Speak, write.

Here i am, everything
rushing by around me and yet
All is still, I look quietly.
Where does the night go,
how does the light know
when I have come in, hidden behind
crouched and moved and hushed, till I find
Eyes that cannot see me
eyes that somehow know me
Is it my heart or is that how
it was from the start
Is it how it shall be and it is meant to be
Yet right now only how I wish it to be?
Clasping and reaching and clawing
These are meaningless actions that mean more than most others
But do I know what they imply
or am I just waiting to try
To understand, to connect, to find
that yes, it started in my mind
But on it will go, and on it will flow
Till it rises and swells and till I will know-
This is what it is, and all that was before
and pre-packaged inserts in my life
will not mean much because here it is
Fresh and beautiful and exciting
and unknown and unknowable and frightening
But it is mine it and I belong to it
I am together more than even I know it
With me and her and us and everything else-
-and nothing else at all.

The Known Unknown

The rain comes
Approaching in a roar 
I can't see it, can't touch it
Nor smell or feel it
I can't know how it will be
To get drenched in it
Yet I know it pours
And I am gladder for it. 

Tonight

Tonight, young one
you walk these fields again
expectant and wide eyed.
You wait,
looking toward the rain
and the thrill by your side.
You quiver
with the thrill of possibility,
excitement your bride.

Tonight, the air,
it sizzles with chance
that has pulsed all day.
This smile
at what has been, what is
all that yet may.
Tonight, is nothing
and everything,
its anything you say.

Tonight is tomorrow,
Tonight is now
Tonight is yesterday.

Blink

There was once this man called Me
Who, everyday, would have coffee
But whatever he’d do,
And whichever the brew,
He’d just blink, and remain sleepy.

Istanbul

Lonely Planet has a twitter thingy it calls 'twities', in which you are asked to write about/describe a city in less than 140 characters- one tweet. 'Istanbul' this week meant I told myself I must, random though it all is. When I did end up doing it, (just a while back) it was hurried- with much less effort and love than I would have liked to.

Whatever. Here they are. Read them and weep.

1.
Istanbul, you straddle
so much more than
water.
The past, minarets,
kebabs, cigarettes.
The me that was
he who you shaped,
history itself.

2.
tower and bridge,
spark and flame,
meat and smoke,
names in a name.
smiles and swirls,
ancient and divine,
spice and twirls;
yours, his, mine.

3.
How does your skyline soar
with buildings so low?
Your seductive past
as if alive,
Just as your heart opens
to embrace me so?

Abandon

Hope!
Take your filthy promises,
wrench your lusty kisses
Go, go... begone.
Fake is your glowing path,
insidious is your wrath.
Leave me alone.

Desire!
You slimy vengeful cur,
my shameful black slur,
don't please me.
Take away your dark heart,
and let our ways here part,
just release me.

Delusion!
Take these visions, so rich.
Oh, my beautiful witch,
forgive your prey.
Cast not your spell,
mask not this hell.
I beg, fly away.

Go, leave, please, release, away.
Lest this momentary clarity
loses to familiar insanity,
which seduces me with all of you
reduces me with all of you,
so I believe I grow.
While I grieve, I know
at my ignorance.

After hours

They sit there, those men;
those ambitious men with
their steely gazes and
cold beers, their studied mirth.

Can you feel it? Can you let
them see their glory shine?
Pretend to be the mirror: no
blemishes, no limits, no lines.

Clink glasses in their cheer
see the glint in their eyes
Detect no fear, mask disdain
Smile sagely, into their very lies.

Twisted Verve

The flashes, they swarm
poking here, biting there-
teasing,
taunting,
like street thugs with flair.

They smoulder, 'tis appealing;
yet they seem to burn me-
reaching,
clawing ,
like desire you want to flee.

I wander, search, grope,
my mind is stuck, slow-
wallowing,
waiting,
to embrace; to let go.

I am enjoying this; this
twisted thrill of the unknown
sizzling,
unnerving,
this morally mad zone.

sty

I have a sty in my eye
An ache in my head
A laze in my brain
“Oh, sigh”, he said.

Blink, wince, droop
Ho, hum, ooh, aah.
Stroke, clutch, leak
Push, pull, poke, ah.

I have a sty in my eye
I’m too tired to write
I have an excuse now
But I still type this shite

imprint

Yesterday, I saw a man, with
Death tattooed on his neck
you could tell he wore it
proudly, defiantly
Yet it was not an effort
to deny groping, cold endings
but to embrace the warmth
of Life.

drowning

The skin sizzles;
naked bodies smeared
with rashness and hunger

Nothing feared, not
the hot writhing pain
of loving and bleakness

not pounding rain,
not the groping past,
nor the darkness within.

Not meant to last,
today is clawing,
for tomorrow to burn.

juxtaposed

The smile of content
but a very quiet sigh
in empathy

Sharp piercing joy
but the shooting pain
of confusion

Probable satisfaction
and a tight pang
of guilt

A subtle downer
despite a gentle rush
of adrenaline

Me.
It.
You.

please

Its convenient to pray
for it is not an everyday
Ritual
but come the time, when
desire arises, then-
Hope
comes riding in
amidst a greedy din;
Unabashed-
asking, imploring, pleading,
anything for the searing
Pain
of disappointment, to go.

12

The colours , all grey
amber pushes through
trying to rip apart
the darkness anew
Dampness on the balcony
Clouds from a face
There go the hands,
finding their place
in cosy pockets.
By bottled heat, or
A parching, radiating
blower by the feet
Its has been thus
Since I can remember,
since I could huddle
and smile; its December

zzz

Sleep is beautiful, and its good
sleep is powerful, when in the mood
sleep refreshes, when it wishes
sleep bogs down, when it misses
sleep catches a-hold, in a cosy bed
if not enough, as you can see
sleep renders me, brain dead.

insipid

A burning desire,
an inspired effort
passion striving
A doused fire
a deflated soul
dullness thriving

calm/storm

Incendiary thoughts
searing through
as thunder rumbles
in a welcoming sky
aching nerve endings
throbbing on
whiteness crackles
lightning strikes in
a warm/cold embrace

greyness, JB

A morning starts,
a gentle breeze
glad, grey clouds
and swaying trees
little words with
little melodies
the throat wells
a gentle tease
for vulnerability.

Plaintive stories
of falling snow,
of Denver and DC
tragedy, Mexico;
the striking blue
of robin’s eggs
permeating colour
the last dregs
of lost love.
Seasonal lovers;
of red telephones,
strangers’ beds
and autumn tones;
a wish, watercolours
on the sidewalk
a child never had,
would they talk
of possibilities.

A morning starts
now colder drafts
escalator rings
a routine wafts
in a tired mind.
Little words with
long silences
stirred thoughts
from idle devices;
hush, now.

nothing's changed

then

Lurking around always
swirling, unseen, around us
Nothing says
when the shapelessness
starts being felt
In the guise
of darkness and fear,
nebulous, lies
light and beauty
And happiness beyond,
we believe.

now

Dazed, and
confusability,
anger seeps at
inexplicability

but it seeps, does
the anger, through
helplessness, its not
steaming through

fear knocks once
prodding gently
feeding off what
I suppress, mostly

Pondering this
meaningless cruelty
of life
ha, of life?

underneath

Hanging in mid-air
not unlike tension
waiting to be sliced
at the smallest mention
then crumble from
that cold metal strike
covering the floor
in messy dislike
for the perpendicular
of Damocles' fame
Excuses, ideas
an issue so tame
is it the claim
to harshness