Bloodied sacrifice cascades through generation after generation, leaving each to search his soul for what it means to feel the beat of the human heart. Petals into the past evoke gratitude and remind us not to forget.
The poppy’s opiate heart weaves it spell upon our essence and with each protruding stem more questions are raised. Sepia toned images are imprinted on the heart as our minds try to find a reason. This is more than human sacrifice, more than innocent feet caked with the mud of war; this is a part of our history that tells us who we are. Provides Provides map to our own souls that show us what it means to be human, highlights the bravery and treachery that are buried deep within our ancestral veins. A dark and solid centre surrounded by bloodshed. Part of the soil of our being in which our perception of ourselves is grown. We look not into the past for it is gone, but examine it through a single living moment as our souls are illuminated, and reborn and grow forever upwards through the dust and ashes.
Free writing, Friday, Midnight.
Tunnel’s ending creeps nearer as our heartbeats slow to the beat of the end. Our past learning nothing now as we stand in the shadow of all that remains – a moment in time, a moment alone, all that is left, all that lives; now.
Free writing – no thought of form, structure or content. Composed in a cafe.
Midnight lurks around the edges of my mind,
Seeping slowly into the daylight.
Its depths hold suffocating horrors
Each one continuously reborn and revolving on a
Never ending carousel of daemons.
Horses’ vintage colours fade, regal carriages
Fold inwards and are replaced by
Stolen glances, hidden chatter, ephemeral actions.
Basking in the sunshine brings peace, calm,
A sensing of being that has the potential
To feel complete
But midnight’s fingers extend, its
Darkness blocking the warmth until all
That remains is the discordant waltz
And the deepening pit.
Made from a picture taken on Reindeer Lake, South End, during our trip to Canada.
I’ve been writing this poem for a while. Not 100% happy with then ending but like the form my idea has taken.
The tangled threads unravel freely
As we share our secrets with the sun,
Solitude’s protective rusty thorns dissolve
Leaving wounds pulsing vulnerability
And fear’s worn, delicate surface exposed
To the poisoned pinprick of language.
Defenceless now I lurch toward you
Heart open, eyes closed, desperate to connect.
Before the sea we are the stuff of stars,
Our blood flows through sheaths of ancestral dust,
Boarding the chasm of human living and,
Weaving compassion into our souls.
Visions sink and clouds arise
Eyes open and hearts close.
A piece created from a photograph of a rose I grew last summer.