Little red lie

Do you want to go higher?
Watch the burning battlements from up above?
Smile down upon those shores that glisten like the tears of Rama.
You tried to pull the world in, hold it close and deep within.
A monster holding onto a butterfly.
Lost in its tantric world of escape.
To call yourself God’s equal, left an oily taste in your mouth.
A sulphur of sorrow that seeped into your gums.
You closed your eyes and looked away when the pain came.
When those fortresses fell.
The day Atlantis crawled back into the sea.
Cross your fingers and tell them tales.
Scratch their backs with the fingers of fortune.
A deer in the headlights.
A lemming on the edge of the cliff.
Idolaters and wishful hearts all joined in the chorus and ring.
Sending songs up to Satan, asking him to pray.
Grounded the bibles into powder to pepper the young’s milk.
Forgetting they already suckle at your sanctomized teat.

Crawling out of a dream

My apologies please, I did not mean to interrupt.
Floating in my own dreams, a million miles above.
You tiptoe towards ascension, drinking in thoughts divine.
But fumbling in reality, and faith you think sublime.
I folded your bones in your sleep, cupped your tears as they fell.
Watched you swim in the shallowness, in pools of personal hell.
You want me to dream like you, and strip those trees bare.
And play forever with diamond sand, bowed deep in earthly prayer.
From vantage I watch the injured birds, in circles with broken wings.
Kept together by the glue of self, played on by other’s strings.
Chew over these observations, and golden words from God.
I apologise again once more, for the lesser things forgot.
So I cup you in my feathered hands, and wake you from the dream.
And do my best to understand, that things aren’t what they seem.
Vous êtes déjà Dieu, et déjà ce que vous connaissez.
Il est posé comme une graine immaculée, en attendant sa chance de grandir.

Submerged in aniconism

What fire within me did you spark?
Calling across the cosmos.
The face of you, dancing out of the shadows.
Like a veiled wonder.
Dripped in sacrament and androgyny.
There is no room for impartial taste.
I must feel the sweat and blood on my lips.
Know it is worth the effort.
Bow.
Pray
Repeat.
Wanting to know everything.
Shivering out Shiva and Buddha from my bones.
This place you speak of, my one; where is the lighted beginning? 
I touch this ground, feeling home.
Touch the sky in every moment that floats by.
These million moments waiting for me.
As I live forever in a state devoid of time and space.
That lonely place.
Dancing and spinning on God’s fingertips.

Prophet

Stepping into the church after so many years made him hesitant at first. He lingered in the doorway like an uninvited guest, hovering on the threshold. Some tourists excused themselves in broken English as they brushed passed him, entering the cool relief of the stone sanctuary away from the blistering hot sunshine outside. Holding his breath, he stepped inside; glancing quickly high up to the ceiling as if looking for God.

The church was quiet, despite the added tourists who had passed him and who were now inspecting one of the older tomb covers towards the rear of the nave. He turned in the other direction and made his own way towards the collection of remembrance candles which twinkled out from a small alcove. Despite the sunshine which streamed in through the stained glass windows, the small candles held their own air of magic and brilliance. Tiny twinkling eyes danced together in their own little rhythms. They were why he was here today, the only reason he would ever step inside a church.

He noticed the small donations box propped up next to the candles, the unlit ones lumped together in a small metal box like a collection of teeth.

‘20p per candle’

The sign suggested, though whether this was indeed a suggestive price or intended one he wasn’t sure, either way it didn’t matter. He dropped the £2 coin into the metal coffin and was saddened to hear its solitary ring out from below. Clearly not many people needed remembering today. He picked up a candle from the box and then turned suddenly to the sound of footsteps behind him.

“Good afternoon.”

The old man said, smiling at him as he came towards the stand where the candles were. He wore a trench coat that did not suit the day’s weather, and he carried a hat in his hand as which he held down at his side. He was dressed for November, not the glorious spring Elysium that covered the world outside the door.

“Afternoon.” He replied in return, smiling at him, though annoyed he would have to share his moment with someone else now.

“Lovely day isn’t it?”

The old man had stopped a few feet from him, and seemed eager to engage in a conversation. Though annoyed somewhat, he had no intention of being rude and instead smiled and replied to him.

