Month: May 2014

Following on from my “Synchronicity Sonnet”

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book_nathan_explosive_meeting_karelijaFollowing on from my “Synchronicity Sonnet” yesterday… It works the other way too, in a kind of reverse syncronicity (asynchronism). If we go chasing after (or, to use a trendy phrase, try to “manifest” in our lives) something which has no rightful destiny for us, we will suffer one disappointment after the other. Worse, we might even be given that “something” which we are chasing precisely so that it will come to nothing (or even bring us to disaster) in order that we finally get the message that we should never have pursued it in the first place. As a wise man once put it: “Often, the thing that we think is best for ourselves is worst for our souls”. Everything is about tests and lessons. Until we wise up to that essential life-fact and stop putting our egos on a pedestal we are merely chasing our own tails in a never-ending narcissistic pole-dance.

Synchronicity [sonnet]

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Some moments strike which cannot be eschewed.
You sense before they come when they are due.
They soon explode with force and magnitude —
electric sequence bathed in déjà vu.
Some soul emerges who can change your life:
a lover, teacher, angel, friend or guide.
A book appears by magic at your side.
Such meetings slice into you like a knife.
Thus, I play with every precious moment
which dribbles down the parapet of time.
Every second now seems like a portent
which fashions for me some new paradigm.
When synchronicity is on your trail
you cannot put a foot wrong, fall or fail.

© Alan Morrison, 2014

It’s Come to This [poem]

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And so…
it’s come to this
[breathed with a sigh]
the bubble’s burst and piss and wind
come slyming out while temperance ladies
dressed as barkers curse and swig
from prick-shaped bottles mocking me —
their bodies wattled like some pagan crone
or crazed misandrist fart unhinged
[which rasps against my whiskered chin]
an ultrasonic intrauterine device
which thin girls wear at weekend parties
thus appearing more substantially built

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I am a Mirror [poem]

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I am a mirror

reflecting every
whisper which you’re most
afraid of in your self —
the feathered touch of
freedom’s fickle fibres’
chime of bells

I am a looking-glass

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