Today, being the 1st anniversary of my blog, it seems fitting to post the 3rd in a series on the theme of my very first post: Diurnal Variation.
dark becomes light
as day shifts to night
the brain’s body clock
only ticks after tock
circadian chimes
wrong rhythm in time
as night becomes day
light fades to grey
What if
you were gifted
a second life?
Would you,
having sifted
time’s hindsight,
re-map the course
thus far taken,
and without remorse
sail dreams forsaken,
hoist new masts
on life’s oceans blue,
endeavouring to chart
a different you,
to brave life’s wild
and raging seas,
or float with mild
and soothing breeze?
What if
you were given
a second
life?
Posted for SidevieW’s Weekend Theme
“In the dream,
she
got on the bus
and left, not
looking out the window,
you
crossed the street
and disappeared
into the crowd, never
looking back”
I
tried to erase
this, but
it’s grown
a monstrous
smudge
I concur that you are a brilliant man
(not some selfish gene flash-in-the-pan)
so I’d like a rational discussion with you
re your rationale I find somewhat askew
While I’m fundamentally with your position on God
I find your fundamentalism disturbingly odd
Yes, I was importunately sermonised in my youth
but would never label it child abuse
There are many true victims of that aberration
which has little to do with attempted ‘salvation’
Once,
on a shimmering day,
I saw the sea fly up
Llandudno Beach
and swallow our sunwashed
detritus –
faded towels, Hang Ten slops, trashy
novels, footprints
ingested,
as we scramble-watched
it from the boulders,
churning back out to the horizon
with the indigestion
of our lives,
not looking back
to wave
Dying –
it’s a little like that back there
“Get a tan, man!” – the beastie boys jeer,
white-raged, she’s facing off fear
Out here, the limits are none
her swirling strands of red-yellow-gold, spun
into halos burning bright as the sun,
jewelled auras for silent incantation,
reposed in peaceful contemplation
of fancies, unbound by vituperation
underwater, she is as fish,
swims human stark antithesis,
becomes her Aphrodite wish
———-
Updated for Sideview’s weekend theme of Beauty
Autumn, we lay lines,
unfurling across alpine waters,
to flycatch a trout’s eye
Spring,
we are copper lizards
on rocks trailing
the flowered creases
of Crackenback
Autumns and summers,
we zigzag
to the summit,
always a marking of sorts –
birthdays, deaths, waiting out
open-heart surgery –
from afar
A lifetime of seasons
ago – before I left –
you said
the mountain came down
and swallowed lives,
wanted me to know
that bad things happen elsewhere
too
as if somehow that would make
me see,
stay…
Now, it’s winter –
we’re making virgin
tracks
in snow
when the eye
of a raven catches
mine,
a gelid reminder
of these invisible scars –
the ley lines
that connect this place
to your passing
In hands made
to heal, did the shaking
of a child’s delight become
monstrous crystal ball
Stalin
Hitler
Akazu
revealed
as snow settled
into blood
stains seeping
across continents,
and out
through your
fingers?
Did you
catch the shadows
in a father’s benevolent eyes?
Is that why,
Ana,
you lie cold
beneath the snow,
silenced by your
own hand?
He could not hide
in plain sight
from you
Sometimes,
we turn away from work,
inhale others’ gardens,
look out at iridescent birds,
shapes cast by the sun
Sometimes, we ignore our chores,
cycle the distant suburbs,
look at how another tenth live,
eat exotic foods on the streets
Sometimes, we forgo the car,
ride the ferries and trains,
look for treasures in labyrinthine shops,
play tourist for a day
Sometimes, we shun the inner life,
chase the little white ball,
look right, look left (up at that thieving crow),
rarely straight down the middle
Sometimes, we blow the budget,
wine and dine on the Quay,
watch the passing parade,
the city at play
Sometimes, we forget ourselves,
lie outside in the dark,
look up, and beyond
to the edge of the universe
and close our eyes
in peace
was it the 500,000th
cigarette
that threw the switch,
sent
your light flickering?
