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Southern Night Sky

June 30, 2014

And it was on the branches of the night
On which hung the cool silver moon
Radiating beams of mercury
To make the streets shimmer,
That was when I came home to you.

Sitting alone in your immense solitude
You wove the dark into your hair
And from your mouth the stars dropped like jewels
Upon the earth below,
That was when I came home to you.

Home, home, from the clutches of the day I came,
To hold your body of shadows in my arms
And feel, in the cup of my hands,
The ethereal light from your heart of moon
As I stood in the apartment alone with you.

Rocks

June 29, 2014

Rocks, progeny of the earth,
Born in the fire and heat
Emerging from the womb
With red tassels streaming.
Bounded and moulded
Into the sharp eagle
With arrogant face
Staring above the boiling sea.
Unmoved, impenetrable
Or so they seem.
Hollowed by wind and salt rust
Wounds, burnt and bleeding,
Beaten, whipped and worn down.
Yet, still harsh eagle face of daring.
Nothing will destroy them,
Till the earth itself crashes down

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Evening Tides

June 29, 2014

The marine sea melts the cruel rock face
Swirling and steaming, waves shave the granite’s mineral indifference
Revealing the soft delicate heart of the earth.
Hollow winds whistle on the sheer cliffs
Summoning the petrels to dance the last dance of the day,
Somewhere, deep in the grotto,
Amidst the spray and the salt, Odysseus sits
Charting the glorious eyes of Penelope
With the fading rays of the sun.

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Swings

June 28, 2014

If I could go away tonight
There is just once place I would want to be?
At the old playground
Where the swings sway merrily in the breeze.
Again and again
They sway and they sway
Like our dreams, afloat and
Trembling on the night winds way

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To the Consultants

June 25, 2014

Who writes for the weary consultants?
No! Not the beat poets, not the romantics
Not the epics. Lost in their world
Of road and bread and iron,
They have forgotten us.
Not for us the romantic allusions
Of being one of those who nourish the world
Or those who travel and discover
And strive and fight with the Gods.
No! Not for us those weary metaphors.
And why should there be any?
We don’t break our backs over the merciless earth
Or feel the sizzle of salt on our wind burnt temples.
No! Not us. We are the privileged that’s for sure.

But they who don’t write for us don’t see
The lonely man or woman, huddled on beaten chair,
With cold sandwich shriveling under institutional lights.
Or the inevitable return to bed in an empty and solitary room,
No love to kiss or hold,
Just the familiar company of wine in glass
To whom “challenges of day” one must expound.

Ah yes! We bestride the globe like a colossus
Though mostly through planes and trains and automobiles,
Latter day Odysseus we are,
Writing the world our own epic story,
[In PowerPoint, font 11, 80% black]
Of men whom we meet and of ‘battles’ we fight,
But whose Gods have feet of clay,
And desperate love, filled with regret when we look back.
Privileged? Maybe. But never forget,
Odysseus was king, and he did too
Long and wish for respite, green Ithaca,
The adoration of his son,
The kiss of his wife,
The end to the wandering
On the dark ocean road.
Hoping for fire on hearth
And the soothing comfort of home.

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Thoughts on Love

June 9, 2014

Of late I have wondered about love. It is such a well traversed topic that it is hard to feel that anything new can be said. But in some ways that is the beauty of love. Despite being as old as civilization, despite the fact that its path has been trodden by many, by me, each time it still feels new. A garden emerging once again out of heady, swirling and obscuring mists of our prosaic lives.

Today there are many different terms to describe the feeling of affection. To some it is “just seeing”, maybe dating and so on and so forth, no real “love” in any of these stages. But all these terms describe are different ways of finally finding love. Love I don’t believe discriminates on the path to it. All roads can lead to it and once there, there is no further, just a sheer cliff on which we, love and I, must balance and try to never fall off. That sounds romantic and the reality is that we will fall off, many times. But that is the process as we search for the one with whom we can hold by the hand and stay on that wind buffeted cliff for ever.

To date love and I have entwined many times. Love created for me memories that despite the ultimate endings, is the recollection of an Eden that like Adam I carry with me. Once in a run down post-industrial town, where the river is a sluggish brown and the dark stacks of the nuclear power plants the only discernible sight in the gloaming, I walked a crumbling bridge with my then love, hand in hand. That love was not to be, but what still remains is a perfect idyll shared by just her and me.

