiling selves, where bodies were but tokens
Of eternal longing lost and gone
And found afresh in every dawn
Untimely grace will find us still
Through broken bones and timeless will

Birdsong, swansong

So now this song is deeply sad
And speaks of what is lost that we once had

Where in beforetimes when it sweetly spoke
It was of promise, and of spring
And of that lovely unsaid thing

Now that sad song taunts me slow
For what I once did long ago
And now my private heartbreak sounds
Where loneliness has found its open grounds

Yet in those brilliant mocking eyes
I’ve seen a song which never dies
And lonely on our heartbeat lies
   
For goodbyes speak long in tones unheard
When we have woken voices of love’s lonely birds

cigarettes in spring time.

We prayed at the feet of magnolia trees, for their fleeting beauty was sacred unto the spring; and we listened long to the whispered stories of tulips, long silenced in the harsh of winter’s face. Those whispered ghosts of memories we swam through spoke in tones unheard to those of us who breathe in the mist of our unrepentant unseen world. We watched the slow dance of the trees, breathing glad awoke from their long sleep, and knew our secret names lived on, long-stilled from the tongues of men and beasts. We prayed for sun, and rejoiced in the wonder of her coming. We are the dreamers, and those who dare to live in this, the somnambulist’s waking world. Now is the summer of our immortal time, when pain sleeps, and days are seldom dimmed by clouds darker than the sky. We are free here, lighter in our souls than we have many times been, although they are yet enslaved. We dream days here, slow into the morningtime.  The cold of wintertime has stolen to our bones, where we tear those disparate selves of us from our collected sleeping mind. Here now we are awake, in truth, although we sleep and know not what we are. This is the space of dreams, and songs unpenned sing themselves through weary day-long souls.

Full Ages Gone

There has all my memory swum
Full dreaming past
Though love has run

And by and by again we dream
Of ages past
And what has been

This in all the darkness grew
While time was lost
And life bred new

Lost Boy of an Autumn Love

A smiling face, his blue-eyed waste
A wicked tongue
A lovely taste
Where love has been, love still holds true
Love holds his smiling memories blue

Love’s wicked dream
His shameless fire
Throws memories down upon the pyre

What once has been and now is not
Lives on yet still
Though love’s sweet life has been forgot

What dreams are lost in falling time
May yet be found in lonely lines
And autumn’s love was fullness not
We are what we once dreamed and thought

Nighttide Prayer

This elfin child, the dreamlike girl
Spoke in tones much warmer still
Though broken dreams around her fell
And mouth on mouth sought long to fill

For what we seek not long is found
Before it’s lost again deep underground
Withheld from all the beating hearts of men
Withheld inside this heart I seek to pen

We have suffered long to seek
Of trembling love of which we long to speak,
Yet we are held inside ourselves
As prisoners are inside their cells

Love speaks in eyes, in nightly hours
In cold-held hands
And drinking showers

It speaks in dreams
And dreamer’s tongues
Who long to know what is to come

It speaks in grace of what hath never been
And Grace again withholds what she may mean

It speaks again of warm insides
And faith I shook as warmth betides
As dreamers screaming soft and low
Where lovers’ hands do search to go

Much longer now my dream resides
Than those I’ve often sought to find

For this dreamish girl, her elfin face
Speaks in my mind of her lost grace

First thoughts.

Hey there,

So. This is my blog, I suppose. This is a thing that people do these days, isn't it? We write blogs. Blogging. Its a thing. So, here's mine. It's about poems, and stories, mostly. And likely some stray thoughts about things, like this seems to be. (Is blogging such a strange word, or what..?)

Are you still reading? That's great!

Please read my poems.

I like them. I hope you do too.

x.