and afterwards
i hope you'll find yourself.
in a position different
from that at which you begun.
after writhing in colours
from black to red on your own birthing bed.
*
i imagine my mouth tastes like ash,
holding summer there with the shattered glass
and trying, as always,
to speak love even when it's not pretty.
to speak my fire gently.
the blood and heat are rising
and this appetite was never satisfied with crumbs.
standing in the dark, honouring my light,
i am the storm you don't see coming
clenching a fistful of flowers
cracking open our hearts.
i hope you'll find yourself.
in a position different
from that at which you begun.
after writhing in colours
from black to red on your own birthing bed.
*
i imagine my mouth tastes like ash,
holding summer there with the shattered glass
and trying, as always,
to speak love even when it's not pretty.
to speak my fire gently.
the blood and heat are rising
and this appetite was never satisfied with crumbs.
standing in the dark, honouring my light,
i am the storm you don't see coming
clenching a fistful of flowers
cracking open our hearts.
6 comments:
fluttering lights, charcoal floating in the river
❝ time is the substance i am made of. time is a river which sweeps me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger which destroys me, but i am the tiger; it is a fire which consumes me, but i am the fire. ❞
jorge luis borges
hi, mister k
;)
and deep into his fiery heart
he took the dust of joan of arc,
and high above the wedding guests
he hung the ashes of her wedding dress
leonard cohen, from joan of arc
hello you ~ i hope you're well
oooohh, good choice.
"...you honour your own god
with mist and avalanche
but all i have
is your religion of no promises
and monuments falling
like stars on a field
where you said you never slept.."
~ from "you live like a god"
your body made of nets
my shadow's tangled in,
your voice perfect and imperfect
like oracle petals
in a herd of daisies
Have you been to Chapters in Dublin? I nearly bought a collection of Cohen's poems there in October, but in the last moment went for something else, mostly because I knew I'd soon find Cohen again and I already had a pile of books (Burroughs, a Persian epic, Thomas, and something from India). Of his music, I still have only ever heard "Songs of Love and Hate" because whenever I think about looking up some other album of his, I play that one again. And again, because it's so good. But sometimes I don't dare listening to it. – But yes I think I need some sort of collection of his poetry. Maybe this one.
his music is an acquired taste, but I love his words.
'stranger music' sits on my shelf.
morning early bird.
i'm sat here drinking my berries watching the curtain billow and soften, billow and soften. it's like the cool, misty morning is breathing.
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