Friday, 25 March 2016


in thirty seven directions at once.
leaking light
into no perceivable vanishing point.
a woven chronicle
of manifested ratios and oceans evaporating. 
ask the right questions for an invitation
into ruby coloured chaos.
available and vulnerable to the mystery. 
engage the energy
of tightly bound coils unravelling.
break your heart wide open 
to pour myself in...


tentaculitidae said...

seven hundred winds and low mountains green
flat lakes cutting deep into the diagonal ground

twelve thousand moons circling above azure seas
wrapping perfectly the hidden planet and its currents

nooks of underwater mountains waving with grass
soft breathing ground rich with the colours of all spectra

rare tongues spoken by monoliths and fallen cities
stories eternal & recent, words finding words finding words

ingeniously wedged blocks of granite in timeless embrace
halls tall and quiet with still frescoes smiling doorwards

explored only by millions of gallons of saltwater
and fluttering imagination when you like to come by

cloudgathererholdmedown said...

This house has been far out at sea all night,
The woods crashing through darkness, the booming hills,
Winds stampeding the fields under the window
Floundering black astride and blinding wet

Till day rose; then under an orange sky
The hills had new places, and wind wielded
Blade-light, luminous black and emerald,
Flexing like the lens of a mad eye.

At noon I scaled along the house-side as far as
The coal-house door. Once I looked up -
Through the brunt wind that dented the balls of my eyes
The tent of the hills drummed and strained its guyrope,

The fields quivering, the skyline a grimace,
At any second to bang and vanish with a flap;
The wind flung a magpie away and a black-
Back gull bent like an iron bar slowly. The house

Rang like some fine green goblet in the note
That any second would shatter it. Now deep
In chairs, in front of the great fire, we grip
Our hearts and cannot entertain book, thought,

Or each other. We watch the fire blazing,
And feel the roots of the house move, but sit on,
Seeing the window tremble to come in,
Hearing the stones cry out under the horizons.

— Ted Hughes

tentaculitidae said...

In black core of night, it explodes
Silver thunder, rolling back my brain,
Bursting copper screens, memory worlds
Deep in star-fed beds of time,
Seducing my soul to diamond fires of night.
Faint outline, a ship – momentary fright
Lifted on waves of color,
Sunk in pits of light,
Drummed back through time,
Hummed back through mind,
Drumming, cracking the night.
Strange forest songs, skin sounds
Crashing through – no longer strange.
Incestuous yellow flowers tearing
Magic from the earth.
Moon-dipped rituals, led
By a scarlet god,
Caressed by ebony maidens
With daylight eyes,
Purple garments,
Noses that twitch,
Singing young girl songs
Of an ancient love
In dark, sunless places
Where memories are sealed,
Burned in eyes of tigers.

Suddenly wise, I fight the dream:
Green screams enfold my night.

– Bob Kaufman, “African Dream”

cloudgathererholdmedown said...

there's so much juicy goodness in that poem.
thank you ;)