“It is indeed, a little too warm for me though.”

“This little church provides a nice little oasis from the outside world I find.” The old man said.

He nodded in agreement.

“Yes it does. Sorry, did you need to get to the candles too?” he asked him, motioning out of the way to where the candles lay.

“No, thank you. Please carry on. I didn’t mean to disturb you too much.”

“No trouble. I was just lighting a candle for my mother. It’s her birthday today.”

“I see. I shall leave you to it then. Though I should say, we never truly know what is coming our way, and must always prepare for the worst; but hope for the best.” He said.

He looked at him a moment, unsure of what he meant.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, just being philosophical. Please, I shall leave you in peace. Enjoy your day.” The old man said, and he suddenly turned and walked away, his loud jacket echoing off the small stone walls as he departed down the church.

How odd, he thought. He watched him go, then turned back to the candles that lay before him. Only a few were still burning brightly, the others dying out and completing their mission and sending the prayers into the sky. He held the small candle by the base and stuck the wick into a bright burning flame. The wick inhaled quickly, bursting into life. He placed it away from the others on the rack, letting it glow in its own lonely beauty. He thought of his mother, who had died a year ago. He watched as the wax dribbled down the side and remembered her quiet tears when she’d heard she was going to die. The cancer that had lain within her which had accelerated with an ungodly speed, to prove salvation impossible. His mother, his rock; gone practically overnight.

He closed his eyes and prayed for her, thinking how devoted to god she was and knowing if anyone were to be in heaven, it would be her.

The tourists who had entered before him had found their way to where he was now. Their foreign tongues licking at his neck signalled him it was time to leave. He turned and left, making his way towards the door, dropping a pound coin in the donations box near the entrance; but never looking down the aisle towards the alter, or taking in the sad pictures of the saints that peppered the walls.

He pushed the huge doors open, shut since his entrance into the small church on St. Collin’s street, and stood just inside the doorway. Nothing divine was calling him or pulling him back. There was no need to sprinkle himself with holy water or skim the bibles in search for a hymn to ease his soul. He stood in the doorway like a kid on a dock, because it had just that second started to rain.

Permafrost and penitence

Let the snow cover us.
Wash it all over you.
Burying us away from the curse on our backs.
The virtue held within our hand that freezes in the light of day.
We carve an icy castle, high into the sky.
A towering vision of babel that tickles God.
As he watches on through tears.
Churches burn their own preachers.
And sinners feed their own fires.
I’m watching for the wind to change.
The tide to turn.
The dark to fade.
Tasting the snowflakes of reversal, that turn out to be only ash.
From the fires that we kindle.
Blown high from our own selfish air of importance.
Defying God, and the karma that collects like rain in the gutter of our souls.
Find me, covered in snow and living out my own ice-age.
Safe on a comet, shooting away from this earth.

Made for you

A compulsive yearning to breathe you in and out.
Devour me with your skin.
Hold me from within.
Your candied smile, and sacred heart.
A wonderful treasure of flesh and bone, given to me by God.
Protected by the angels above.
Who were once so cruel.
You fit me into heaven, with an open heart and palm.
I fall for you again and again, time over time as the universe bends.
Locked into your seraphim as we walk through the fire.
You never let me go, and I hold on tight.
An expression of the deepest truth that finds its way.
Making me pray, and thanking the world for you.
A secret power in our unity.
Stealing this destiny forever.

Scorch

That first emotion that we both betrayed.
Tasting dangling carrots.
Asking for god to let us both in.
Kick this cart and tear the hide.
Let me see you swimming in the night.
In the dark, all cats look grey; and you take me there.
Push me under, watch me sway.
This magnitude, did you invoke or ask for?
Shake my resolve once more to this core.
Dipping me quick, with a turpentine kiss.
Lighting you match, and set my soul on fire.
You know where it burns.
Sizzling in my oceanic heart. Like sulphur from the breath of Lucifer.
Yet you roll me over. Again and again.
Till my teeth ache and drop to the floor.
And my mind blisters.
And the lust festers.
And the earth did open and swallow me whole.