i see you bathed in darkness,
no light, no air,
just the rasping
of short-circuitry
Was the timer on before
you were born?
i don’t know…
Maybe the 500,001st
was the nth
of vice,
lights-out for a pulse
If Leibniz were alive, i would
ask him,
but we wouldn’t
share a smoke
I glimpse
your ghost
in
the sure hands
of a carpenter,
the polished grain
of Oregon pine,
the automatic way I
switch off the light when leaving a room,
the geometric folding of
a newspaper
on the train,
UPPER-CASE EMAILS,
those who talk to
dogs
as if they were human,
to humans
as if they were
joy itself,
the cheerful scatting
of a man in his shed,
brother’s
exasperation when someone goes right
to turn left,
sliced tomato on toast,
and – every morning –
in the shapes
of my
toes
—
“Have a good evening, young lady!”…
we share a knowing
chuckle
across tender,
hormone-free beef –
middle-aged
people,
for a moment
not
invisible
Image via http://www.sxc.hu
He ate Suzi’s paella
and dreamed of Ipanema,
of romance in Marbella
and Rio de Janeiro
–
He ate Fleur’s rindless blue
his dreams were psychedelia
he dreamt he was Theroux,
da Vinci and Ophelia
–
He drank Ping’s green absinthe
and dreamt he was a fairy
with eyes as green as minthe
his wand, a blue canary
–
He ate Fang’s chou dofu
her durian, then balut,
and napped as King Shi Chu
at war with King Canute
–
He ate Ann’s cherry duck
nightmared of Gordon Ramsay
who served confit of muck
with jus of some philandery
–
Then came Maeve’s Irish Stew,
no dreams his sleep disturbed
and as he woke he knew
his food of love’d been served
filicide
closed you in at night,
no space to breath, but
we thought we were
safe, years
on
a sparkling day,
something faceless
on the breeze,
snaring
your shadow,
hermetic fate
sealed
by a pernicious beast, forever
changing the way
we navigate
the world
If there are more than a billion atoms in a .
how does it compute for a quark?
If the universe has all the atoms it ever will
is our fate just a ?
Cannot
draw, paint, sculpt,
create symphonies, move to
mirth or action,
enthrall,
sing with the voice of angels
(or the sublime Ms Fitzgerald),
cure with digitalis,
build to withstand
the aftershocks of a billion
humans,
yet,
can,
in an instant,
locate true north
of a moral compass,
see the colour of a
beating heart
The esky’s packed with ice and toots,
we’ve phoned for fish ‘n chips,
dressed down in thongs and ugg boots,
for the nuptials of His Nibs
—-
Our PM, a Republican daggy,
an atheist, and unmarried to boot,
will schmooze at Westminster Abbey
with First Bloke, toasting our roots
—
‘The Chaser’s been given the flick,
Beeb and not-amused Charlie to blame,
Instead, Antipodean kicks
will come from that dodgy old Dame
—-
Yes, for today, we’ll forgo real news,
indulge in some frivolous folly,
chuck a sickie from workaday blues
and quaff a few bottles of Bolly
—
Like a champion, he takes the blows,
And they keep on coming,
left, right, uppercut, and…
(Commentator) “Ohhh, that was dirty, but LIFE
hasn’t blown his whistle!”
..punch-drunk, reeling, but he’ll not lie
down for a TKO –
never give the schadenfreude crowd
their satisfaction
If you were first to look her in the eye,
would you plunge that dagger through her heart?
©beeblu.wordpress.com
This image may not be copied, downloaded or reproduced in any form.
golden opportunity –
wormhole to a smidgen of
the universe –
squandered
in too much big
hair, Kate Bush
and Saturday Night Fever,
and,
who cares to know it,
an absence of self-trust,
So,
mathematics – the Ark of the Covenant,
and I – just another stupid girl
beeblu blog 
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