"Overused"
The words aren’t coming
quite as easy
and the colours
keep ending up
in all the wrong places
but
the sun
keeps tugging at my closed curtain
and the flies
prod at my skin
then
take off
for the window
only to come back
and repeat the process
it’s time
to go away
for a while.
_____________________________________
"Sliver"
Dragging
lines
across
a page
the
world’s
gone dark
this
is all
I have left
I can barely see
the words
if you can call them that
they’re probably
more of a disorganized collection of smudges
maybe what I’m writing
is barely a poem
but what I’m doing
is surely poetry
dragging my pencil along
and tuning in deeply to the experience
even if for no other reason
than to remind myself
that I’m still here.
_____________________________________
"Don’t Swallow"
In many ways I’ve stopped casting a shadow
I haven’t spoken to the sun in weeks
but even if I did
it couldn’t cast aside my darkness
onto the ground
like it used to
I’ve swallowed him: the silhouette
he lives on inside me
and even if I went outside
and faced the sun
I wouldn’t exist
as far as
any and all sources of light are concerned
I’ve become
invisible.
_____________________________________
"Homesick"
There’s a field on the island
fully encompassed with cedars
where the long grass is both an ocean and a moon.
It sways
and it tugs
at the creatures
within the trees
and asks us
to meet
the space.
I can feel it from the cabin in the woods
the pull is gentle but constant
if I stay in the walls for too long
the whole house
will be pulled
to the ground.
_____________________________________
"Scraps"
I must be
a piss-poor preacher
because the only person I ever preach to
is myself
and even I
barely listen.
All that I create
is just an attempt
to drill something into my brain
but I’ve yet
to find out
what it is.
So I toss my attempts into the street
on the off chance
some passerby
can find some use for them
or at the very least
know they’re not alone.
_____________________________________
"Pacific Doorway"
Modern Civilization
crawls on it’s hands and knees here
it moves
forward
but
slowly
just like
the people
I love that
I love the
the diner with the
stories: sun bleached boards
and old posters peeling off the walls
nothing is
manufactured
it is created
naturally
with the grease and grime
that drips
from
the
realness
and the people
are much the same
from locals
to
those who
are drawn there
they are all
unmanufactured
they have
created themselves
and
read the dirt
and
breath the space
and
speak slow and rough and however the hell they’d like
most things I’ve valued in my life
I’ve found in places
like that
right
dead centre
in
the middle of
nowhere.
_____________________________________
"Green Breath"
I’ve always felt it would be right to
jump into one of those
hollow stumps
and wait
until I hear no more footsteps
then escape
through the thickets and leaves
through the ferns that shiver with rain drops
until I reach a stream
where I’d drown my wallet: my credit cards, my drivers license, my identity
and
after enough scrubbing
in the cold black water
maybe I’d erase my name, too
and I’d be known simply as homo sapiens
and emerge
into a random corner of the woods
miles away from any trails
and just be accepted
as a part of it.
_____________________________________
"Body in One Place, Soul in Another"
Roots snake out behind the young tree
searching
searching
searching
they dig into the soil
and run
because salvation
is always on the other side
of the dark forest: where the unknown takes shape as a vague promise
of something
better.
The roots
die
in the dirt
under a dark canopy
that goes on
forever.
In front of the young tree
light breaks across a deep lake: and there it is
everything it’s ever needed
but that’s just never enough, is it?
_____________________________________
"Let Go"
Only a few
poor souls
are cursed with
achieving their wildest dreams.
What a
confusing Hell
that must be.
To reach what you thought was the epitome
and still feel hollow
to reach what you thought was salvation
just for God to turn his back.
You’d think there’s no hope left
for freedom.
And that could drive a man
out of the physical realm
for good.
The rest of us
lucky bastards
after years of grinding ourselves down to salt
realize we are just striving for a wind that will soon blow us away
and learn accept
then love
the beautiful small.
And that oh-so elusive freedom?
we find it there:
among the rubble
of what was let go.
_____________________________________
"Asylum"
If you
don’t know
how to use your life
welcome
to the club
we call it
Humanity: It’s a very large club.
How do we
leave
you might ask?
how is it
figured out?
If you want to
figure it out
listen
to your brain
and spend
thousands of hours
alone in a dark room
meant only for sleeping
and mull over
everything
every possible outcome
every possible decision
whatever you do, it has to be PERFECT
you only have one life
so you better spend all your time
figuring out what to do
instead of actually
doing anything.
That’s what your brain tells you, no? So it must be true.