It is memories like those on the bridge that love elicits even when gone. And love brings back that simulacra of another using sights, smells and songs. Kings of Leon and I have an unfortunate history in that so many of their songs I associate with past loves and more often with their ending. Too often their melancholic dirge recollects times in a sedan with needle thin rain chattering above and a now empty seat next to one. But not all these tugs from the past are sad, even if the moment they heralded was poignant. Sometimes I remember sitting in a restaurant, and despite nothing being said about it, knowing that our time together was done. And yet what I most recollect of that night is a hand pressing down on mine, the gentle playful scratching of fingers on my palm and the crease on top of her nose that came from affection. Joys like that make it hard to forswear ever being in love again, even if currently it is no more, even if that incident heralded its end.

So whats new in this long epistle. Probably not much, but just a reminder that love thrives on hope – hope based on the notion that for all of us, even if not now, that Eden we once experienced can become ours once more. Maybe not with the person with whom the last Eden was experienced, maybe that Eden was false and full of weeds, but nonetheless an Eden exists. It is this hope that nourishes and feeds love and keeps it alive. When we lose this hope, we not just lose love, we lose the capacity to see the beauty of the world. Love just makes that beauty come alive more vividly. Love can be mutual, it can be one – sided. Maybe love won’t be returned, cannot be returned, but it should always exist. Think of the person you love, someone you once truly loved, once cared about, and think about how much more beautiful they made your life, even if they have now gone. By maintaining hope and faith in love, and by never denying this emotion to yourself, no matter the disappointments and fears, the world will stay beautiful for a bit longer.

To the endless night

June 8, 2014

The night has always been a magical time for me. The light has descended and all around is the serene darkness that blots out all. It is hard to really experience the night these days. The lights of the city always set it ablaze, so much so that even at midnight the sky is colored dull orange. And yet it is this darkness, the deep blue-black cape that covers the earth, which brings out the subtle beauty of life that we often overlook.

Light brings clarity, light exposes, but through this exposure, it also blinds. We forget how to use other senses as we rely on our eyes. And yet at night we are forced to consider the other. Standing at the wharfs in Sydney, I have stared at a city that during the day appears relatively unremarkable. But at night, when the sun has set, when the cool breeze has lifted off the sea to make me occasionally shiver, the contours of the city come alive. The sky turns dark naval blue and the buildings light up like jewels. And they shiver in the breeze, they gleam and they dance in that magic of the dark. For suddenly, they are not hard concrete striving to sky, but lithe and alive, they are a pageant of imagination in the darkening sky.

In the dark its now when we come alive. We have not tamed the dark, but we have allowed ourselves to dance with it. In the subtlety of light and shadows we exists for a better part of our lives now. The dark is when we play now. The time to be afraid is gone, the time of wolves has past, and the night is our playground. The darkness creates the hue and the mystique of hidden smiles and words unsaid. The press of the hand in the shadows of an elevator, the hazy smile in the anaemic light of the restaurant, the kiss that comes alive under a flickering lamppost and the graze of the hand against the cheek and hair in the back of the cab on the way home.

The play of love is always heightened at night. How many times have we kissed someone in the darkened doorway, against the shadows of the kitchen and even in our unseemly haste to culminate still had that moment when our eyes are closed and the senses take over and feel the heart beat of the other with our hand on their chest. Night takes away the form and in the moment of making love allows us to immerse ourselves in the fluidity of shifting shapes, of gasping sounds, of heady smells and of being part of an immensity of another. It is in night’s ethereal darkness that the fire of love so often is born.

And yet we battle the night. For all its charm and for all its grandeur and for all its art of the possible, we battle it. We throw up harsher lights, we exist more in the real than in the shadows. We chose to ignore it’s allure. Yes, night is a time of fear, time for monsters – those that exist externally and also within. Night creates anxiety, the ticktocking of the clock counting down the hours of life lost by being neither awake or asleep. Night is the time when we can experience the unseemly horror of that inevitable and endless night, death.

But those who fear the night, have yet to walk the drive when the setting sun shifts the world from certain to protean. When the stars emerge in the sky and the world radiates under their cool diamond gaze. Walk the night sky on the wild alpine plateau and see the dream of men who sought to recreate the star light for the earth. Walk the night sky with your love, even in the fire of the city, and forget for a moment the bright neon lights and give yourself to her without your eyes and feel for the moment the magic and the passion that night can bring to your life.

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Rain

June 7, 2014

Here comes the rain,
Long hazy curtain of shifting water
Winding through the lights and avenues
Of this neon city.
Cold, damp clutching embrace
That wriggles through the pores
Stiffening the bones, slowing the pace;
The poignant lethargy on a busy day.
Here it pours, muttering to itself
About it’s journey and it’s endless
Exhaustion, that it reveals along the way,
Emptying itself of all it’s cares.
And it stays and stays
With it’s lonesome music and song
Of love and kisses, now long past,
Mingled with teardrops staining the sky black.