End of year round up - a seasonal post.

It's that time again, soon this year will turn into something new and uncharted - 2014. Is it just me or did 2013 seem to pass quicker than any before it? I think personally it's because I've been too darn busy - hence the over long gap before returning to the world of blog. I'll make a commitment here and now to take more time out for personal writing projects in the new year. We all have to create a space, somehow, amid all of our busyness, and writing is my very necessary escape. All summer long I've been jotting down ideas, a line here, a thought there and now it's time to unravel them - to pick up the thread again that leads me back here, to myself.....

It Matters

It matters to me

This isn't wrong

It’s not a crime

The stunted bough

The twisted rhyme

Celestial Fall

I did wish upon a shooting star

In its celestial fall

Hoped my love would unlock you

My prayers provide the key

My heart did burn in solitude

As it arced across your sky

Although worn upon these sleeves of mine

You never batted eye

Lost moments sincerely spent

Now darkness has returned

Mute silence blankets everything

All trace of where we burned

It's been a good, if steady year on the performing front and I've enjoyed the opportunities that have come my way, courtesy in particular of Colchester Poetry.  I was fortunate enough to do three months worth of sequential performances at Open Mike nights for September, October and November, plus a couple of performances earlier in the year and an appearance at the Sunday Matinee in January. There was also the Festival at the Hythe, Colchester, in the summer, so not too bad I think. My sincere thanks to all concerned in organising these events and giving chances to folk to have their moment.

All the Things

All those words I’d written for you

One final touch, a misplaced stroke

And everything is lost

A page full of empty space remains

Lilly white, like a coward’s heart

Elusive tender moments

Brimming with all the things

I never said

So has the desire, the passion for writing diminished in these fallow months? Not at all! How can it when it is something I love doing and so value sharing? These pieces posted tonight are all new, the first harvest of summers thoughts. I hope you are enjoying them.

Galatea

I carry a personal Galatea

In my mind

Pure psychology

She oozes like beeswax

Love and erotica

Melting in my undecided flame

Raven and Dove

Spread eagled on a moment

The emboldened tongue

Exposes hidden form

Love uncoils

In strange new ways

Gifting pleasure storm

Fire meets ice

A heartbeat - missed

The raven and the dove

Falling helpless

In surrender

On the outer lips of love

Erased

Hollow heart, running loose

I’m just like a frightened deer

But if I were a preacher man

Bold - I’d entreaty God for you!

With a useless broken antler

Snapped at rutting time

On a hill, I’m straining upwards

Towards Artermis’ shrine

I never meant to hurt you

Though my aim was straight and true

The gods have made my choices

They dictate from depth of void

Colour turns to black and white

And I struggle to recall

Why on earth I wait here

Set for a bruising fall

I hope that you are happy

Beyond the touch of man

I’ll erase my thoughts, forget you

In every way I can

The Holy Grail

Of love and stone I speak

One dances like a moth drawn to a flame

The other broods, unyielding, brute

One is passionate, fleeting, delicate

Until the holy-grail is reached

And it fails, beating frail wings

The other enduring, faceless, mute

Removed from the fire dull and cooled

Merely exists in splendid isolation

One burns with all urgency

The other drains and chills

Which I ask myself were you?

As I roam desolation's hills

Kernel

Fluttering against the glass

Still he beats his wings

After long and fallow years

On the outside looking in

A lonely, frightened mocking bird

With gold dust on his tongue

Carrying the burden of

An imagined Midas touch

So much to say, so little time

He would sing for you

Bring precious stones, a holly wreath

Things borrowed, old and blue

It’s cold out on the margin

The farthest edge of time

In deepest dark the brightest stars

Gleam in solitude divine

Within this darkest hour

A kernel only night can bring

He awaits the cusp of sunrise

When he’ll catch your eye and sing

I'd like to thank everyone whom I have shared the writing journey with so far, everyone who has taken time out to read Ariadne's Thread. I wish you all a very happy and prosperous 2014!

Proximity

Sleep walking the halls of sadness

I wrote this for a heart like mine

Though none abounds

And time abhors my ethereal ways….

To what shall I compare her?

All my words are but the guttural

Aping the divine

My striving the profane to the profound

And to know her, how?

To roll back time and take her hand

In mine, would be a splendid thing

And together walk a path so intimate

Surely, to miss its proximity, a crime?

