Darling Tallulah

Ephesians CH 4 V 2 – Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.

Morning

The mornings you feel fragile and

you stand at the open window,

the breeze is perfect all over your shoulders

chest and

face and

nothing at that moment could feel better.

It’s one of those -
the sun draws you out gently into a world
you feel you don’t know so well
your eyes become used to being open
but you wish like a child that you could close them just once more
- the delicate hands of the wind grasping your body
and the beauty of colour perfection are the shoes you will walk in
when you leave
your hole

The Wine of Metaphor

Just as the glass floats,
So does my awareness.
Just as the generous dregs remain guarded within,
So is my ability to create.

They hold steadfastly to the bottom -
(a pessimist’s dream)
Seeing every inch of the

Almost. From its one molten window.

The water of almost all.
Of life being lived,

Hushed and contemplative.

The water of the bigger body.

Generous dregs on
The brink
Of
Ecstatic release.

I am there again, just a dreg shorter.

Bench

I faintly remember writing this quite a few whiles ago, I think I was taking a walk

the winds moves you and
still
you’re gentle
let me spend a darkness or two
sleeping against your crinkled branches

and you.
how many patterns do you find
in the same space?
you’re so aware of movement
that you flee from it
apologies for my footsteps
shake the water.
to you
paintings of it would never suffice
allow me
Sir gentlem- fish
to hum you to the surface -
seep into your pond, trickle down to you,
dripping sound
and swilling like gatherings
of dancing raindrops
to fill your pond to the brink

Singing in French

none of my words want to give

themselves to you

you have made them timid and quiet

and unable to

orchestrate each other to you

they have lost their voices

among all of your unmindful

non speaking

Voluntarily cease to keep or claim, nearly

Fleeting and flying
the most beautiful meaningless
light and dark

thing you’ve ever seen.

the hybrids of the unfamiliar
write down one of your vivid moments for me
and make it last;
the experience of being

there.

and frame it
bleach it
place it
in my thought life,
never speak of it again.

and you will fade from my mind like a poem I read years ago and only
fell in love with

A show for Dogs

yes, yes it’s ‘final’
and you’re
“going back to the dust”
- so I’ve been told
but it doesn’t seem to change much

doesn’t seem to change the fact
that I’d rather be dragged
kicking and screaming
in utter undeniable undiluted reluctance
than go willingly
to that show of you
being sprinkled into water

in front of strangers
along with mumbo jumbo ritual ashes
and a load of stranger’s eyes
gleaming and glaring and pity partying
silently
(at the request of one certain)
among themselves
Yes you strangers should be on a different boat.

doesn’t seem to change the fact
that I cannot get my mind around
that grey brown powder
that blew in the wind towards us
that was in a ridiculous purple box
was you

and it is one of the only times
I wonder
why humans get attached.

A lesson

I do not know

Exactly what you are

I can get to the core

But not the surface

I think from the LORD, you are a lesson to be learned

And I need to remember

It’s not a shame.

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