Posts

Showing posts from December, 2012

Lessons From The Sky

A magnitude of grey refracts
the sun into a wide spectrum.
If time is taken to watch it, see
it slowly changes:
ever ageing in smooth perfections.
The firmament of the sky's skin
is beautiful, regardless of weather.

This rotating work of art is permeated with the stylistic splendour of its painter's mind.
Fragments of storms, which were split by sunlight, are beautiful as they rain themselves dry, exposing coursing veins glowing neon in the ambience of echoes of completeness to come.
This rotating work of art is permeated with the stylistic splendour of its painter's mind.
And I am loosened from fabric shackles having grown my own linen and exhaled reasons to move with the painter's gift of air. 
Written 28-30/12/12.  We can learn so much from the changing beauty of the sky.

Incarnation

Man.
Vulnerable, dependant.
Suckling, giggling, crying.
Universal significance profoundly juvenile.
God.
God.  Immovable, sustainer. giggling, crying, accommodating. immeasurably deepening love's definition. Man.
A poem made up of two quintain structures reflecting on God's self-accomodation in the incarnation. Written 20/12/12.

Christmas Hit

There's a clamour in your veins
hoping for some warmth.

Crisp futures thaw slowly
and collage the pavement
with decaying autumn.
There's a clamour in your veins and your blood is sedated.
The frost-bite doesn't bother you when you're nodding through festive freeze, unaware of your own shivering.
There's a clamour in your veins and it soothes you from conscious fears.
Childhood promises are all cooked up from poppies and when you're permeated with gear it feels like Christmas.
There's a clamour in your veins; track-marks leading from pinpricks to amputation.
The pain of withdrawal would bring the beauty of future but you're perforated by these fairy lights that suck significance from nature.
So you choose this clamour in your veins; your own consumption, and you'll defrost from this winter still bitter, but without the means to taste it.
Written December 2012.

Motion of time

Motion;
negligible,
like breathing not travelling.

Whilst all knowing spectators
questioned lenses,
you were moving.

Time sheds now like a serpent's skin and splits along it's central vertebrae.
Futures spread from a central point in bacterial mitosis.
It mists with the sickness of confusion and baffles pilgrims who are unacquainted with blindness.
Written November 2012.