posted on June 4, 2012 at 9:44 pm

home word bound

i descended from the misty clouds which were ripped over the city

city of money city of crime city of wondrous things

things go better with power and money

winter a small hick up  in a long summer forever

the moon shadowed by a dwarf

rain so soft so invisible is it even there?

no you are walking through maya

warmth dreaminess i plunge into delicious darkness

falling flailing failing framed against forevers

spirits disembark the planes

pass out into the nights

the many nights of fresh storm

storms come and they blow away leaving only day

days come peopled in song that get sung by the throng at the end of the song

song of the people working star fields

fields of the heroes held onto the throne

thrown to the wolves the lamb has endured

lamb of this world world of this time

time of our forefathers time of our distance

we appear at entrances bound for outside

oh the night outside is blossomed with lights

the lights in the windows the lights in the sky

and chimney stacks jostle midst chrome and glass spheres

the black past humbles the silvery future

the night slides by like knife into butter

the night glides by like a travelling cheat

that glides beneath you and between your minds

the minds you never made up left behind

i sing then of sisyphus who shoulders the stone

and tantalus strung out in hades alone

man i sing the song of the clumsy ninja

boy i sing the song of the magicians nephew

foolish things for more foolish things

experimenting in profound things no one could understand

the night has wings its wings sing of the white night

white under lights yonder on city

city which crouches erect through the rain

a beautiful horror it glows and diffuses

the warm paradise a beckon too fast

a puddle a footstep a roar in the quietness

a slip a trap a tumble a learn

a tremor a fountain a merry go round a rosy oh baby

this is the place this is the turn

this is return eternal burn

 

19 Responses to “return eternal burn”

  1. avatar
    BROKEN TOYS AND HEROS | 4 June 2012 at 10:21 pm #

    How was the flight back ???

    Great post today, I was expecting something different…I really couldn’t tell you exactly what…but this was a great read…
    Ruff week ahead for me with some wicked medical tests and stuff…guess the docs are not happy with my progress…guess when they diagnosed my condition as ‘degenerative’ …they forgot to include a time table…
    Guess that’s kinda funny in a way, rather laugh than cry…tears dry up real fast…

    Daz

  2. avatar
    colette | 4 June 2012 at 11:29 pm #

    I revisited Vivid last night with one of my children. Of course there’s a lot of quaintness down at the Rocks. i kept thinking of a kids’ book ‘Playing Beatie Bow’. Set in the Rocks, lots of Scottish folk lore (apparently the old Manly ferries came all the way from Scotland). But there’s also a lot of heaviness in the stone of the Rocks when you remember our history and all the crime that goes with it. Sad, interesting and sometimes funny in a laconic way. Moreover, I believe there is something healing about the sea and that’s what makes Sydney tolerable. What was that quote about the sea being both the captor and the emancipator? some French person…anyway if I can’t physically escape, I do like to set my imagination free with the sea…

  3. avatar
    andy | 5 June 2012 at 5:01 am #

    back to the crazy hurley-burley of it all!
    loved-up both sides of the world…and most places inbetween.
    some would be envious…….

  4. avatar
    awesome | 5 June 2012 at 6:22 am #

    you’re back

  5. avatar
    Anonymous | 5 June 2012 at 11:19 am #

    good to hear your daughter is out of harm – as you wouldn’t have left her (and sure that would be hard too – as your other three waited for your return on another continent…)unless so. happy for you/your return.

  6. avatar
    eekie | 5 June 2012 at 5:10 pm #

    Glad you made it back safe and sound.
    Hope you are getting some rest.

