The Body Curio

The Body Curio dates (The Diary of an Intimate Wounding) is a three part work (first draft completed in early 2011) and follows hard on the heels of Testimony.

The "diary" has three segments:

1) Self Recognition - a journey through formative years and relationships
2) The Hour of Reckoning - where Jung's "noon day gong" rings loud and clear
3) The Intimate Wounding - the fruitless search for the "magical other" - finding and losing the same

The unobtainable "magical other" takes the form of an exquisite muse born in the eye of a storm

In the Cupboard

Skeletons in cupboards make themselves known

Erupt in the present with a rattle of bones

Nothing stays hidden, the truth will be told.

Childish games over, their time is long past

If we once had a flag, it now flies at half-mast.

What of the future, with its uncharted lands?

We write the next chapters with trembling hands.

No Withered Bouquet

Your memorial sags, slightly angled, as if dozing

Perhaps musing on the echoes of a friendship

That brings me here, tracing a name with a finger.

A blackbird serenades the reddening sunset

As I run my hand over the rough stone surface

My skin snags, calling me back to the present.

Layers of moss have made their home in your name

I feel hewn words, the passing of years in my bones

Recall you, strong as an oak, my sterling friend.

The family moved, distancing themselves from this place

Do they think of you, long since passed over the Styx?

Not even a withered bouquet graces your lonely rest.

Watch hands remind me, time waits for no man

I smile, say a final goodbye and hasten away

The protest of a hinge, briefly hangs in the air.

Defenceless

Everything has fallen, city and empire

Inner enemies stalk the streets

Hunting for terrified emotions

Casting all defences to the ground

This is the hour of preparation

The time of atonement has come

The mind is covered in darkness

Reverberating to the noonday gong

There is no light here, only fear

Of the rattling skeleton army

Erupting from obscure alcoves

Rejoicing in infinite chaos

The axe is at the root of the tree

That shivers prostrate and naked

The pre-written sacred scriptures

Will be cast into the furnace of desire

Byzantium

Starting so subtly

Exacting tiny hurts

Paper cuts stinging

Too small to treat

Little lost blood

Many have come

Biting their path

Like a host of ants

From head to feet

Uncovering the scar

Besieging the walls

Like a plague of locusts

Swarming the elephant

Until Byzantium falls

First Resort

Too wide eyed and trusting of medicine’s Gods

With their smiles, suggestions and little placebos

Brushing side effects under blankets of silence.

Let’s look carefully at these little chemical eggs

Social excuses, first ports of call

Given to any poor beggar that asks.

Here is the church, here is the steeple

Produced in billions, sterile factory

Pumping pills into embarrassing people.

Profit, money, bottom line

Different names, all the same

Squeezed into packets, tumbling loose.

Hail international magnates of Mammon!

No humanity, pathetic apology

Social stigmata, corporate branding.

Guinea pig people are tolerant to toxins

Reacting to drugs like predictable specimens

Let’s massage problems with lies and statistics.

And when the door shuts, it all feels like a game

Everyone drowning under a shower of pills

Knee-jerk prescriptions and don’t call again

Gilded Hangman

Time hunts me like a gilded hangman with a golden noose

Seeking me to the utmost ends of the universe

I’m wearing a crown of mortality, moving faster and faster

Punishing, pushing myself to destruction

A fourth dimension will change all measured perspectives

I’ll defy the atrophy of my melting peers

Accelerating to light speed, gaining infinite mass

I will somehow escape his withering clasp.

 

Aphrodite Paradox

When all the old ways had been consumed, steam rose from the furnace

And condensed into clouds of feeling

A new rain came, falling like pink cherry blossom in springtime

It collected, drifting with the breeze like snow

As it coalesced, it took the form of a woman with a beautiful voice

She sang songs to the listener, who wrote down all he heard

She told him that love can hurt and that from now on 

He would be equally cursed and blessed

She sang that love is like a puzzle or a beautiful Hydra 

Intensity

I will eat fire for you

Walk broken glass

My soul is forfeit

Sweet thorn in my flesh

I will walk the wilderness

Searching for answers

Cross endless plains

For the prize of your love

I will suffer for you

Excommunication

Drown as I inhale

Your loving breath

I will swim through darkness

To my place of calling

I am near to heaven

Looking into your eyes

Beauty

I rode past you clothed in white on a white steed but you didn’t notice me

Though I bore love and good will, would have done anything for you

You did not see.

