A flight left from the abandoned
warehouse
with yellow grease smeared
on the dusty windows
I wasn’t on it
my tattered bags were waiting
in a discontinued baggage lounge
no one could tell me
how I could jump
through the rumble of clouds
into my cracked seat on the plane
with no destination
there was a sense of panic
and the roar and scream of motors
that were gone
absolutely gone
as the dark waves lapped
against the rocky shore
I had to be on that flight
but it was gone
absolutely gone
I have been swallowed
by the desperation of time
and the day that follows
and the next
then there is the noise of it all
and the eyes
What are the fires that smoulder
in the dark shadows of my eyes?
Who lives in the ashes
of my anger and lost dreams?
Is there comfort in the pile
of old bodies I have used up
and thrown away?
What of the one left now?
Can I still burn the stars of night
with reaching hands?
I am a shadow of myself.
A small stream sings softly
to itself and the green world
as it turns this way and that
always down, flows fast and slow
around boulders and branches
always down
merging with the sea
always down
when were the choices made
I have become addicted
to the dark of hand and voice.
Every day I challenge the limits
of my outrage
but it continues to elude me.
There seems to be no end
to my shock and pain
at the anger of the world.
Will the next nightmare
be the last one
Will there be a last one?
Photo by Dan Fraser
My tongue searches
for the language of distance
in the iron grip of near
inside out, turned around
looking
my eyes naked fire in space
in the grip of distance
the very near distance
looking
Following the slender path of words
I see a misty silver line
turning and twisting
down the rocky face in my mirror
do they whisper in the voice of stars
are they silent like the blink of eye
The blank page
the struggle for meaning
reaching for the voice of the heart
the scent of touch
the ache of being
When I don’t want to see
what I see
I turn away and turn away
around in a circle
now what do I see
do I see myself
or do I keep turning and turning
around in a circle
is this my circle
The Mousie videos my wife is making have been a wonderful addition to our lives. Young children (and seventy old children) seem to really enjoy them. It is so peaceful in Mousies enchanted world. If you watch her painting wildflowers and think of any people who might also like to go there, please feel free to share it with them. Dan