To experience every leaf and flower

Watch each heavy pollen laden bee

Upon a bloom’s explosion feed

All confirms creation's glory

I but mere and flawed can scarce conceive….

To know her, how?

Except through the Ariadne’s thread

Of words she's left behind

Leading me by the heart

Toward her light sublime

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.

Update w/c 15/09/13

I didn't realise when I returned to the blog that it had been over three months since my last update. It's been a busy summer and seems to have flown by faster than any I can remember but at least this year we had a summer with some glorious hot days! I have also returned to the poetry. Although there has been some note scribbling and idea collecting there really hasn't been time to write a great deal, although I did write a series of sketches for St John's Church, Colchester based on the Epistles of St Paul which were quite a challenge and something very different to be asked to do.

There's nothing like a live performance to re-focus energy however! I was lucky enough to get a slot at "The Waiting Room" a new venue for the arts in Colchester that I wish every success for the future. It's early days but there are good things planned. The evening itself was very enjoyable with several local performers including comedy, poets and musicians and no two alike so great variety as well! I would like to thank Colchester Poetry and James Sarek in particular for organising the Open Mike.

My own writing has revolved around a re-appraisal of some older efforts, The "Body Curio" in particular coming under renewed scrutiny and in places a thorough re-write where I felt the material needed strengthening. The challenge has been to keep the "feel" of the original whilst improving it. The relevant page has been updated with samples from the piece so you can judge for yourself whether the process has been a success.

One new poem that got it's first outing on Saturday 14th Sept. follows, called "Maple Leaves" I hope it is suitably evocative of Autumn.....

Maple Leaves

She loosened the band and her hair fell

Like a red waterfall

Like fire tumbling over her shoulders

She loosened the band and her hair fell

Unfettered across the curve of her neck

And she flicked her head

Her fiery hair describing an arc

Like an autumnal goddess

Her hair, red as a maple leaf

Promising the open skies of the wilderness

Her eyes as deep as the forest

She loosened the band and her hair fell

Wild and untamed

And I raised my head and howled to the moon

In that moment my heart ran free

Through the ancient forest

Through carpets of fallen leaves

In the moment she loosened the band

And her hair fell

I also include another re-write from the "Body Curio" that formed part of Saturday's performance.

Unconsciously You

Perhaps you took pity on me, sensing my need

And deigned to show me the manifold wonders of love

The height, breadth and depth of sublime womanhood

I tasted sunshine in your smile, saw beauty in your eyes

Day and night you were always on my mind

Unknown pleasures soared within my heart like birds

Forming a facsimile from the clay of love

Unconsciously needing someone to worship and adore

I worked an errant likeness with childlike thoughts

Gently I smoothed every inch of its skin

Faithfully captured every curve and detail

Reproduced every rise and fall of your breast

I made more of you than drab reality

Birthed a deity from the pearl of desire

It rose like Venus from the clamshell of my heart

Your likeness beguiled me, promising perfection

I couldn’t live without the hope my idol brought

Mine the age old error of loving what I’d wrought

Time and time again I threw exhausted arms

Around the unyielding torso of my goddess

With tear soaked kisses begged you to awaken and replace it…..

I hope you have enjoyed the update (and I'll try not not leave it so long next time), hopefully see you at an Open Mike or local event soon!

Kind regards

Mark

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.

Much ado about something

Hi all! Inbetween exam preparation I've been lucky enough to do a couple of live sets at The Hythe to Port Festival and Firstsite Colchester and I must thank Tess Gardener of SKOPT & Col Po fame for the former and James Sarek of Col Po fame for the latter. Thanks both for the opportunities! I've really tried hard to up the ante with live work and the material is so heartfelt it seems to come accross from the feedback I've had. I'd welcome comments as ever. The Circles project has been a bit of a watershed in so far as I'll take time out from the usual source material for my work and try to do something a bit different for the next project "Auto Pathology".  It's been on the back burner for a long while and now seems the time to complete a thorough examination of my and those around me's relationship with all things medical. It's a long story but hopefully it will all make sense, so from witch doctors to councelling via psychology here goes! Meanwhile I continue to "fine tune" Circles but it's certainly ready for it's own page on the blog. I have added some material from the same and hope you like it. This Saturday sees another opportunity for live work at a fund raiser for the "Lightbulb Festival of the Arts"  which will take place in Colchester from July 11th to 14th. Please, please back this if you can. Better still come along to 15 Queen St, Colchester from 7pm onwards to see some great acts strutt their stuff! I'll sign off now but do please look to the "Circles" page link to get a flavour of what the last nine months have been about in Mark (poetry) world! See you at an event nearby soon!

