Month: Aug 2012

Auto-Flagellatio [sonnet]

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auto-flagellatio

There’s nothing for it: blows must rain me down;
the things that now befall me I deserve.
Remove my feather-bed and eiderdown.
From fists of iron I’ll no longer swerve.
Such punishment completes the process well
while whiplash ripples on my back were blown.
My body now is flung to Jezebel
like meat before a tigers teeth is thrown.
Yet all is not in darkness blindly dressed;
for ecstasy still makes its brightness bloom
and in my secret chamber luminesced
transcending light to form a waiting room.
These lashes are a stage along the way
while Eros makes a pact with agape.
© 2012, Alan Morrison

Line Lesson [poem]

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line_lesson

Bathed in the silent swathe of
illness one
and all undone or smothered, the man
who juggles letters on his fingertips
discovers that he scrapes the ground to
sell one sin
without regretting where he’s been
and all the clefts he’s hidden in

With stealth he wanders far with
linen soles
on shoes which drolly seem bizarre
to trample on the mountain range he
spans entranced and hampered by a
lesion lens
which, perching on his sacred face,
interprets words in uppercase

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Ferocity [new poem]

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ferocity

There is a place where particles
of any kind of mine can flow
explode unload implode feel
free to fulminate ferociously
upon and under over through
vermillion skies + cobalt blue
between the skin of me and
any yearning you who innerly
and sweetly keens for all the
unexpressed and indiscreetful
dreams which long to show
the petal-richness havens of
their full unfrozened flowers
flowing every atom bursting
out through hidden pristine
protoplasm’s graphic hidden
patterns crazed expression
glazed impressionistic heart
of all I sensolutely mutely am

Lost in vastly spaces radiantly
emanating nothing wasted
cradled by the taste of hazy
everglades I crave for deeper
secrets in the hidden crevice
parts of moistly maidenhead
where flowers never throve
before yet here I must bow
down in worship tearingly
no fear adore and scrape the
floor as subjects did in days
enstyled as yore when love
and adulation made its mark
and knights had power and
grace and ladyes strong had
dreamdeep as a watermark
I kiss your feathered feet
and work my way up to the
centre of your gifting bliss

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When you can see Everything too Clearly

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When you can see (into, through and behind) everything too clearly it can either blind you so much that you’d rather see nothing at all (mostpeople – though mostotherpeople are blinded already) or it can shock you so deeply that you’re forced to overhaul everything you think, understand, do and are. But then you’re faced with three choices: Suicide, endless ironic laughter at the twin realities of absurdity and hypocrisy or “I think I’ll go to Bali and disappear into the volcanic mountains forever”.

Filigree Dreams [poem]

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filigree_dreams

There is a weeping willow tree
I wish to climb.
It’s branches lithe and lone
hang droopingly
inviting me to hold its trunk
in summertime

I stood not far from where she grew
and touched her bark.
Her heaven scent perplexed
my solitude
while hazy clouds of dreams divined
a latent star

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Thunder in my Soul [song lyric]

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thunder_in_my_soul

Waking up to thunder:
It was rumbling in my soul
but I didn’t hear a sound come from the sky.
Then it tore me clean asunder
and my joyfulness it stole
but I still won’t be dissatisfied.

There’s a special kind of lightning
makes a flash without a sound;
you never hear it coming till it’s come.
When it struck it wasn’t frightening
though it threw me to the ground
while my heart and veins were frozen numb.

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Isthmus Incident [poem]

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isthmus_incident

If freeze can melt we’d grasp that
every little gesture that we make;
all the frantic measures that we take;
everything we do no matter how much
it may seem to be spontaneous, impulsive
or haphazardly impromptu has been carefully
designed with just one crucial phrenzied frantic
crazed and desperately gigantic fazing theme in mind
Every time we dress or fluently determine to impress
some other out there human in our field of view
or otherwise ignore someone we judge to be
an utter bore or smoke some stuff or drink
more than enough or waste some time
on celluloidal fantasies then digitise
online we are simply covering up
one outsized grossly elephantine
intrusion in the room that’s dogged
us from the moment we were born (by
which I mean the startling instant when we
grudgingly or wilfully became a conscious me
a separate subtle entity apparently forsaken and
forlorn) or should I say impertinently torn—not only
from the warm wet womb but even from that vastly
darklight unknown inexpressful space where we
1ce were when we weren’t we & now though
we imagine that we’re free in truth we are
enslaved by just one single fazing thing
which I presented in that line above
to wit that we are herefully alone
impostors on a dream enthroned
meandering our wiseless way across
the cosmic interplay of one intruder of
the airwaves to another while we foolfully
and ignorantly shovel heaps of decomposing
detritus to thwart the crippling solitude endured
by all the pinpoint parts of separated consciousness
which individuatedly play hard and compensatingly
caress the countless shards of beingness arrayed
through time and history—a tale of lifesome
tragedy unless one cares to look between
the pages of the book entitled “Melody
Behind All Things” where every type
of mission and adventure will be
thrillingly displayed….eventually

© 2012, Alan Morrison

Deathwish [poem]

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deathwish

If I should die before I’ve had the chance to look
an angel in the eye and say with all the impetus
my rusty breast can cry: It’s you I ever want to be
with when the time has come to say goodbye then
cut the finger from my ringless hand and burn it
fast without a single strand of sentimental mercy
till the flames blood red have formed the letter Y

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Blob of Love [poem]

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blob_of_love

A question like a shooting star (the cosmic face of why)
had hurled itself like cobweb dreams across the milky sky.
Just what is love? the meteor streamed —
to which no answer came (at least it tried).
Followed soonly by another query posed:
I said what do you think love is?
To which a myriad voices then replied
and gave their stilted theories which
I here below repeat condensed so you can see
just what the blinding blaze of love is up against.

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The Next Time you are asked to Play for Free

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asked_to_play_for_freeVery nicely put! Far too many people expect creative artists of all kinds to play for free. (Imagine if they asked the plumber to mend their pipes for nothing!). Well it’s time to turn the tables on them. Read below! 🙂

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