The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

glimmer time

impossible soft summer night

with the sea at the end of the road

with all the fernery and greenery

plants growing everywhere out of pots and out of darkness

you have arrived here tonight received unto this night

subtle meek cool and warm

oh charming evening where faint effulgence of celebration still lingers

people laughing talking drinking meeting at tables before the beach

you slip amongst them unseen untouched unthought of

a dream from your bed you have been pulled

the waves crash on the shore

that delicious salty smell in the ether

whirlwind of colour now smeared to purple in the sky

lanterns in the trees and eventide birdsong

theyre playing the drums and dancing around

yellow sand like a slipper

yellow stars like dim diamonds

you see it all before you like a moving painting

the moon and the clouds and the cities and the ghosts

there will be a future that we will have no part of

all of this will still go on…oh yes…without you and me

we have no way of knowing we have no way of seeing

so soak up this evening before it is gone

and for now let your dream ring on

youre with me most every night

the gorgeous swan white on black lake

the grey and rumbling heavens hove sombre above

warm warm rain interpolates the very air dividing the moments

you said

follow me we will gatecrash the jungle and take the vines by surprise..!

i find myself drifting under canopy

no no wake up..!

says a voice in another room

liana snakelike on green velvet moss

startled silence of the forest mind

the matriarch of all the trees detects our presence here

tendrils trailing in limpid air taking in tiny atoms of liquid

the sudden cool in the heart of the arbour

an old statue of a beautiful goddess smiling in her ruin

crumbling temples groan in the thunder

here here here…

they whisper somewhere

in the swampy darkness of abandoned pavilion

my pineal gland once struck by light

lit up then only in the glow of my mind

safely out of the deluge and indulgence in it

the phantasmic fever fucked with my gringo head

sometimes i was on my own in a beautiful wooden apartment

i wandered through its rooms exuberantly lost and looking for you

i picked up on cities long disappeared with the arrogance of a beginner

these lovely books of this house this suite of moving rooms

the wildflowers tamed and wilting in a vase

the footsteps at night that rush across the floor

the garden overgrown  a luxuriant sloth a hum of distant bees

oh the pretty little stars are all shining for you in zephyr debris

i expect the sound of a voice in a song that rings on all along

creatures all around enter the evening but none will leave it unscathed

all crave nights scintillating blisses followed by the graves warmest darkest slumber

the empath will recoil to touch this night of all nights

its ambition has blotted out the horizons and all is still

on a balcony i’m kinda waving myself goodbye

i see this from a porthole and smile as i fly

the wind has dropped

and the view over chimneys and billboards is shocking

railyards festering in rusted light dim clang of all aboard!

hawkers and peddler bellowing in frozen time

i wish i could have stayed to see your face when you got home from wherever you are

never mind

the smoke is my rainbow

and the crowd cries my tear

its ok here

four cast doom

this madness of lives

this struggle between angel and beast

caught in the middle i fiddle while the earth burns

man now you can believe nothing

they lied to you

you lied to them

they took from you

you took from them

futility you found a good friend there

anxiety another monster you need to take care of

flattery you little bastard you are certainly everywhere by now

in the dimness of summer afternoon fucked up on weed and yoga

i hit upon a million ideas at once

contorted into an asana its so obvious its all so obvious

this horrible world of men ah it will be a pleasure to shut the door on it

this is true life… krsna and the images of gnostic saints

jesus and so many lovely buddhas

my mind gushes forth evanescent schemes that rush into my rooms and disappear

i vividly remember strange scenes from my life when i exhibited hubris or surliness

the horrible curse of narcissism which afflicteth me in spades and hearts

the rush of evil that hath fuelled divers trespasses

the rush of god when he comes flooding in

on a golden warm sweetness that will smack you down boy

filled with arrows of desire you crash into white

slipping through the surface of reality

a thousand channels just under the elastic edges

music plays like music never heard before

so all music before that was just noise

yeah so i’ll leave it there

there

and there

jeorn dice

in soothing dark rooms just up a few streets from the beach

i moved to another place with trees and sea breezes

in the sultry quietude i lay in my new bedroom with its old high ceilings

and my consciousness raced out over everywhere

and it was observant and thoughtful

yet it held no opinions or anxieties

aware of itself although not fixated

it shot outwards in time as well

the  room is cool on a hot day

you can just drift off

wind tinkling on some old set of bells someone left there once

man its relaxed and laidback

easier to apprehend god here

i think

if your god is telling you to kill anything that aint god…

other thoughts i think are inexpressible  in words

you get some insight but you cant say what exactly it is

you cant type it out neatly to show everyone how your new sainthood is approaching

