sparks

I watch the sparks as they fly

around your head and

in my heart.

Light saturated in blue,

and red,

and yellow,

falling on our heads,

mimicking the sun.

Joy and passion lit on fire

and shot,

love, like rockets

flying in the sky.

Come down, come down

Sparks fall down on our heads.

They're ashes now. 

everything is perfect

Where are you?

Why are you not why I am?

Why are you not in the brush?

Or the lens?

Or the pen?

Where are you?

When can I create you?

Painted in time;

in pictures;

in words.

If I were to wish for perfection,

to try and create it,

to mold it in my hands,

to uncover the canvas and see,

could I create perfection?

... or would perfection get the best of me?

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You must understand the whole of life, not just one little part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, that is why you must sing and dance, and write poems, and suffer, and understand, for all that is life.

--J Krishnamurti

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"Never forget me, because if I thought you would, I'd never leave." ~ Alan Alexander (American artist)

In the black we walk

through the thick coffee-darkness,
down the dug-out path,
dug-out by the shoes of lost feet,
feet that forged a way
to save wandering souls.


It is not the same as before,

there is a distance I can’t place;
a time uncountable;
a weight immeasurable;
and yet I could not wish
to be anywhere else .

We walk in the mud,
dirt littering our soles,
staining our knees when we fall.
Like spilt wine on white carpet
and no sparkling liquids
to purge the reminder.

It’s spring,
the sun is shining and
the flowers are bursting forth in
all their splendid prisms of colour -
beauty brought forth by light.

But somehow,
in all its frightening ways,
the night will still take us.
Its coffee-darkness surrounding
us like warm breath,
fragrant and bitterly sweet.

We cannot escape,
this is our condition:
redemption caught up in
fault lines running deep
to our cores.

It shakes us,
filling our veins like ink. 
In this thick coffee-coloured darkness
we take another drink.


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and if my heart should somehow stop...

then in the forest i made my home
lay down on hard and ancient stone
then if my heart should somehow stop
i’ll hang on, to the hope
that you’re not too late

 -- James Vincent McMorrow

New Music Blog: http://poetryandsoundmusings.tumblr.com/