Across the sea on a sacred isle,
Two souls may merge, and hearts are smiling
To see what peace can surely endure
When given the space to love.
A rook with wings of tar has come,
Head of iron, feet like aerials
Reaching deep to fibres that hum
'Give them some space to love'.
A scorpion sifting sand with its claws
Adorns the sun with dazzling glances.
His faith in light is never undone,
Just give him some space to love.
TV screens once littered the surf,
Crackling hard with static surveillance
Of torture, soon made vapour to hearts
Given the space to love.
Labours spent on torturous spells
Only yield reciprocal hell
On bodies whom to each other mean well,
Screaming 'give us some space to love'.
Two boys row for the isle, heading west,
Oars in synch, caressing the ocean skin,
Equal and at harmony's breast,
Now granted the space to love.
On sands that soothe, Under skies that heal,
Hearts are calm, embraces firm
As the rooks and the scorpions whisper
'we've given them space to love'.
On sands that soothe, Under skies that heal,
Hearts are calm, embraces firm
As the rooks and the scorpions whisper
'we've given them space to love'.
On sands that soothe, Under skies that heal,
Hearts are calm, embraces firm
As the rooks and the scorpions whisper
'we've given them space to love'.
Given them space to love.
Monday, 8 June 2009
Sunday, 7 June 2009
Thursday, 4 June 2009
Sunless
He says it's beautiful to love'
Handing me a bird.
Leaner than a dove.
Sharp as any word.
He says 'a kiss is heavier
Than the ruby in wine'
And that his faith is steadier
Than the square root of mine.
He says 'a march is futile;
A protest against the self.
I won't dance to any flute,
I won't fellate the crown of wealth.'
He says 'the trees are aerials
Transmitting to the sky,
The clouds are radio stations,
Vapour citadels' - a lie.
He says 'you might believe me.
You might refute my breath,
But in order to deceive me
You would have to cheat death.'
He says so many wondrous things,
Each grabder than the last.
The proffered bird extends his wings.
A stagnant age has passed.
He says to dive beneath his robe
To shelter me from time,
So clutching tight the bird, I dove
In sheets of satin crime.
Handing me a bird.
Leaner than a dove.
Sharp as any word.
He says 'a kiss is heavier
Than the ruby in wine'
And that his faith is steadier
Than the square root of mine.
He says 'a march is futile;
A protest against the self.
I won't dance to any flute,
I won't fellate the crown of wealth.'
He says 'the trees are aerials
Transmitting to the sky,
The clouds are radio stations,
Vapour citadels' - a lie.
He says 'you might believe me.
You might refute my breath,
But in order to deceive me
You would have to cheat death.'
He says so many wondrous things,
Each grabder than the last.
The proffered bird extends his wings.
A stagnant age has passed.
He says to dive beneath his robe
To shelter me from time,
So clutching tight the bird, I dove
In sheets of satin crime.
Fourth Wall
When the slipper gets thrown to the crowd have it known,
That when chinooks and choppers have scythed through and mown
Down our frivolous zest, that the one who's your best
Estimation of purity, has earthly feet, like the rest.
With a zeitgeist that's crumbling, a lustre that's tumbling
To shadow, in search of a half-light that suits,
And your skin like a sail, driven by toxic winds
Through dissenting territories whose cretins freely loot.
When he occupies you kindly with his gun,
And the stage lights dim to scarlet just for fun,
In refusal to illuminate the one.
'Don't get wasted in my shoes,
Don't come shackled to bad news,
When you know in your heart's purest cell
That this fourth wall's a window to artifice - can't you tell?'
With stray bacteria strafing below,
In the infertile, clamouring streets, did you know
That your lover's been scraping the grit from his teeth
With the tip of a whore's hard-earned stiletto.
Don't sketch blindly in my books,
Don't look kindly on those rooks,
When you know in your chewed-up pulpit,
That this fourth wall's a window to artifice.
That when chinooks and choppers have scythed through and mown
Down our frivolous zest, that the one who's your best
Estimation of purity, has earthly feet, like the rest.
With a zeitgeist that's crumbling, a lustre that's tumbling
To shadow, in search of a half-light that suits,
And your skin like a sail, driven by toxic winds
Through dissenting territories whose cretins freely loot.
When he occupies you kindly with his gun,
And the stage lights dim to scarlet just for fun,
In refusal to illuminate the one.
'Don't get wasted in my shoes,
Don't come shackled to bad news,
When you know in your heart's purest cell
That this fourth wall's a window to artifice - can't you tell?'
With stray bacteria strafing below,
In the infertile, clamouring streets, did you know
That your lover's been scraping the grit from his teeth
With the tip of a whore's hard-earned stiletto.
Don't sketch blindly in my books,
Don't look kindly on those rooks,
When you know in your chewed-up pulpit,
That this fourth wall's a window to artifice.
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