in fragmented feelings a puzzle is solved somehow

thats all

i suppose

for today

sk new flat 15 dec 15

lightening down

man it aint too easy being a poet down n outta luck

thunderbolted to fuck knows where and how long

still all those words going on pouring into your head

you say hey i aint getting paid for this so shut up

but the voices are babblin’ on n on

voices of anxiety voices of wild stupid ideas

my ticket has expired man in this rat race of dogs

i’ll be glad to get outta here at 4.51 when the public serpents knock off

maybe i’ll jog round lake armageddon as the white and pink lightning forks the horizon

the sea is all underlit or something man that looks weird

like the light shining down there is another moon

the storm is cozy when youre inside

we are all working hard here on our own time too

in our own time in our own haunts

well its just me actually

i sit in the light of a screen

and my eyes ache so fucking bad

but i go one on

knocking out my free poetry for some cats out there to read

i hope they enjoy it and all the rest

its midnight blue and green

the thunder is still rolling like a piece of thin metal on speed

you can feel it physically somewhere out there

i am surrounded by statues of the buddha

who only hears the silence

and who only sees through the illusory curtain

this world of appearances and shadows

its a shame man

as we are approaching universal eternity

the motion of our carriage hurtling down the track

the eons stripped away the canvas rubbed back

down through the layers of painted years

gold leaf sheet a 3 star galaxy

when you accelerate fast and sweet

broad wake of the black comet

in nebula bars drinking in absentia

machine song of the era blaspheming life

skeleton cruise we jump up to our feet

edit of reality live

i’ve burnt some of my eyes writing out these lies

edit of reality then

i shot out the stars with the sun

i guess that didnt work out for everyone…

a man at the station calls out as we sail pass

youre going too fast..!

no my main man..!

i call back though he is instantly miles ago

its all relativity i am actually travelling backwards in a mirror world

a great secret we never shall perceive so you just ought to receive it

as we come around a second and a third time…

the horizon has changed position with the brimming vault of evening

spectacular inner explosions of turquoise which fades into the most gentle pink

windows turning dark on sunday midnight minutes before some new dawn starts

carrying everything it will always bring

under its arms of darkness turning into blue morning

its saturday evening 7.38.30

my head is filled with songs

the songs are filled with words

all those words rush through you

the songs become a part of you

they show you how things could be

the songs are small worlds that collide and shatter

the songs mean nothing yet they mean everything

the people who wrote them had glimpsed some peak

these words these instruments

some clever dreamer dreamed all that up

carefully put together to invoke a personal beauty

intangible beauty the most beautiful of all

the ambiguity therefore means everything

what you dont know half/half with what you do

buried undercurrents you may barely perceive

everything is carefully chosen for its own effective utility

no one can understand every aspect of it at once

some things are brought near while others are now distant

we feel many feelings at the same time

the next bit always modifies the last

then all songs must end in silence

and in that silence the song will ring on

and the silence will still be filled by the song

in the wake of the song comes the hit of intrigue

intrigue and a sense of deep wonder

yes in such a universe where songs like this exist a god could also exist

in the effulgence of the songs passing the echo of our own loves

when you suddenly fall head over heels for a song

the words with music side by side

some man or woman with the enchanting voice

some players who coax a heaven from their strings and keys

some drummers who detect the pulse of the song and deliver it outward

marvellous song about all sorts of stuff

containing prayer innuendo rant sonnet whisper ode and neruda

the song meticulously crafted from the silence before it was created

song of true longing song of triumph song of losses

song of blue mountain song of green sea song of soft skin

song of laughing and crying song of arrival and leaving

song of perpetual war and hellfire heat seeker

somehow though it never seems to reveal what you thought it should

so you get up once again to put it back on

you hit rewinding the tape or the disc or the hardest drive

and you have to listen one more time

what is the nature of this enchantment

and who first handed mankind this otherworldly gift

and who even knows how to define what it is that we want from it anyway..?

therefor a good song will always remain a sealed enigma

2015 at 8.12 pm