Monthly Archives: January 2014

Small stone no.8: Ideas

Jan 8th – Ideas

 

Our representations are fixed, ‘twixt the real and the imaginary.

They are not real, nor true to life, they are a caged menagerie.

Where life taunts its sorrow, haunts its hollow, denies a morrow.

They are the internal eternal alluding to the present moment,

the unreal ideals which we toy with and lament.

They are dead, made from cement, but this we do not realise,

until we hold them up as expectations and wallow when they don’t materialize.

We squeeze life as it splutters, we throw it in the gutter, without even knowing it.

But little do we know that we do reap what we sew,

so for your own sake, pay attention, and watch life’s show,

be present and be willing to see more than you know.

Small stone no.7 – Big Blue Sky

Jan 7th – Big Blue Sky

As you expose yourself to me, openness laid bare, how can I not stop? Not stand still? To wonder and stare. You infuse me, you fill me, full of love, light and grace. The magnificence of your presence embodies expansiveness and space. You create vastness within me, to have and to hold. I give you my body, you give me your soul.

Small stone no.6 – Emptiness

Jan 6th – Emptiness

A blank page, an open stage. Nobody will come to tell me what to write. My pen walks alone as it strolls into the night. Sliding along, whether caressing or dragging, the depths of my insides, be them thriving or flagging. But on it must go, there is no other way, for me to turn dark into light, and night into day.

Small stone no.5 – You and eye

Jan 5th – You and eye

I do believe that we have this all inside out. That you are within, and I am without. For when I gaze into those tiny black holes, what stares back at me, through me, is no less than your soul. Yet when I look out, to the world all around, your insides, your entrails are what fills the ground. The trees are your lungs, the mountains your bones, the rivers your blood, and the winds are your groans. The void we call space is your vast imagination, the circling galaxies are your cosmic circulation. And black holes in space, what are they if not the same, as the ones I look out of to witness this game?

 

Small Stone no.4 – Breakfast

Jan 4th – Breakfast

A dollop of wobbling, gelatinous, translucent amber nectar sits quivering on my plate. Its bitterness delights my tongue. The crispy outer layers of my crumbling croissant wrap themselves around their own soft, warm, spongy insides. Together, the unlikely pair, come together in my mouth, dancing in unison like a match made in heaven. Then the dark, rich underbelly of earthy, exotic aroma leaps out at me from my coffee cup, calling for my attention. It is liquid black gold, and as I sip it, it stirs up an alchemical response within me that forms a trinity of flavours. Together, in communion, they are richer, deeper, denser, more profound – far more than just the sum of their parts.

Small Stone No.3 – Daydreaming

3rd Jan – Daydreaming

 

I am the inner artist of my souls own creation. I paint my life into being with the soft gentle whispers of my heart’s desires. I lavish my mind’s dynamic easel with the most delicate and intricate possibilities of how a life can be. I lick the ice-cream off my fingers in a world that is just as real to me as these written words are to you. Inside myself I laugh a thousand laughs, I smile a thousand smiles. I explore, and adventure, to try things on for size. I play with the fabric of life itself. I hastily cut its cloth with my insatiable minds eye and give birth to a collage of dreams that scatter magic within me like shooting stars. Each new burst of colourful, sensual, roaming imagery more beautiful, more real, more life-like than the rest. Sweet dreams, for a sweet life. Lovingly crafted from the luminous, fleeting nature of possibility, and of potential.

Small Stone No.2 – The Seashore

 

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2nd Jan – The Seashore

 

You give yourself away. Offer yourself up. Lap at my solidity. You are utterly selfless and yet completely self-satisfying. Why the rush to throw yourself away? To lose yourself so readily? You soak my every fibre and allow me, to be me. Yet you are not you, without my containment. Without me holding you in my finite embrace, you are nothing. And I too am nothing if I do not offer up my being to contain you.