  7. avatar
    Anonymous | 5 June 2012 at 7:26 pm #

    a reworked work-in-progress of ‘something’ that doesn’t yet know what it wants to be, but it seems to want to live here for a while shaded by your ethereal descent into sin city

    still in but not of me

    two deckhands on a manly ferry
    a wynyard escalator
    a cottage swaying in puccini’s waves
    a gutter in the cross, a splutter
    of gambol/decadence before disarray
    both wings on the spokes of prophetic capers

    though fading footnotes only
    to grainy palms and sandy points
    in shades of orange spent gum
    to naked arcs on the tail of pharos
    to the lioness stalking the soles i carved

    in the jags and crevices of a cabled point
    in a child’s corner
    under passages leading to an angel’s cave
    beneath a wayfaring wharf
    in a love too timid to escape

    where boulders of solace
    lie soaked in an infant’s marrow
    leading sisyphus to parry with lantana’s spite
    once and twice again, i hear you still
    echoing through the woken plains

    I watch on from the south
    where cobbled forays soothe fevered nights
    and sins are sold for hispanic beats
    and my soul navigates the wintry endowments
    while I wait for my name to change

    as the basin turns homeward
    its rippled decks hoist sail
    whipping hair in southerly braids
    spinning bobby chocolate
    and scallywags
    with salty peppermint spray

    all vagrant memories now
    buried
    with ruby lipped crowds
    caked
    in the sweat of a furrowed sow
    but burning always under the caveat of a moon
    are the imprints of my home

  8. avatar
    Chris | 5 June 2012 at 7:36 pm #

    Haunting and ominously beautiful description of descending through the storm clouds back into ol’ Sinny…parting is such sweet sorrow…

  9. avatar
    Chris | 5 June 2012 at 7:37 pm #

    Thought of you when I read this SK: “What the selfish ego needs is not so much therapy but art. To look at a painting and perceive its sheer material otherness; to be pierced by a piece of music that cannot be owned by me or assimilated into my own experience; to read a poem that exposes me to the startling fact of another human consciousness – this is what art gives us, this capacity for selfless attention. Art is one of the essential sources of moral action, since it is one of the few points at which human beings deliberately cultivate a truthful seeing of reality. The objectivity of the artistic creation – where a painter or poet or musician says not ‘I like it’ but simply ‘there it is’ – a mutiny against the rule of solipsistic fantasy. Our normal perceptions are self-interested and self-protective; art is unsettling, unsafe, unconsulting. It is a revolt against the ego. The moral importance of poetry depends, not on whether poets possess special virtues, but on whether they see something objectively, something our own perceptions have filtered out. Poetry is a mode of exposure. Something is missing in the poet, some habit of self-defence that allows most of us to know what we’d rather not know. Poets live with a ‘wound’ of understanding. They are hurt by reality. They show what it takes to live with one’s own undefendedness, without the protective mechanism of fantasy. The poet’s strength, then, is really a kind of debilitating weakness, a ‘poetic lack’ that renders the ego painfully susceptible to the truth.”

    • avatar
      thetimebeing | 5 June 2012 at 10:12 pm #

      there is some truth in this i guess

    • avatar
      colette | 6 June 2012 at 12:01 am #

      The paradox of the poet’s ego found and refound in the ‘selfless’ then surrendered again…to find the right words, images, sounds, textures, to conjure even tastes and smells only to find that those words may also contain the opposite of whatever they seem to say no matter how ‘precise’. I could be wrong, I could be right…I could go on about pathetic fallacies, but as someone recently said, ‘it’s all the same’ 🙂

  10. avatar
    Chris | 5 June 2012 at 8:08 pm #

    keep that ‘wound’ open Steve…

  11. avatar
    IncorrctPolitically | 5 June 2012 at 9:07 pm #

    People often complain that life is not convienant anymore,
    which makes me laugh. Without certain struggles one cannot
    achieve experience.
    Standing still just means standing alone.

    IP =~{}

  12. avatar
    Anonymous | 5 June 2012 at 9:46 pm #

    Steve:

    Ever read “Petting Zoo” by Jim Carroll. You might enjoy this one. Wilfred P

  13. avatar
    Anonymous | 5 June 2012 at 9:47 pm #

    Steve:

    Ever read “Petting Zoo” by Jim Carroll. It’s one you might enjoy. Wilfred P

  14. avatar
    colette | 6 June 2012 at 12:06 am #

    Viva la lament – it is the cure


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