Update W/C. 24/04/13

Sorry its been so long but pressures of study and other commitments have dominated, the good news is we're nearing the end of the academic year so there will soon be time for more regular poetry ramblings!    All has not been quiet however and I'm pleased to say a very big thank you to Colchester Poetry for the recent open mike on 13/04/13 where I was able to vent regarding the topic of bullying, which is a real bug-bear of mine. I'm passionately against the strong (usually backed up by several cohorts) picking on the weak and I am very grateful for the positive feedback I received on the night. I was quite undecided about whether I should go for it or not and I'm glad I did. The "Circles" project is in its final stages (I promise) and will be finished soon. I thought to add the poems I performed on the 13th of April here. I promise that everything in "Comprehensive Indeed" is true, it contains strong language (for me anyhow) so I've posted it last in the latest entry. The poem is from my first offering "Minutiae" from 2010. I've included "Daughter of the Beat" my peon to Jan Kerouac, daughter of Jack Kerouac founder member of the beat poet movement and "Rear View" which is dedicated to one of the more difficult life moments I've endured. Both are part of "Circles". As ever I'll be grateful of your feedback and comments and I sincerely hope to catch up with you at a poetry event soon.....

Kind regards
Mark

Daughter of the Beat

At first, like everyone we ever see, she’s an image, an assumption

Gazing from the page at me, from a time before I’d even heard

Her name, let alone stood on the cusp of these innermost thoughts

Lain bare as words for all to read.

I know my walk in this garden of candid prose will be unique

Seeking more than others seek, I'm following a path that’s

Mine to find, revelations from between the lines leading to

Appreciation.

On the day the photograph was taken, if I’m not wrong, her eyes

Reflected more than a cameras lens. An energy reaching out

Decades on – a fragile being, aware of her mortality

Knowing she’ll soon be gone.

Smiling, I'm enjoying alternating shades of light and dark

Finding depth beyond a perfect face, colour beyond

Black and white, happy that words can endure death

Making more than fitting epitaphs – they tell a story.

It’s through her words the beat goes on, she herself

Has gone but if eyes are indeed the gateway to a soul

I wasn’t wrong. Turning the final page I also offer words

Hoping she’s found the peace that she deserved.

Rear View

All I had to do was subtly glance behind me

A surreptitious rolling of the eyes

To see you there, sitting in my present

Yet somehow belonging to the past

I wanted to see if I still found you beautiful

Traced the familiar contours of your face

A numbing sadness tugging at my heart

Feelings from another time and place

I heard your voice in the here and now

Felt your presence just behind

Not something I had to recreate

From the forbidden corners of my mind

Wishing I could say I hadn’t felt the yearning

A desperate desire to re-connect

Resolutely I drove on through gaps of silence

Always one to humbly genuflect

With trepidation I felt the old fires burning

Of the love you’d chosen to reject

I’ve often tried but there’s no going back

No dressing the wounds of your neglect

Wisdom’s lines trace the pain of learning

Framing the damage that’s been done

I pull away with no thoughts of turning

No more rear-view glances at “the one”

Comprehensive Indeed

Lined up like wide-eyed frightened meerkats we await the verdict

Delivered from sneering faces of contempt part hidden by big brother

(And there’s always the guardian angel-rock-ape that waits outside the gate

Of this hellhole, after school, the ultimate tattooed guarantor)

Fingers pointing they progress slowly down the line

A single phrase, a word, mark of the beast conferred:

“He’s a poof, he’s a poof, he’s a poof, he’s alright, he’s a poof”

Said with an amazingly dispassionate contempt

And now for the less fortunate it starts:

Bullying, shoving, sneering, name-calling

And those endless portent laden threats

I’ll get you after school

I’m going to kick your fucking head in

Give us a sweet you poof (always “you poof”)

As if they even know the meaning of the word

Powerless teachers often fare no better

Pale timid mediators that our tormentors know

Can’t be everywhere

Can’t be outside the gates

Where their spineless jurisdiction ends

On the sprawling estate

I swear there are vines hanging from the lampposts

To help the rock apes swing their way to school

My punishable crimes: A briefcase not rucksack

No standard issue Doc Marten boots (in brown or black)

