Perceptions

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Love is but a mysterious thing is it real or are Humans deluded?

 

In one fatal swoop –

perception does swing,

from shimmering skies to lone dark rooms.

 

Dark pink sunsets or cold and dusty basements –

beauty seems to lie within each.

 

Our preconceptions,

misconceptions –

of love so positive,

is it not just as malevolent as we?

Dancing with Matches

I.

September breeds thick black storm clouds that linger

atop skyscrapers standing on catacombs, screaming

down on that soaked sunless desert – splattered

sprayed and showered in red sludge and cordite.

The dead tree provides no shelter from this pelting,

persistent, acid rain of man.

Thunder – tastes of rotting flesh and thorn trees;

boomings – marked by gaps of still silence

so loud

it thumps

the chest.

 

Metallic gates clink and pierce eardrums and latch

and cancerous green vines grip white fences and gag

as flickers of sons fade smaller and colder

until nothing remains of their flaming red match

Cast your gaze down

on that ashen

black match.

 

II.

The city reeks of cigarettes and sex

covered in piss and stained with regret;

while glowing eyes reflect stories of cunt wars and trump,

brains softened and battered by radioactive meat bruisers.

Where is the meaning, the hope, the Divine?

People scream as they commit suicide.

 

Muses and Sirens dance and soon fleet,

racing off promptly to Homedale street,

where the soup’s always boiling and boiling and boiling

and boiling and steaming

screech whistle

then pop.

 

Ketamine pills filled with realms of repression

attempting to bite their own smiley faced teeth;

and fathers unleashing their heart-felt aggression –

fuelled by the fear of their sons being gay.

 

Father, oh father, where art thou you father?

Father, only in heaven you lay,

with wind and wet rain and giant balls of bright gasses,

conduce me your wisdom

with soul

of Tao.

 

III.

Devour the most beautiful sunset you’ve ever

witnessed, with your insignificant eyes,

and wonder and ponder the potent perfection

of a magnificent omniscient alive laughing planet.

Floating and floating in harshly cold desolate –

emptiness – twisting with spirals and pray

for skies filled with colour and beauty and starlight –

and green leaves so wet,

dripping recent rain.

 

Father I see you you are always dancing –

dancing the Argentine tango and rising –

setting – dancing in trees where we’re raping

everything give me more money you whore.

More power, more pleasure – please spare me your sorrow

Nature – satiate hungry dismay.

 

While that match keeps on burning and ashing and cracking

returning to nothing but the black dust of life;

fertilising soil for fresh seedlings to sprout –

to grow and to breathe, to dance and to Die –

to grasp and to clutch and to feel the fresh water

running through veins and sustaining Life.

 

Nature feeding Nature feeding Nature feeding Nature

we are all Nature – how did you enter that body and wake?

What is it that’s reading this page?

The curtains are closing – the end drawing near,

quick now please set the stage.

Ego

The mind rests in mourning,

like soft mildew in the fog of winter.

Finally aware of the dark seed within it.

A seed which has sprouted, spread, and tangled throughout;

growing like a tumour;

a cancerous, malignant, destructive web of black;

tightening its grip around the mind –

in an attempt to defend the very thing of which it destroys.

The monstrous seed sits inconspicuously;

powerfully;

at the centre –

pulsating.

Conducting with ease the orchestra of its lifeless musicians.

Stare.

Stare at fear itself.

It does not want to die.

Die.

Die.

Die.

My Nirvana

I love how ants build nests taller than humans build their skyscrapers

I love how creases of pants remind of nature’s constant fluidity

I love how the well worn door knob feels cold, but smooth against my palm

I love the clinking of its latch as it calls out do not enter

I love the stinging icy wind that spins off fan blades in the winter

I love the crackling sound of vinyl as needles bounce Holiday like a printer

I love the way red wine and cigarettes pepper the air like peaceful solitude

I love the spark of reminiscence while adding honey to my tea

I love the networked trees

I love everything

that isn’t me

 

Sunset Meditation

 

– best read on browser –

 

As I witness the most beautiful sunset I have ever experienced

I can’t help but ponder the stilling surreality of this magnificent planet.

The sky is filled with an amazing array of colour –

warm oranges and dark pinks morph into seductive shades of gold.

Streaks of light glow from the same pallet and twist

around mountainous cloud formations

that perfectly compliment the jagged landscapes with which they dance.

I dare not take a photograph

no man-made technology could ever hope

to reproduce something so profound

as this moment

which has arisen in my percept

as if it were gifted to me by my creator

intended to be experienced and never re-lived.

As I take in this incredible sight, I can’t help but contemplate

the seemingly uncanny perfection

of a beautiful life-harbouring planet

floating alone in a cold and desolate solar system.

It dawns on me that we Humans are living in Heaven

and we so often fail to recognise it.

Identity Lost

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A spider

beautiful, black, orange and sprawled –

sits at the centre of his well spun prism of steel strong web.

Invincible, like a king.

Consuming anything and everything that enters his selfish trap.

 

Spray, spray.

He seethes as the pesticide invades his being –

twitching, resisting, this cannot be.

Falling to the ground – broken, withered, bound;

death cries imminent.

Who am I?