word works
poetry, notions, thoughts or what you will
parallel journey knowhere short poem 1 pawn short poem 2 stranger false heights web parallel journey
She had packed her bag earlier,
crammed it full of impatience.
Now that dawn had cleared the way,
she heeded the call
and left far too early.Biding her time
by just missing trains
strolling the platform
stepping in time
with the clack of the clock
as the digits change
each second between
submerged in the solace of solitude.Oblivious of all else
and to the passing of time
that day measured by journeys,
by minutes and miles.The faster travelled
the more left behind,
the more abandoned
to the moment.Fleeting landmarks
merge to a single nameless place
snapshots on the retina all gel to a single face
humanity observed
in a memory preserved.The places she visited
the people she met
could not blemish
the distances she set.The platform from which her journey began
had been laden with the knowledge
of her inevitable return.No one would have guessed
that she had ever left
as she wandered back
into context.knowhere
walking slowly through fast time, I can see only what I left behind
you cannot choose where to go only how to get there
walk straight ahead, but travel the sweeping arcs of perpetually diminishing circles
the vulnerability of the mind is too strong for it to see what is really there
looking up to the end of a tunnel vision
amid the solitary consciousness, tenacious footsteps along the dotted line
my shadow mocks me in two dimensions on the dusty ground
the instability of elements that constitutes life
the ebb and flow of existence
now at the end of playing games and the beginning of honesty
better to push it than to watch it fall away...
who will I be when I wake?
loathe to leave the conscious world lest I should lose myself and have to start all over again
feel the swerve of an amplified wave travel back full circle
the motion jars and the cogs cease to make sense of themselves
a stretched spring always under pressure, that tension is essential for time to toll each 'tick'
travelling from an expanding past trapped in an endless present
my time is not yours
an archaeologist dusts the final layer of sand patiently particle by particle with the tiniest brush
an ancient sapless remnant of life revealed exposed to ultra-violet violence
sighs and crumbles to dustthe child whose eyes cannot tolerate a single wave of light
stumbles and cries out in the dark
his mother in a moment of panic switches on the light
and sees her son for the first time
as he dies before herpawn
it bothers me
that I might be
the pawn
of an invisible
king or queen2
exuding confidence
assuming an aircalm confessor
to a nervous lesser
indeliberate
cool considerate
eyeing the bait
letting it wait
and watching it
disintegratea trust that lies
honesty denied
tenaciously balanced
detachment as talent
daring to contend
the unpatronising end
that cannot result
in any insultthe acquiescence
remaining unfeltstranger
if I could read your mind
were I not so blind
would I care?having understood
seen all that I could
would I despair?you speak so calmly
of alarming states
the worst of my dreams
your conscious stream
when you are awake
but your face
not a trace
the occasional smile
of your wit and your wile
are all that never escapeyears spent at practising
the art of mastering
a deeply deceiving
tranquil composureall this I can see
it's not enough for me
I'm sorry I still haven't met youfalse heights
but it is in heed to his own warning
that the confidence he gives
seems as genuine as one of his wigs
the lie I thought I saw
maybe now I am sure
that the plot of the game
- raising me above shame
vain heights that appal
the distance to fall
a writer? I am sure!I refuse to climb
to such heights this time
lest you laugh as I hit the floorweb
La pauvre
tous les matins
je me levais
j'ouvrais les rideaux et voilà
les ruines suspendues dans l'air
Et elle?
elle était toujours là,
suspendue au milieu
en oscillant encore un peu à cause de la force soudaine
une seule action et j'ai détruite une nuite entière du travailla nuit
du crépuscule à l'aube
elle débitait son tissu
en suivant ses dessins complexes qui s'entrelaçaienttout-cela,
elle le faisait par instincts
sans y pense
sans questions
il n'yavait que la lune pour la plaindre et la carresser avec sa lumière douce
même suspendue au milieu des ruines
elle avait l'air calme
elle se reposait un peu,
quelques petits moments devant la tâche immense qui l'attendait
et elle recommençaitfil tendu après fil tendu, elle refaisait sa création
la nuit tombait,
je fermais les rideaux . . .ce matin-là, je regardais par la fênetre,
une fênetre sans ruinesje ne l'ai jamais vu, sa belle creation
le matin, en ouvrant les rideaux, je l'ai toujours cassé
ce matin la fenêtre me semble vide
j'ai la sensation qu'il me manque quelque chose
mais ce soir, je fermerai les rideaux sans regret
