Inspiration

That intake of breath

Of fresh

Air.

Bringer of new ideas

Unfair

-ly mined

By a dozen minds

Or more.

These spores of thought

Are cultivated

Through mediums and means

Averages avoided in passionate extremes.

We find it

All

In scattered places.

Lost and founds

Fractals

Faces

Forms of clouds and outer space;

Equally in the grotesque.

Sparks flare catching

Clutching

At life.

Kindled by contemplation

Fuelled by frustration

Ventilated by imagination

Tempered by the midnight oils

As we watch our best laid plans

Burn.

We learn.

We turn to disciplines unschooled.

We spool our nets far and wide

Outside our comfort quarters.

Research has shown us one path

But doubt is crazy paving.

Stop saving for that rainy day

And discover for yourself,

your truth.

“I think therefore I am”

Is all we really know.

Why spend your precious life collecting objects just for show?

It’s not the breaths you take,

It’s the breaths that’re taken from you

It’s the things you make them feel

It’s the ones who matter and mind

It’s a million people just like me

Telling a million people how to see

The world, the truth, society

As if there’s just one

answer.

As if I somehow know better.

In my oh-so-limited life.

 I don’t

and never will have

The answer.

All is confusion.

All is loss.

Why try to mold this chaos

 after your image

When your image is only

Breath in frost.

You cannot force the muse

Or trick her into her prettiest dance.

You cannot even ask her for help

For fear of her reprisals.

Abandonment comes naturally to one so self-involved.
And artists such as we all are are not sufficiently evolved
to survive such isolation.

Frost bites back.

Clown.

Just one more clown in his circus you are.
Such a public mockery.
You are a tool in his all-consuming self-love.
Unwilling to face the one way, blackhole nature of it all.
You stand in painted smile.
The audience watch clutching breath
for him to pull out the chair.
The ringmaster owns your eyes and time.
Are you so blinded by footlights
that you can truly call this
astounding self-degradation
love?

Just one more clown in his circus you are.
Watch the pretty girls lead the horses away.
The spectacle is leaving town.

Christmas 2002

Once there were three:
The magic number-
3 witches; 3 wishes; 3 wise men.
Maiden runs away; goes to see a crone.
The witch of the East
My, my - how she's grown.
They smile and compare notes
but will scars tell the whole story?

Then there were four.
Ugly; clunky; boxed.
4 sides. 4 corners. 4 angles.
Parallels everywhere.

There are no witches in mathematics.
Only mother's apples pi.

Idyllic, but my brain won't SHUT UP!

He Says, She Says

He says I'm not the me I was,
That I have changed irreparably.
He says we argue all the time.
Ironically, I disagree.
He says he looks at others now
And admits it's hungrily.
He says that there is nothing wrong,
then dredges fights long-dead to me.
He says he wants his favourite food;
My single staple kedgeree.

I says he spends no time with me.
I've substituted him because
we spend our evenings silently.
He is not moved by beat or rhyme
or language - aural gold to me.
I know I've changed, but badly? How?
It's all improvements I can see.
Does someone always end up wrong?
Or is it plainly sad to see
That Jude is our saint-patronly.

Affirmation

Even in the midst of night
the distant wail of T-Rex's cousins
reach me.
And even when I am not right
and fall and fail I let the lessons
teach me.
And in the hours I feel alone
I remind myself of the myriad network
around me.
And all the things as yet unknown;
Concerns of health and joy that lurk
astound me.                            [impound me]                           (glass is half...)

I refuse to forget who I am.
I refuse to forget who I am.
I refuse to forget.

A Good Talking To

Heed the prophet as she comes;
bitten nails, mascara runs.
What once entranced now nauseates.
Love once inspired, now apathates.
No balls for you, young Cinder-Zappa.
Weak and cowardly. Empty wrapper.
Betrayer of your youthly self,
Now 9 to 5 and on the shelf.
Uncreative, antisocial.
So far removed it's downright woeful.
The slip so far to what you are
can only treasured memories marr.
Reclaim yourself, take back the night.
Keep your goals within your sight.
Self-sabotage and confidence lack
have stolen years you'll never get back.
Forget the times you could have made it,
before your chance and youth have faded.
Focus now on what will be
as working truly sets you free.