"Life is the dancer and you are the dance."
Eckhart Tolle

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

my soul RWP #120 (In this pic I saw death)

they come for my soul in the carriage

they have gathered, oh why can’t I live?

the black curtain has moved back

exposing me



my body is emaciated and wrinkled beyond recognition

starvation came to me slowly

to be spoon fed day by day

it couldn’t be done successfully (though they tried)



i veil behind eyes closed eternally

never to open yet again, no heartbeat

not at all to be heard from within

i want my soul to go somewhere temperate



that was the thing I loved

when I was amongst the living

they have perched around my carriage

am I ready to give my soul away?



 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The gathering by Alice Popkorn 

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Procreación (te quiero) (RWP # 119 "Let's get it on": I have used some Spanish words and expressions in an attempt to give this some warmth)

Procreation happens …

… Souls embrace, a union

Snow melts, flowers bud

Honeybees gather pollen

Golden miel

(procreation)

(love)

(life cycle begins)

Warmth of the sun

Spring has arrived at last

Love and laughter nurture the spirit

desarrollar con amor-te quiero mucho

Air is saccharine and skies are vivid

(procreation)

(love grows)

(life)

Birds singing, chirping

almas juntas en una devoción

Our love-our life

New being to be adored

Cherished, treasured, loved

(procreation life from within)

(love)

(life)

I want to be with you forever

quiero estar contigo por siempre

We have just had a baby

hemos tenido un bebe


Tuesday, March 16, 2010

It's always about you (RWP #118 digging)


As I fumble through the mess of magenta scarves

I find a picture of my favourite strumpet

She was a Middle English girl

With fine and flowing long blonde hair

She was nonpareil

Her custom of singing while fornicating was so delightful

With eyes the color of turquoise like a mist before me



I stand before the mirror naked and watch her dancing

In the shadows

Fine ferns silhouette her lithe frame

She can be furtive at times

But oh my love for her is undying

I go and cup her breasts, oh how pleasant

Soon we’ll leave on the motor-coach

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Hayes (this is dedicated to my brother who we lost this past December)

As you sit watching the birds

Do you remember all the different varieties?

Can you recall my name?

We lost you some time ago



If you would only come back

Just for a short visit and whisper my name

Do you remember the walks in the park?

Feeding the ducks and laughing at your silly jokes



And such a fine dancer

Now with legs paralyzed

To the beat of the Irish gig

How cruel life can be



I see you now look through me

As if I don’t exist

What is it you think about?

Do you think of anything or anyone?



This is painful for me

You are so vacant with that stare

As you continue to stare at the birds

Flying high above you

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

platinum arpege RWP #117 (creating a hinge)

You with platinum blonde hair

Arpege perfume that smelled so sweet

Sitting on a footstool while you sat at the head of the dining room table

Singing Irish songs from your childhood and reciting a limerick or two

You even taught me “Pog Mo Thoin”

Which I am not so sure was fitting for a child

But I had lots of pleasure with that “Kiss my Irish ass”

We snuck behind the old Oak tree in our favourite park

Took a puff and waited for our heads to spin

Marijuana feels so fine

Then back to our Friday night coffee shop

To listen to the hottest music

We thought that we were cool

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Dismayed and waiting for sleep (the photo is by h. koppdelaney "Charon") RWP #116


In all his dismay

Gazing at the cloudy night sky

In need of a respite

Many thoughts going through his awareness






Darkness and solitude

As if inside an empty skull

The eyes have been taken out

No longer able to perceive



Weary from the long journey

Time seems at a halt

The clock is motionless

Waiting for the alchemist to arrive



Armies on the western front

In the land full of irritated and angry peasants

No food for them to eat

No shelter from the merciless elements



If only slumber would come for a little while

Allowing me to feel rested and revitalized

Come to me sleep, cover my eyes

As time goes back in motion