Into the Burning

(By Sil, the 18th of July, 2011, London)

There won’t be a song
For you tonight
Or ever
My fingers are mute
Could we just stare
Into the burning
My soul, thin paper
Dissolving into smoke
A doodle of delicate curls
Yes, I’m broke
It’s curious
It’s absorbing
Watching the entrails of a bonfire
So, let’s calmly
Allow the world to be reduced
To watery miasma
For a while
Stretch your arm
Touch the heat
But don’t fret
Don’t run away
The stars themselves
Are blisters
Enslaved by the beauty
Of all-consuming plasma.

The Loom

(By Gub)

Love
The energiser
The blooming loom
Weaving light
From darkness' basket
blossoms
From the womb.

Yet there is
a brood
Of menace,
Twilight casts shadows from the hill
Sparks in the valley
Remind us
Winds, storms and winter
Can still prevail

What use our wants or longing
Desire unquenched
By petulance or pride
Love has its own vanity
Adolescent temper,
Unsure
As any bride.

Yet mellow with this madness
Give in slowly
To succulent thrill.
Harmony is ageing
Love's test
A patient
Still

The wicker
Hand of an ancient
Loved one
Clasped tight around
That ring
A band of metal faces
Outwards
A silver watermill

Light dances
Off the circle
Moments time inscribes
Those yesterdays
were once tomorrows

The gift
That love
Defined.

One Step... Further On

(By Gub, the 4th of July, 2011, London)

The wind felt tree,
Felled for fuel-

The child in the playground
Driving their own kids to school-

The pristine wedding gift, tarnished,
Bereft of sheen-

Away from the motions of marvel
From those now unseen-

The burden of science is to unlock
The past

Unravel the mystery of life with
Boundless zeal

Ignore the weakened answers
To an unquenchable expansive quest

The space between us shrinks, as conscience
Drifts-

Dark matter - irresolute, unresolvable-

A human symphony, cacophonic youth which age mutes into
a dull hiss

-A blur-

And we're gone

Pieces

(By Sil, the 8th of July, London)

History still flows
And I’ll get swept away
Unlike a salesman
History doesn’t knock shyly
Unlike a thief
It doesn’t try its luck slyly
Probing at the cat-flap.

Spelled out and folded thin
The deluge spills in
Through an intentional slit in the door
With tardy eloquence
It blows over the soup of past hurts
If you attack it, tear at it and
Shove the pieces in the bin
It still beckons.

Two, eight, thirteen, twenty
Numbers attached to unrest
What to commemorate
What to forget?
How to avoid feeling like
I’ve tripped in the wings
And stumbled into someone
Else’s drama

An unrehearsed guest?

Compacted

(By Sil, the 25th of June, London)

Growing into love
I had to learn from trees
Who confine
An infinite thirst for light
Inside small, delicate panes of leaf
And as I see the source
Of my contentment
Compacted down
To one man’s form
His fingers play to quell
This startled heart’s
Un-restful pulse
His whispered plea:

"Hush, now, my love.
Time is the master ghost
Who redeems all broken souls."

Strange Attractor

(By Sil, Hanging Bank Cottage, the18th of June, 2011)

I sit with you
In the terror
Of your precision

Words become
Little toy-cars
I cannot kick-start
The wiring and the track
Seem intact
But the flow is not the circuitry
Puzzled, I silently sulk

I have but a map of your world
Etched in my mind
A mute story of fear and dread
Of turning away
Of Protest’s
Hardened bread

I make a mistake
And then another
There’s no other way to communicate
That I wear the coat of your language
Second hand
That like you I swim
In turbulent waters
Not walk on solid middle-ground
I know all too well the taming powers
Of correction
Delivered with a heavy hand.

With every swipe you take
With every tiny speck
Of imprecision removed
There’s less and less of us

Communication is
A Strange Attractor
Forever gravitating
Around an empty space
Once you remove all error
There’s nothing left but
The silent perfection
Of a white page

A Seeing-Through

(By Sil, the 5th of June, 2011, London)


The merchant of silks
Sized me up
And declared:
“You’re one who escaped and explored”.

Yes – I dug my claws into the mortar
I cried from the ancient rooftops:
I’ll never be trapped behind walls.

Only in dreams I tread
The grand old mansion
Grounds
Where ladybirds
Cusped by inquisitive hands
Were lost on epic journeys

Only in dreams I still wonder
At the hollow
Jet-less fountain
And wallow
In the scent of
Ripe elderflower

I was tired
Lied on your bed
Strange unhomely pod
Buried deep into
The pad flesh
I could still feel the pea.