Curvature
(By Gub, Bucharest, September 2003)
The arch of your
Back
The curl
Of your toe
Open mouths
Wet lips
Hips
Circling
Slow
Senses
Warm
Calm
Nerve
Balm
No fracture
No division
Unity
Precision
Love
Made slow
Eyes
Meet
Worlds welded
Complete
And hours later
When we part
Pubic hair
Like
Velcro
Echoes
The
Gentle
Tearing
In my
heart
Is love real
(By Gub, Bucharest, September 2003)
The love that you feel
Is it real ?
When you touch
My skin
Pull me in,
Absolve my sin
Is this a fantasy
Of fact ?
Or phantom
Fancy ?
Truth aches
Uncertain
Which way
To go
The will
To embrace
The fabric
Of love
To pull on the
Mantle of an
Others beauty
The elegant
Textiles
Of desires
Construction
To wear
Our souls
With deep
Comfort
And eae
Or is loive
Just a vain
Attempt to
Please
Our empty
Egos ?
I see your eye
Reflect the light
The contraction
Of my love
To a tiny bsize
So fragile
So small
All expansive
All sense
Compressed
Into a
Miniature ball.
You hold
Me
Now
A particle
Of sand -
A fragment
Of history
In your hand
Will you
Clasp me
Close
Guard me
Still ?:
Or dust me
Off
Into the
Desert
Of free will ?
The circle
(By Gub, September 2003, Bucharest)
I have no hope
To heal
History
No spark
Or flame
To light the fire
By which to steer
My tired ship
The sea moves
Silent
Beneath this
Static hull
A surf-less
Surface
Lit
With grey
Sky
Numb dull
Clouds
Slip
Listlessly
By
Sails limp
With damp
Air
This is no new
Horizon
No promised
Land
The world is flat
Contrite
With feeling
Polished mantle
Of azure ocean
Stretches
Endless
A blue
Desert
With no
Sand
Above the sea
The sky is stiller
Still
A forest
Canopy
Of concrete
Clouds
Sit solid
Unbroken shadows
Refuse to crack
Refuse to rustle
Lifeless
In the breeze
This space
A spaceless
Heaven
No stars
Shine
In this moonless
Cavern
What hope
Stirs
Is soon
Crazed
With unhinged
Purpose
A groan
Rumbles
In the lowest
Depth
A volcano
Erupts
With frozen
Magma
Speak less
Of life
And more of living
Life is a word devoid
Of
Meaning
But act;
Protract
Or contract
Some shape
Some feeling
Grab the handrail
Of the sinking vessel
The breached bow
Of fallow years
Gulp the air
Though still and stale
The smallest particle
Confesses fear
There is no deception
Age marks
Lines
On the youngest face
Embrace that breeze
That fills the sails
It is born
In a different place
Travel is the measure
Of our journey
- move
As we must
From place to place
Life is the
Motion
That begins
And ends the
Human race.
Describe a circle
Touch lightly
The contours
Of your hand
Hold the air for
A fleeting
Second
Still
Now
The quiet
Of living
The shifting
Of time
Each day the sea
Moves
It’s own
Weight
In sand.
When you touched
(By Gub, Romania, 2003)
When you touched
This skin
And closed me tight
And whole
Within your body
You spared the world
Some bitter
Pain
When you tucked
Me tight
Under your wing
And sucked me dry
And drew me in
You closed
A door
On darkness
Switching
On a light
You withdrew
The bite
That threatened
Sight
And
Ribbons caught
Beneath the buckle
The waistcoat
Muffled
Tight
Love is a passing
A human gasping
A roll of dice
A cancered lottery
Of untold flight
One soars
One boars
What charges
Upward into night.