Definitely don’t
just leave it
un-figured out
definitely don’t
just go live your life
and resolve to make some mistakes
and end up in strange places
where the rivers sing unknown melodies
and everything is foreign and full of possibility.
Do not go there.
You aren’t ready
not until you figure out the impossible question
that is only figured out
through leaving it be
and living for a good long while
and then dying, leaving the club
and realizing
there was nothing to figure out
after all.
_____________________________________
"Chaos Slowly Creeps Towards the Great Nothing"
Don’t think it through
trust the silence
the gaps in between, the empty spaces
are the most profound parts of this poem.
Keep them
in your mind
and you’ll find
the way.
_____________________________________
"We All Give Back What We Have"
We all give back what we have
wether we choose to let go
willingly
or
not.
Houses, cars, food, clothes…
Family, friends, acquaintances, enemies…
Body, mind, ego, identity…
Air, atoms, molecules, energy…
All these things are borrowed from the great below.
We
are borrowed from the great below.
It creates us
it nourishes us
it gives to us
it's indifferent to us
it will ask for us back.
And all will be forgotten
and the record on the universe's turntable will be spun back to the beginning
and the dance will begin again.
_____________________________________
"Leaving it Behind"
Sunrise on the pier.
From one of the moored boats, a sailor's radio blares the morning news.
A strange dichotomy of frequencies meet on the ocean's surface:
"Another found dead this morning in the…"
Whoosh.
"New legislation passed, putting many at risk of…"
Whoosh.
"Buy it now while the deal lasts…"
Whoosh.
Each noise is enveloped by the folds of the sea
and taken somewhere
far, far away.
I look to the horizon
where the waves disappear
out there, all the noises are just that: noise.
I feel the same pull that the tide must feel
to just float away.
_____________________________________
"Slipping Through the Cracks"
The great grey can be all consuming
at the death of autumn
in the skeletal groves of dead and dying trees
or in the morning
when you wake
with an out-of-tune mind.
Everything it sees
plucks its strings
and the loud squeals
make my
skin crawl.
It even turns the music
of birds chirping
into noise
but
the more time I spend
in the woods
more and more
sweet notes
seem to
slip through the cracks
and slowly
I am retuned
by the mysterious hand
that made me.
_____________________________________
"In Good Company"
silence breeds
and
multiplies
here
it
overcrowds
the space
it’s impossible
for it not to seep in
every breath
is full of it
my lungs
become
empty cathedrals
my heart beats
echo through their halls
it’s as if
I’m drowning
in an ocean of nothing
slowly
it takes hold
and overpowers
my nervous system
it closes
my eyes
it kills me
and it takes me home.
_____________________________________
"Spill"
I lost my feet in the leaves.
Decomposing
marching slowly down
below.
I felt
briefly
apart of something much bigger
than myself.
_____________________________________
"Nature’s Corruption"
A new day is born from a womb of smoke
it’s smaller than most
nearly a stillbirth
but
it puts its tiny eye to the horizon
and by some miraculous stroke of luck
it opens.
It's not the usual gash of oozing white fluid
but one little red orb.
From it
miscoloured light falls on the world.
If many more days are born like this
they might just kill the mother.
_____________________________________
"The Meeting"
Geese gather on the morning water
and line up before a small tree on the shore.
Its back is hunched
its head is bowed down, as if in prayer or meditation.
the water slows its pulse
silence.
Each bird takes it’s turn
below the branches.
No words are spoken
no sounds are made
no distinguishable interaction unfolds
the geese seem to nod their thanks
and leave.
Much of the world probably wouldn't take note of this ritual
and if they did, wouldn’t understand why it happened
but having spent most of my life below these trees
I like to think
that a piece of me
gets it.
_____________________________________
"Absence"
I followed the riverbed away from the trail
every step further
from the tongue
of civilization
felt like
arriving.
Once I could no longer hear it forming words
I stopped
and
maybe it was just my imagination
but everything seemed
more vibrant
as if
the further you get from the noise
the more fertile
the soil becomes.
Creation needs space
emptiness is the canvas
why
do we fear
the silence?
We feel
as though our lives are stagnating
and
look to our
full minds
buzzing with chatter
and we wonder
why nothing is created, why no answers come, why we’re so confused.
There’s no space
for anything new.
_____________________________________
"No Rush"
Taking things slow
as I do
the rest of the world
rushes past
trying to reach
the end
of the globe
I lay in the meadow
with the flowers
neither of us have moved
in hours
yet we bloom.
