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.
Hi Mark - I love this cycle of poems The Body Curio. Very beautiful and the output! I think you write as many poems or versees in a year as I have in twenty! Well done; a joy to read. Cath
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