Month: Jul 2011

We [sonnet]

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We became we when stars fell into place
before we was a twinkle in our eyes.
You bared your soul at mine in uppercase
and now by we my me is mesmerised.

If my me and your you turn into we
an alchemy of souls will have transpired;
for the we that we are now could not be
unless our you-and-I-ness had expired.

And so to every lover on the earth:
the time to quell our egos has arrived;
for in this way we consecrate rebirth
and only purest love can then survive.

Without the we that we have now become
I would be like a flower with no sun.

© 2011, Alan Morrison

The Moment [sonnet]

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Of all the trembling moments in my life
(that sequence streak of microsecond sprawl)
of every ticking minute (minus strife)
this one I cherish far above them all.

For looking back on fleeting lifespan’s flight
consecutiveness makes its arrow known;
and always serendipity excites
when by your fingers I am overthrown.

You did not realise it at the time
(or possibly you knew — you simply smiled)
but all my former moments turned to rhyme
when by that healing touch I was beguiled.

Your hand placed on my shoulder when we met
became the moment I will not forget.

© 2011, Alan Morrison

So Much a Woman [poem]

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you are more woman than I ever thought woman could be
a stream of softstrength waiting to hold and be held
laughingly. with gentleness we sigh at all the ways
that woman’s deep mystery-giveness is now no longer
deemed to be worthy of wonderful wide-eyed praise

it is your purity of heart which rolls away the layers
enabling you to feel that womansoul which shelters me
when in your presencesun I blithely bathe and you me save
with handsful of touchful healing strokes (not just with your hands)
like sea on the sands of time (you are now my tidal wave)

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A Perfect Fit [sonnet]

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I eased my probing hand inside your glove;
it slid within and melted into place.
(Did angels send you to me from above?)
Your body floated over mine with grace.

“Right here, right now!” I fevered in your ear
as meteors made an arc across our sky;
and when you thought: “A token, please, my dear”,
I placed my endless arm around your thigh.

Astonished by the face before my eyes—
struck dumb by those kaleidoscopic tones—
it swathed me with a sense of sane surprise
much more than any face that I have known.

Are you the puzzle-piece for which I pined?
Have you for such a space been predesigned?

© 2011, Alan Morrison

Ocean’s Edge [sonnet]

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Standing on the edge of an ocean shore
on the sand shimmer surface of the swell;
my arms thrown out wide to the water’s roar,
I listened for the tolling of the bell.

Strange screeching birds were circling overhead;
“Into the water, if you dare!” they cry.
It felt as if my life hung on a thread;
“What if it’s cold or too rough?”, I reply.

Then a wind like a hammer hit my back
and the birds screamed above me even more
as I entered the torrent with a crack
and was driven very far from the shore.

With a gasp I then awoke from my dream
awash with the thoughts of what could have been.


© 2011, Alan Morrison

Extravaganza [song lyric]

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The blossom blooms through frosty nights
Its show now tinged with sun
Each time it fills my eyes with tears
My heart is all undone

I’m sure that it did not design
To be so brightly made
Its luminescence makes me know
Our love did start to fade

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Incy Wincy [poem]

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I saw a little spider
walking in the snow
All dressed up to kill
with nowhere left to go
I think I understand him
for I am just the same
going through the motions
our lives a stilted game

I cry out to the branches
and marvel at their bough
a mass of solid rootness
I envy it somehow
I never asked to be here
with rudeness I was hurled
headfirst into the vortex
a lonely broken world

[prismlike patterns take their toll
on a windowless monument
rolling down the pain of a vision
in a dreamly dense forested frown
I tossed in the sky like a billowing
white comely crown of potentially
golden angels whose name was
whispered with incense and myrrh]

I tried to find diversion
anaesthetise the pain
colour in the greyness
hush the hurricane
but after every sidetrack
I bumped down to the earth
a messy little business
a bloody afterbirth

people on the outside
watching my demise
laugh behind their fingers
a chance to sermonise
they lecture at their children
and warn them to be good
clip their wings with relish
(they’d kill them if they could)

[restless indigent papertrails will
mark out their territory’s winding lanes
with vast resplendent daisy chains
borrowed from outside mundane time
like clocksgonewrong while thinking
they can chime and all the while
remarkably very little happens which
hasn’t been programmed that way]

meanwhile back in Jonestown
(the name I give this place)
the hoods are hypnotising
the stupid human race
there’s really not much to it
they make an easy prey
place their heads upon the block
(they never disobey)

I’ve given up on finding
a place to lay my head
each time I close my eyes
I find a scorpion in the bed
everything declining
(so says the Second Law)
stuff decaying everywhere
descending into war

[happiness is a warmed-up desperate
dream of drunken dissolution’s dimly
lit passageways suffused with tempered
tidalwaves unsold in every marketplace
where robots scuff the ground with indecent
joy and Shakespeare shaves his beard and
and makes a ploy to take your mind into
his occult-laden weblike world of wasdom]

I’ve searched the thirteen seas
(which includes the ones inside)
vomited in all of them
it was just a bumpy ride
now I’m looking for an ocean
without a safety ring
the stormier the better
with no more apron strings

so now let’s bring a halt
to this childish little rhyme
I’d love to tell you more
but I’m running out of time
not that you’d believe me
for now you think you know
while wincing deep inside me
is the spider in the snow


© 2011, Alan Morrison

The Love Police [poem]

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“Were you looking in your rearview mirror
when the crash took place?”
“No, officer. In point of fact my weariness
from all the disappointments of the race
had deflected my attention
so the driver in the dark
took advantage of my state
and she sneaked up on me
from behind. Thus, I’m truly guilty
of whatever charges you can find”.

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Inevitable [sonnet]

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I stand before the Sun — she waits for me
with splendid orchid sighs upon the breeze.
I bow before the Moon — she cries to me
with orchestrated whys and mysteries.

Inevitable emblems of our tryst
are haunting my perception of the path
which stretches out before the lips I kissed
in vague galactic visions’ aftermath.

So then the Sun and Moon before my eyes
did blend their molten rays around your face;
I felt my inhibitions vaporise
but did not want to box you in a space.

I have no expectations, so I said;
(a lie) while portions of my cheeks turned red.

© 2011, Alan Morrison

The Furrow on my Brow [sonnet]

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There was a furrow stationed on my brow
which disappears when thoughts of you prevail.
Your silences have made me want the now
on which my heart will gladly be impaled.

The honeyed words which drip from your sweet tongue
are like a salve to soothe my withered soul —
a featherbed to mute the smoking gun
so often poised to shoot out of control.

There’s just one cloying quandary in the groove:
How can I know my fantasies are sure
and not just wishful thinking platitudes
but crazy concrete facts which will endure.

That troubled chasm fronting on my head
has filled itself with raw desire instead.

© 2011, Alan Morrison