The branded gather in clusters at playtime

Frightened little penguins, bewildered, scared, lost

When the bell goes the buildings spill their stomachs

From the upper floors looking like a swarm

An eruption of scurrying

Faceless ants

ii The Tools of the trade

The shove

Safety in numbers

A Big brother or two

And (preferably) a rock ape for extra immunity

A cover all insult

“You poof”

A flexible threat

“I’ll get you after school”

(Effective even if you don’t follow through)

The threat produces a sick sinking-stomach feeling

Making the victim recipient sweat for hours, fart with fear

The realisation of the portent:

“I’ll kick your fucking head in, you poof”

iii How to be left alone

Obey the law of the jungle!

A hapless victim will be selected for you

Unwilling gladiators we form up

Before the bully overlord and his gang

For their delectation and delight

I can see his sneering face

He knows you’re a spineless shit

More afraid of him by far

The bully cook book recipe:

A pinch of Insults lightly stirred

A seasoning of shoving

Lots of “you poof” for a fuller flavour

Then get kicking!

A Doc Marten to the shins

Or windmill punches to the crying reddened face

You’re learning fast!

A revolting piping hot dish will soon be served

Blood spattered, for good old bully, already salivating

At the prospect of the feast

Show no mercy under any circumstances

The more your overlord grins the better you’re kicking the shins

Don’t forget when they go down a kick to the nuts

The victim is a “poof” anyway, they won’t need them!

Iv The day that friendship died

My dear childhood friend:

If it makes it any easier for you

Forgiving myself gets harder with time

I wish I could make amends

Turn back the clock and stand up for you

Your crimes: polished enunciation

Parents interested in your education

I can see the bullies surrounding you

Laughing, linking arms, forming a tight ring

Framing your frightened face, bed sheet white with fear

I can hear the chanting begin

“Kill the poof, kill the poof, kill the poof”

On a given signal the dance begins

Like a macabre vicious can-can

Doc Marten’s in unison, to the shin, to the groin

Every time you try to fall

They grab your collar

Hold it tight, kicking

Forcing you upright

Game over the suddenly disinterested circle brakes apart

To reveal your face racked with tears and pain as you stagger

Trying to walk, shooting a look at your cowardly “friend”

That says quite simply the friendship ends

I’m sorry

Wish I’d had a spine back then.

V Music teacher

I can see and hear you today

Clear as a bell in my memory

You had a beautiful voice

Long, lustrous blonde hair

And I can see your red face

Unwilling tears starting to form

Behind thick black rimmed NHS glasses

No interest in classic arias here

The boys at the back won’t listen

They’re too busy picking the next victim

Planning today’s playground torment

They merely jeer and barrack you

It is with great sadness I hear the news

A few years later

The throat that sang arias

The rope you used to hang yourself

Vi Comprehensive

“Here I sit bored as hell waiting for the bloody bell”

I will always remember that tribute

Deeply scratched into the wooden table top

Like a pale brown scar cut with a penknife, sutured by splinters

A mute verdict on algebra, geometry, Pythagoras Theory

A hundred things we’ve never had cause to use since

Five long, draining years coming to an end

Unbelievably they’ve put out squash, cakes and biscuits

To see us on our way, trying to create an informal party hat atmosphere

A fitting send off from the 1960’s build penal colony

We disaffected stand sullenly, shifting our weight

From boot to boot when a lone digestive is thrown

The air suddenly sports a display of cake

It’s a riot out of control!

The headmaster is called

And he bursts through the double doors

Mortarboard and black grim-reaper cape

Billowing in the wind of his assumed authority

A superhero like Batman arrived to save the day

We all pelt him, the mortarboard’s knocked off

Rolls impotently on the floor like a chastened dog

A trail of cream and jam adorn his high forehead, spatter his hair

He retreats the scene with undue haste

Then it’s over and we leave, just ebb away, like a retreating oil slick

No thought of a backward glance at the grey prison

Nowadays dying of concrete cancer, what a bloody waste

Vii A legacy

And there you still stand

Ofsted special measures

Re-branded Art College

Failure

I still bleed from your stigmata

Curse you when I drive past

Through the jungle-vine estate

Realising I’m scarred just like the table top

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.