The real me

In fleeting words
Like hummingbirds
The real me
The real me

On mountain high
Neath twilit sky
The real me
The real me

A bar in shadow
Jazz piano
The real me
The real me

When someone farts
And laughter starts
The real me
The real me

When face is stuck
In a good book
The real me
The real me

Through all of life’s complexity
It would bring about such ecstasy
If I could be
Eternally
The real me
The real me

Wordsworth haikus/photos from a trip to Grasmere

Under rapturous gaze

Grasmere transformed,

lost in a lyrical haze

 

sublime visitations,

captured in clearest cadence,

he wandered, wondered…

 

with scrawling quill

words leapt over landscape

and soon began to soar…

img_20180429_095737660948440956.jpg

img_20180427_164706691_hdr1495085868.jpg
top of Wordsworth’s back garden at Dove Cottage
img_20180427_174305221_hdr147460231.jpg
“within the bounds of this huge concave; here should be my home, this valley be my world” – from Wordsworth’s poem ‘Home at Grasmere’
img_20180428_172155153799105318.jpg
grasmere caves
img_20180429_115732857_ll1894475142.jpg
the first page from Wordsworth’s first handwritten manuscript of the Prelude … awesome to see it up close

***

A Dove in Flight (poem based on works by Rene Magritte)

Through childish eyes come sirrus skies,

Mere projections which jeopardise,

To break the ties, anaesthetise,

The world from its beholder.

 

Where day and night capsize forever,

And looming shadows so endeavour,

To blot all pigment, pluck hue from feather,

Under the uniform gaslight haze.

 

And breaths collide beneath coarse fabric,

Caressing, guessing; motions tantric.

The need for flesh becoming frantic,

For love to be unmasked.

 

And in the footsteps of Socrates,

Forestall cave wall hypocrises,

Gaze upon these alpine mockeries,

The truth is on the canvas.

 

Through tempest glides the gentle dove,

As all who waver watch above,

Its azure plumage doused with love,

For a moment free again.

***

Continue reading “A Dove in Flight (poem based on works by Rene Magritte)”

Ode to J. G. Ballard

Curator of cascading cavalcades, causeways of carnality,

Virtuoso of vivisection, mosaics of calamity,

in whose worlds a prosaic insanity festers midst cortex;

Synergies of synapse and syntax, a surrealist vortex.

Through geometric rhetoric of plaza and high rise,

Come parables comparable to Freudian mythologies.

Where avian conclaves of Loplopian apostles soar,

As the corpses of collossi are washed numbly ashore.

and marooned tycoons wander in some highway purgatory,

Metro meets Mecca: all hail the gods of multi-storey.

A Triassic redux as concrete jungles plunge neath tide,

From Shanghai to Shepperton he pedalled, forever wide-eyed…

***