Audio – A Gap In The Clouds

If this was real

March 21, 2021

Inspired by the video of an article I read in Emergence Magazine #1 called Lost World about the destruction of the Cambodia’s Mangrove Forests for their sands. When she sees the pretend waterfall in Singapore’s Lost World complex she says, “If this was real, imagine how beautiful it would be.” and the following poem appeared.

www.emergencemagazine.org/story/lost-world

Connecting the threads between ecology, culture, and spirituality – Emergence Magazine

I’ve not recorded anything for a long time now, and I apologise for my voice in this recording, it’s rather croaky.

–

If this was real
imagine the world
open
imagine the love
for the land
imagine the silence
of being
imagine the touch
of green
upon your heart

If this was real
there would be no pretence
no greed
no hunger
no theft

If this was real
you’d know her soul
you’d feel her
you’d live

If this was real
instead of her destruction
instead of human indifference
instead of the disappointment
of being human
guilty

imagine how beautiful it would be

Artificial Atmosphere of Civilization

January 17, 2016

Listen to, breathe in and taste the pungent
where once music sang amongst the trees
where once the air invigorated
where once eating was real
and where each was once one’s own mind
but now
in this time of greed, futile deaths, global one-upmanships & scaremongerings
and the religious balloonings of creation
we are surrounded
by an artificial atmosphere of civilization
where trees are shrouded in tentacles of grease and darkness; their songs all but forgotten
where our lungs are attacked on a daily basis; antibodies scream in disgust
where chemical wrapped food tastes of food wrapped chemicals; painful temptation encroaches
and where what we think, what we are and what we believe is no longer ours …

in this artificial atmosphere of civilization, where only the perfect make the shelf

; sorrow begets perfection begets sorrow

With thanks to Achilles Daunt for giving me the title

Cloud breaks

January 11, 2016

Of rain and bows
and arrows and hearts
Of beats of memory
left behind
Of breath and almost
and something close
Of passion of eyes
behind sad smile
Of cloud and breaks
of silence and storm
Of beats of memory
all forlorn

this, December thing

December 23, 2015

As cobwebs grow while we sleep
so does this thing
this, December thing …

How it throttles, suffocates and destroys
how it becomes a pestilence within the silent beats of winter
this, December thing …

The emptiness of broken promises
echoes from the sorrows of children to the sorrows of
this, December thing …

How it settles within bones, upon skin and like a question of blood
how it envelops with its pretence of realism
this, December thing …

Each movement choreographed to make belief believable
while deep in the bowels of truth it festers
this, December thing …

How it seduces, enchants and dazzles
how its cosy fireside warmth births solicitous souls
this, December thing …

Like the chill of death’s cowl
it touches memories with sparks of things long gone, long lost
this, December thing …

How it breathes with such passion, beauty and an evanescence of time
how it reaches in to kiss with the sublime heaviness of falling feathers
this, December thing …

How I wish … but this … this December thing, cuts my soul to pieces …