Posts Tagged ‘Love’

One

March 22, 2017

You are the moon and I am a pool of water on the earth.

I watch you come and go and disappear for long stretches.

When you are full for one brief stilled night, the air is dry, you shine, lighting the grasses where blue shadows collect.

Dry ice so sweet I can smell the perfection of particles, your streams of light.

I can hear the beams you make, radiate strongly across space into the atmosphere.

Burst into glowing visibility above my reflecting skin, penetrate lying water of the newts, to sparkle in the sand.

And I try to absorb all I can of you, to flow into you, to become part of you, dearest moon!

Library

March 15, 2017

Looking at the spire against the cloudless blue of the first day of heat in March,

at the strange broken memorial urn with yellow sunlight streaked around its circles.

Looking for something authentically from my own motivation…

Does such a thing exist for me? Can I separate authentic motivations from motivations involved with or inspired by other people?

If I isolated these images in a film, would I be able to separate my own motivations in choosing, from connections I have with other people?

Does anyone have motivations that are isolated from the influence of other people, or is motivation intrinsically a social process? A process of intersubjective transactions?

Am I suffering from somebody else’s abusive interpretations about me being inauthentic and their association of this with my lack of creativity?

She spoke across the table: “Have you been to London?”

“Yes, we’ve been a few times, have you? Have you been to London?”

She answered: “Only the once when a policeman lifted me up, to see the Trooping of the Colour! But I’ve never been back, not all my life. It’s too expensive!”

Just as I thought about the spire, she came along the graveyard path with her enormous plaid bag, and spoke to me: “It’s a beautiful day!” I nodded yes.

Shopping Script

February 18, 2017

 

For me each week looks the same, alone with the time that has no humour and gives back no value. A mountain of fabrication, humanity not quite desperate, but near to the end of function. The choreography of saving and losing of money, isles of holding back and of dull passing – and isles of letting go – to hunger or small hope. Somewhere between egg boxes, washing powder and rows of frozen food cabinets, I loose this mammoth acropolis of false light and dim grubbing, inside a greater city with the power to bring forth voices of the dead with epiphany – and the loved, with tears of un-lived life.. I pull myself back to push and lean the miles unmarked, this pathway, this tank of brief optimisms and mounting fear, as anxiety overpowers the weary last drops of spending… stemmed – slammed shut – aborted! The checkouts ahead – this throbbing worst moment, voices can’t help lift, pack or pay, I alone, sometimes heart racing, head swimming, the fear that I may never pass through.