I was the day.

I rode past you clothed in Red on a fiery steed but you didn’t notice me

Though I bore passion’s flame, would have loved you in a special way

You did not see.

I was the sun.

I rode past you clothed in black on a black steed but you didn’t notice me

Though I wore a crown of sorrow, ached for you to share my life

You did not see.

I was the night.

In my dreams I ride past you still but you don’t notice me

Though you’ve left the bitter-sweet gift of words

You do not see.

Water

I’m melting before you, ice turning to liquid

Look into my eyes and flow with me

Take a chance and swim into my arms

I’ll surround your body like a liquid kiss

Touching every inch of skin

Cradling your weightless breaths

I’ll pour myself over your breasts

Run like a river between your legs

Still your body with my restless tongue

Turning surrender into vapour

Making love with the touch of clouds

Let’s rain our pleasure hard

A storm breaking on the bed

Postcard

Each stoke of your pen is a wounding

Every up-sweep of your hand a hurt

Each ‘T’ crossed, every ’I’ dotted

Tears at my heart

Even as I give my all your thoughts are far away

You wield your pen like an unwitting weapon

Battering my love with neatly written prose

Your thoughts are gently drowned by the sound of breaking waves

Your pen is moving

Even as you playfully push sand up between your toes

Un Jour Parfait

Our story could only end one way, circumstances stacked against us

Though my thoughts can curve time and space to join you at will

I long to have you, here with me, flesh and bone, tangible and real.

I can’t hug a picture but it helps me remember your body’s warmth

Shared on an almost perfect day, when you were so very nearly mine

And the sun briefly kissed you, smiling into my camera’s lens.

Hi Meaning Bye

We said hi, meaning bye, passed each other like ships

You mouthed the word silently, framed by the lips

That in a heartbeat, I would so gladly have kissed

I’d no chance to tell you how much you’ve been missed.

On a winter’s day with grey lowering skies

I look for the warmth I once saw in your eyes

Such feelings of loss in a simple hello

Saying hi, meaning bye, I really must go.

The Sail-boat Song

I hear a sound, like waves crashing on a lonely shore

Half forgotten images ply the waters of my mind

Memories burn like flares beneath my eyelids

I’m just a bedraggled would-be lover, washed up

On a desert island, shipwrecked by a Siren’s song

Lost in flotsam thoughts that strew the tide line

Memories that coalesce into her sunshine smile

Can faithfully recreate her face, her voice

The sweet bubbling cava of a long lost kiss

I allow myself to shed tears for broken hopes

There's no one else here to see me lament

The smarting wounds that time will surely heal

I remember when I first heard the sail-boat song

And resolving to trail her like a cowboy

Murmuring my hidden love

It feels so real I can almost taste the sea salt on her skin…..

All these thoughts of her, still lapping at my heart.

Moai

Wide eyes seek answers to riddles of emotion

A frozen sentinel stares to far horizons

Hoping for a smile like a sail upon an ocean

Time passes, heavens spin their silken threads above 

Stars dance footsteps with light from long ago

When we were young and stone dared to dream of love

A furrowed brow blooms on islands of desire

Trees felled in fruitless rites of adoration

Flames licking prayers with tongues of fire 

Forests turned to ash, a dreamer torn apart

Burnt bridges, the narrative of senseless hurt

None so pained as those with captive hearts

Stone cracks with healing tears like soothing balm

Let none grip a rose save those that risk a wounding

Lying face down, a broken love line, read on a shaking palm

Mark Harris has asserted his right under

Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

To be identified as the author of this work.