Eights (1)

Very often every day ⁣

my future falls asleep ⁣

wake up these full pages ⁣

my heart beats blood blood ⁣

Blood blood blood beats ⁣

time keeper – time saver ⁣

loser of seconds, hour winner ⁣

year solder, decade finder

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Life aflow & awkward words•••

Life aflow & awkward words•••

Out across night ⁣

water I reach • • • and miss ⁣•••••

you • • • • • WHY DO DREAMS

REFLECT GIANT BLOSSOMS

and tumble shrink to⁣

mere words, while tall ⁣

hours, wide years sink,⁣

dirty autumn here ⁣

rising up secrets⁣

call to difficult ⁣

clouds your unknown ⁣

silver tales, shadows ⁣

scatter into rain.

This is about a sense of loss and absence which is perhaps as imaginary as a feeling of connection and presence.. I write about the feeling of the moment. Maybe my words are more destined for me to read out loud/ lyrics/ or a kind of creative treatment for screen.

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I thought I’d already posted this one…

We need to stop meeting like this

Breaths – – –

Like waves of dust on highways,

A dense drizzle of fumbling

Through a field of old papers,

When, arriving like an exam..

A little fragment of death

A sliver of a ghost scream

..Trickles through my hot living mind..

Freezing outwards – –

And everything I touch

Breaks.

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When I was two, my father was a giant and it was my mother’s birthday.

She asked him to collect the granny apple for her from the garden. As soon as he stepped out of the door, the road jumped away from him like a long coil of wire. He drove happily, finding his way around the knots and eventually he reached the entrance of the garden.

To cross, he had to walk through a pool that guarded the treasures of the garden. The pool moved in hisses and shadows.

One wrong move and over he twisted and was thrown into the dreadful waters. Struggling, up he flew for air and only found that he was going deeper into a terrible darkness.

The Granny Apple was safe upon her tree but that year, my mother did not have a birthday party. When we saw my father again, half of him had disappeared.

We got all the mirrors in the house changed (halved). His clothes though, he decided to keep the same as before, and so a lot of people thought that he was a whole person.

———–

Written 29/10/2018

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Lyrics written today

Took our rage for a walk.

We turned the sky red. [choir sings]

Birds fall from the pockets of dragons

Peace lives further down our roads.

We turn to the ocean

Finding the snore of a million grains

Floating behind an island path

We lead the way to listen waters.

Keep breathing between the stones

Light hate and do not hide our fears.

When sleep messages us

Bright drawers of dreams flow.

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My clocks are talking backwards

Seas fall between themselves

Yawning, the world fills

Blinking commas

Harmony

Balance

When?

My clocks are singing sideways

Skies lie between themselves

Waking reflections

Dream-filled question

Carrying

Balance

Now..

———————————————-

Process:

Written before, shortly before, on the way to, during post-dinner grocery shopping, then partly forgotten and written/developed by writing it down.

Notes:

Like many of my ideas, it comes from a multi-dimensional vision, eg it will / could be a film or have a visual sequence, or be spoken, and/ have music, or it might be a song.

The original layout might be seen in the image where the two verses are written diagonally facing each other with a line.

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Some songs escaping

Yawning and singing. Swish of tiered long bright blue water skirt. Sharply drawn face with seeing ink eyes. Black hoody teeming with white stars. Hands fly to the face and a quietened coaxing, murmur shuffle of minute dawn birds – some songs escaping.

————————

Creative sketch of woman on train platform.

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