We may have felt
The ruffled quiver
The besmirched
Mirror
The hour-glass
Reception
Of time
Wither
But standing
Out,
Proud alone,
The embarrassed
Groan
The collective tither
Love wrestles this
And that
A Laundromat
Of unwashed
Feeling
We seek for gain
We contort
Our hearts
And smile with pain
We grow smaller
Darker by the hour
When sunblest
We stand
Before the light
The penetrating apostle
Of lovers sight
To stand and proclaim
That pain is shame
That bottling up our ardour
Is tantamount
To a cold shower
Easily done in moments
Of mirth
We measure the earth’s crust
Turn
It’s rusty girth
But human touch
Human hope
We pray
That is real…
The moonlight shines
On the valley below
The rattle the garble
Of the cows lowing
The life that cups
The cradle
The candle that glows
The hand that rocks
The infant
Fearless
Of woe
I wish I could paint that face
That distant parent, the shadow of grace
Who stands like a tombstone
Over the womb,
Who overs succour
In the shadow
The gloom
And there amidst the agony
Of night
That gentle smile
That love labours
As the mother reaches
The father teaches
Stands
Forlorn
In the
Spring felt
Dawn,
The passage of
Time measured
Between death
And being
And being unborn
The wind rushes
A brush
Amongst trees
easing its passing
With the abandonment of leaves
And the tucker that falls on the forrest
Floor
Is an adornment of riches
A pasture of acorns,
From which
The bugs
The molluscs
Primeval
And unsown
Will tunnel
With wisdom
Will outlive
Man’s
Homegrown.
I smelt the dark rot
Of the wood’s acid core,
I watched the louse
Crawl, symmetrical
And small,
Barked back
Battalions
Of scouring might
Creatures
Of thoroughness
Blind, insight.
The hovering motion,
The circles
Engrained
Regimented
Circumnavigation
No cortex, no brain,
But in travelling half-distance
In pacing the same
No parliament,
No secretions
Of greed, or ill gain
Nature most
Bold
Most simple
Bereft of recall
The burying of arrows
Of bow-strings unstrung
Of hymnals unhitched
From the saddle
Of belief
From the harnass
From the gun
What insight we seize
From vision, what illusion
We are spared
When we consider
The wood-louse
The heir-loom
Of life
Human destiny
Spared…
I only wish
(By Gub, Jan 6th 2004)
I only wish I was pressing snow beneath my feet,
On a cold winter climb,
Up a cobbled Sibiu Street.
I only wish I could hold your face,
Cup your smile,
Squeeze your red raspberry lips
Between my chattering teeth.
Snow storms in the
Flickering light,
Flakes float
FleetingInto night.
Heating body, blood and soul,
Your love's hot cocoa to my heart
Your very being;
Spiritual coal...
Whistful
(By Gub, London, the 24th of June 2004)
Whistful, wanton
Wish
The blessing of a kiss.
If you would only
Open
Those eyes
Flash lashes
At the sky
See opulent
Colours
Spring to life
Press
Fresh
Reddening
Lips
Against
Alabaster skin
And sigh.
The deep
Breathless
Heat
Of summer’s
Past
The burning
Glory of sleep-filled
Dreams
The life we live
Before we die.
The body that you bare
The round full
Curves
Of tender
Flesh
The sudden rush
blood,
Swollen nerves
Flexing tendons
Sweat
Wept
Dry.
The image
Of that half drunk
Form
Draped
Seaweed
Across
Rounded
Stone.
vision
Born
By birth
The thirsting
Thrust
Of a waving form
Crashes
When you speak
(By Gub, London, the 28th of July, 2004)
When you speak
You pass
Green daises
That turn to grass
You usher sunshine
Into dark places
Your smile
Resonates
Echos
Joy
In the deepest recesses.
But when your voice
Is silent
When your
Tongue is closed
Tight around
Your gum
The day returns
To night
The world
Is glum
Speak now
whatever
Is in your mind
Your heart cannot betray
Thoughts that pass
Unuttered
Stark
And grey.
The bolder of
That stillness
Is only the nightmare
Of what you will not say.
The shadows
That we box
The half-lit
Candle
Pulls
Menace from the corner
My Souls courage
Stalls.
What are
The thoughts
That shudder
That curdle
From the grave ?
The sallow
Tainted face
This mystery
Is my knave
Wish that I could fight him
Wrestle him to the ground
That bloody unspoken
Feeling
That life
Will not confound.
When love is calling
Blindly
When hope is on its way
The universe
Shines so brightly
We are lifted from the fray.
But when the love
We’re close to
Slackens
And fear comes in its wake
All our senses wither
A heart upon a stake.
The blood that feeling
Calls for
The sacrifice
Of lies
From which love promised a gracious
goodbye
Becomes the thing despised.
How can such greatness
Falter ?
How can love become
undone ?
It is this silence
Which steals
Our former
greatness
Words collapse
Unspoken
False
Calm
Before the storm
And speaking
Nought of nothing
Isolation is reborn….
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