Joan

I confess what’s in my heart.
Then cough out a prayer, deep in the dark.
I aim it towards heaven, and smile in his eyes.
Yet all around me I notice, it’s me they despise.
Though I hold my head high.
A trick I learnt from youth.
Never let them see you cry, drown them with the truth.
So they kill me with words, and burn me in their fire.
Scared of a dream, haunted by desire.
So onto these knees to pray, flames lick me as I knelt.
And all that I can think, deep within my skull.
Is that now I know how Joan of Arc felt.

Touch (solitary)

What was there, was always in your reach.
Yet you faded away like you had all of tomorrow.
They never told you it was all your fault.
Conjured excuses like a jaded magician.
Every time.
That time I rose, that Monday afternoon.
While you pulled to the floor like gravity was in your naval.
Onto the floor in the oil and such darkness.
I had to concentrate to escape. Flicking you tongue and tendrils to pull me back.
Screaming words of God being over.
You hurried the end. Touching yourself to death.
Your own fall-apart masturbation. Split bi-polar with your heart and head.
Never loyal, only to your own pleasure zone.
Absent of me, awash in your schizophrenic frenzy.
Your only remedy would be to take more time.
In your thoughts so sublime.

A church in the heart

He came to that place.
Where they all disappeared.
Where their hearts had stopped beating.
Ghosts clung to the air like static electricity.
Sucking up souls.
Licking their lips.
A mumbled prayer drifted from his most pious mouth.
Strung out like pearls on the ocean floor.
Saints prevailed, blessed father above and below.
And then time unwound.
Flashed back like traffic.
They breathed life again, resurrected in this space.
Hungry after so long away.
Choking up rosary beads and blood.
A prayer to save us all.
Or to condemn those departing.
In the end, only God may judge them.

Ghosts behind your smile

The night is so quiet.
All the ghosts are saved. All souls redeemed.
I looked for you there, down by the river.
Washing away your sins.
Washing all over me.
Your eyes catch a glance, all fire and brimstone still.
Flickers of hope and entanglement.
Your reflection quivers, frightened in my tiny hand.
Vast in your stormy sky.
These angles cry for me to let you go.
They know you see. They know.
You are fooled by your own disguise.
(Something now I no longer recognise)
The tectonic shift of love and hate.
As you flee from me.
Escaping yourself and the things you’ve collapsed.
Stripped away and torn from your bones.
Even God wouldn’t even recognise you now.

Meet the maker

Grandma died at a quarter to three.
Right before her cake and tea.
She’d gone to church and prayed like the rest.
Hoped for peace, and always tried her best.
To be like Jesus and love each other.
She even prayed harder for her sick older brother.
Yet it was she God took, that lazy Sunday.
At number 40, in her living room doorway.
Collapsed on the floor, her hands to her chest.
Stricken in pain, nearing the final rest.
For it seemed God had for her a different plan.
Then tea and cake, and the weatherman.
And what is more, it pains me to say.
That Grandma was not even in her twilight days.
For poor Grand Ma Ma was only 70.
And had gone the bathroom to spend a penny.
Yet down she was struck, tripping over her pug.
Smashed her head on the door like a hand to a bug.
It was a silly demise and lacked any dignity.
As she’d glared at the dog before meeting her destiny.
No moments of poise or thoughts of her brother.
Her last action on earth was to exclaim ‘’Mother fucker!’’

Rapture

Tell each tear on my face to go. Never again will I walk alone.
The vacancy in my skull banished, cast out like leapers of ego.
I was toxified and vilified. I was handled in small doses.
Never allowed to bloom, or creep like the wisteria across those hearts.
The gloom and darkness were fed to me. Swallow it down where it would lay hard and heavy within my bones.
Faith was never questioned by me, though others tore it apart.
I knew, looking into those eyes of brown and almond; bliss, it was my awakening.
Moving with delicate sugar powder steps towards knowing. Towards seeing.
Tasting the miracle on my tongue. Sucking it further till honey dripped into my soul.
Miracle making, tasting and refreshing like the rain flooding your eyes shut.
Washing away my January grey.
I am weightless.
Take me now, to the place that you live.
That city eternal. A chorus of worship in my skin.
I need that air so desperately.
Cast under by your thaumaturgy and wonder. I’m paralysed.
Yet my heart is revived by you. By love.