word works
poetry, notions, thoughts or what you will
I am an other parallel journey knowhere short poem 1 pawn short poem 2 stranger false heights web I am an other
I am an other.
It is not external.
I am not wearing them.
They are inside.
I do not understand this co-existence.
I do not know which voice is mine.An awkward confession from yesterday still shuffles:
“You are different. I don’t understand things you say.”
So I know there is something there that is not me,
or that I was not.I am sure this is my room I remember
how to get here even how it looks but less
ten bin liners full of memories. I spent six hours at it
my past trashed the dustman won’t distinguish.
An empty glass jar, corked, on the mantelpiece
all that remains of adornment useless decoration.The furniture rearranged my bed moved
I can live in one room but cannot live
one person inside one head.
Stands high, empty, the air moves beneath
a peculiar presence there waiting
to hold my sleeping weight.Scared to sleep: who will I be
when I wake cannot pinpoint it now
loathe to leave the conscious world
lest I should lose myself and have to start over again.
Another other might creep in none of us recognise
I will wonder which is me and never find it
I have no evidence.Those slender legs straining in vain
their purpose remaining unfulfilled
but wait. I woke this morning there. I must have slept.Do I have to replace the furniture?
No memories but too many reminders
the grain of the wood recorded my existence.
I do not read it, it shouts.My mouth dries.
The other, that invades, that I am becoming,
it is not whole. It carries detachment,
it belongs, but not here.
Seeking fulfilment, it guides me wherever it needs to go
seeking a personal equilibrium that is not mine
that cannot be me for I am not it, not yet.I am bound to witness its searching until it finds rest,
my vacated self a temporary shelter
why can’t I evict it, where do I find control?
A mere vessel now charged with this;
I bear responsibility for its actions.
Strange to an outsider as they see only the outside.
Well-defended so far but I cannot trust it for a moment
there must be constant guard.Now I say things that I would never have thought before.
I am being portrayed as destructive.
I wish I were afraid.
How can I know what it seeks?
I don’t understand where it came from
so how should I tell where it is going?
I wish they would take it back it laughs me
my crying every day means I am still there
or here somewhere insideWhen it evicts me will my own body be left behind?
Cannot place its origins whisper
pressing nothing coherent
hazy images find catharsis
its presence persistent torture
words suggest, to what do they refer
cannot succumb must purge how much longer
cannot last on dreamed salvation
frantic running through strange landscapes
it follows close behind I don’t recognise this land
long to get back, see a white cloud against a blue sky
so simple no explanation.
Remind me who I am
who I should be.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
