posted on June 6, 2012 at 7:07 pm

pondering beyond

at the edge of the land

at the edge of the world

at the edge of the known

final approach through blustering rain

i navigate the skies from my familiar room

the black cat takes fright and disappears into the wind

a silent black slit he makes exiting the plasmatic night

ten thousand fingered cyclone bringing it on

droplets hammered against glass and forced upwards back into the air

sibilant sutra of incessant precipitation

furious cold angry rain

the houses shake under such an onslaught

the mercury shudders within its glass

blood pressure drops suddenly away

dizzy beyond belief

coming down with the cold hard rain like reality itself

grim and in constant flux

what do you want ?

what do you believe?

what do you want to believe?

these questions interposed on some  inner nothingness

and asked by the rain

19 Responses to “then arose a great storm”

  1. avatar
    Boriah | 6 June 2012 at 7:20 pm #

    I like your jacket!!!

  2. avatar
    Estelle M | 6 June 2012 at 7:39 pm #

    love this…

  3. avatar
    BROKEN TOYS AND HEROS | 6 June 2012 at 7:49 pm #

    Rain fills each void like thousands of tiny dancers
    wishing that your focus only rests upon one single drop…

    Missing ya here in the states…


  4. avatar
    Chris | 6 June 2012 at 8:09 pm #

    Wow…dark, billowing and melancholic like a Sydney rainstorm. I can hear the surf pounding on Bondi right now…unsafe, unsettling and unconsoling…

  5. avatar
    colette | 6 June 2012 at 11:41 pm #

    and what seemed inner nothingness was the fertilisation of seed, slow embryonic sprouting, if not cleansing, if not, splattering of sleet or mud where seeds fell anyway, sucking up the drink thirstily and life thrived.

  6. avatar
    keith23 | 7 June 2012 at 6:44 am #

    hope everything was successful in Sweden. Deanna sends her love.
    peaches and kisses………….


  7. avatar
    princey | 7 June 2012 at 10:40 am #

    Welcome back Kilsey, good to hear u had a lovely time with the girls and breathed in the fresh air of Sveden. I really enjoyed watching the vids of you and Marty performing over there, just like old times 🙂
    It’s dark, cold, wet and windy here too, you’re not alone!

    Any plans to play a gig or two in Melby would be nice (as long as it’s not between (July-mid August!), we miss ya!

    Take care,

  8. avatar
    Chris | 7 June 2012 at 11:36 am #

    ‘these questions interposed on some inner nothingness…’ Love the precipitous feeling of this line; that sense of being on the edge of falling into either a truth, a revelation or a vortex…the zone where comfort and ease are gone and the bare truth is just in front of us.

  9. avatar
    Chris | 7 June 2012 at 11:39 am #

    ‘sibilant sutra of incessant precipitation’…fantastic alliteration and onommatopeia. Read a great one recently: ‘The unceasing sussuration of the surf.’

  10. avatar
    Cocoamo | 7 June 2012 at 1:37 pm #

    Thank goodness for!

    Your Friend in Pennsylvania

  11. avatar
    Anonymous | 7 June 2012 at 2:59 pm #

    wow, seems like perfect pensive / creative mood — the gates are opening

  12. avatar
    Chris | 7 June 2012 at 3:34 pm #

    The poet ventures to speak, not because speech is adequate but because it is a necessary moment in the continuing struggle for meaning. You stake a position not because it is right, but because staking a position is the only way to enter into the process of learning and growth. This process is obscurely redemptive, since our failure and defeat drive us into a stance of deeper commitment to the world.~Rowan Williams. Thankyou for your deep commitment to the world, Steve.

  13. avatar
    Chris | 7 June 2012 at 3:38 pm #


    Oiled charcoal figment
    Burnt effigy in my birdbath
    Daily visitor during toast
    Sharp-eyed blackened demon
    Haunting the corner of my waking eye
    Darkened dart of

  14. avatar
    Chris | 7 June 2012 at 3:52 pm #

    Wrote this during a rainstorm:


    A sadness that
    takes its place
    just behind the sternum
    and takes root there
    and throbs like tetanus
    the infected rose-thorn jab
    a leaden mercury shade
    if I were to paint it
    or a slash down through the
    neck and across the heart
    and into the stomach
    where it settles its blade
    and slowly twists and turns
    then moving again
    the plain girl
    eating her lunch at school
    in the corner of the yard
    savouring each bite
    of her ordinary sandwich
    her loneliness so palpable
    I could reach out and touch
    it and feel its moist veil
    a child’s empty cot occupied yesterday
    the old man watering his
    tired rose bushes in
    stained brown trousers
    in need of a wash
    the trousers and him
    his house needing paint
    and laughter and the silvery
    trickle of distant conversation
    flowing between the rooms
    and out into the night
    I weep deep convulsing sobs
    that reform the sadness
    from diffused mist
    back into soaking rain
    that falls and falls and falls

    • avatar
      Freddie | 7 June 2012 at 9:42 pm #

      Love this Chris!

    • avatar
      colette | 8 June 2012 at 7:52 am #

      Too much pathos can become fallacious…the stains must be bad to be visible on brown trousers… I know, I’ve witnessed it 🙂

  15. avatar
    Freddie | 7 June 2012 at 9:40 pm #


  16. avatar
    colette | 7 June 2012 at 11:44 pm #

    Pity me not thinks the lonely girl with pity as others look on, embuing her with the shroud around her. She assumes it to trick them so she can half joke to herself. Really, it has nothing to do with anything they think. It is simply a need to create some space in her own place. There is no room for her at the inn, for she is a her not a him. Yet the sandwich is not plain or perhaps it is plainer than plain. I mean no one else at that time or place except for new Australians ate brown bread and cheddar. Ironically those earthlings ate nothing but fairy bread… Then, when she felt lonely, she knew she was really not. God was with her whether she wanted it or not. She had to be grateful some days. Well, at the end of the year, she won the religion prize which surprised her but no one else. Just like she was surprised to have so many friends who were boys when others said she was ugly. But there it was… perhaps the nun saw an aura outside the ordinary. Or perhaps the nun was lying as those ladies say, just like the ‘lonely’ girl self doubted whenever she attempted the truth. Yet, though she disliked self righteousness, she could not help but see how wrong were the nongs. And how secretly smug she felt being younger than them. Their dumbness was plain to see, as plain as me she thought. Though is plain really an accurate description of me? She half bought the ugly thing and half the opposite and admitted to herself some superiority in spite of or perhaps because of not being chocolate boxed. Also refusing to be and just unable to be anyway.

  17. avatar
    the whistle in the distance... | 8 June 2012 at 6:46 pm #

    …..the ticket in the pocket……

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