Bow-Bend-Break

Feeling caught, stuck in God’s hypothetical conversation.
Nothing like him, nothing like them.
Just ordinary and irresponsible.
Rama and Jesus toy with me, threatening debt collections.
I see this for what it is, out of hymn books and mythological mantras.
Dizzied by the nirvana.
Which holy right keeps me scratching at the door, faltering on each sin that snuffles at my own?
Crush me with sandalwood beads and drown my lungs in incense.
My blood is yours and bleeds a pious pigment.
Down on such bended knees.
How long till it ends, or until the world is created?
Leave me to count the spines of the leviathan that I follow down into the deep.
To the innermost depths of an Edenistical land washed clean by the flood.
Sipping antibiotics and feasting on scraps.
Clipping my own wings.

Searching

Look inside a different view.
A world spun on a wavering axis.
Shifting and shaking to a tectonic heartbeat.
Bring a different truth, I’ve heard so many.
Cracked from the ice and the frozen tongues.
Coughed up by devils and delicious ruin.
Was I allowed to change my mind?
Change my religion and make it fly?
Or cloak my thoughts and despairs.
Drown the reasoning in a bath of holy water.
I held my breath.
Waited for the manna to rise.
The milk and honey to seep out of my blood.
Out of my mind.
I caught the world, flying on the wings of a dove.
Into the eye of the storm.
Looking for a home. Looking for a hope.

Try not to breath

Hidden in the shell at the bottom of your soul.
In the hollow of your neck where your vertebrae’s buckle.
The palm of your hand.
It resides. Coughing out songs and laughter.
As you cry.
You choose and change this religion.
Writing your own dreams to dapple these eyelids of the young.
Sticky with Jesus kisses and Vaseline.
Now, there was someone with a bad judge of character.
Yet judge not, lest ye be judged as you chorus and ring in these ears.
Who disagrees?
Off with their heads and bring the bones to your feet.
Suck the soul from within like sap from a tree.
Or a balloon full of fear. Inhaled in a quiet dark room.
Where the shadows and ugly realities lie.
In wait. Ready to buzz out in phosphor.
Luminous lies.
Though it all means nothing to you. A new leprosy for a non-contact age.
Kept at a distance and viewed only through a screen.
Flashing pulsars.
As your neck gives in, staring at a phone all day.
You tie their necks back. A soft motherly touch, done in pink ribbons and lace.
They do not notice how tight you pull, as their view clouds and all they hear is your voice.
Talking, not of the bombs you will drop or the mustard gas breath you hiss.
You tell them they are superman.
Bittersweet and free.

Unconditional elation

Scary tales that suffocate. Around and around they incubate.
A seismic chorus and ring.
Drop your emotions like a wilting flower.
A deep dark blue that stains my veins.
Talk me into heaven. Slip me in hell.
The beautiful sinner within you dissolves in my mouth.
Suspension with such suspense. Blinking out words that irritate.
Scratch on my mind like an itch on the back of my throat.
Your inky blue soul, a rip tide of delight.
Encasing me once more in a silken cathedral of skin.
Let me pray.
On my knees.
Waiting for the holy water to come.

Solar delights

They say it was the setting sun.
But I know you swallowed it whole.
Took it down deep within, into that hidden kingdom.
Where my dreams now lie.
Kissed and churned like diamond butter.
The moon shines through your eyelids.
Turning the tide of me towards your wavering satellite.
Blinking out a religion, coughing up a prayer.
Your perfumed words drift like embers on the wind.
Setting my senses a flame like a bonfire of perplexity.
Ghost rush flames, that sink into my bones.
Do I know all of this from somewhere?
Did I meet you once before, locked in this DNA?
My senses strip bare and you take me all in.
Down like the setting sun.
Like slipping down a spine.
To swim in those silky chambers.
Dressed in gold and sunlight.
Holding on to me like a dying star.
Just kids looking straight into the sun.
 

A linguistic form that can meaningfully be spoken in isolation

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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.

Sacred sinners

On a night like this, as the clouds cover the moon.
Or is it your hand reaching up to the sky?
Reaching towards heaven, trying to pull over the milky way.
Your feet stick into the mud of our circumstance.
Arms tarred and feathered like mine.
Your lips have known a thousand others.
Tasted a million other apples.
Lucifer in my hands, yet the Satan in my heart.
A name chained in irons and weighed down with history.
Yet to my eyes you are future, dipped in stars & the clouds you fell through.
They nailed me to the tree, they never knew love.
Letting me bleed out until the oil fell forth.
You cut me down and you hold me now.
Kissing the scars, wiping away the ink that burned.
I clip my wings and lay you in your my feathers and down.
Feeling my saliva sizzle on your skin.
Let us pull the soil over us and sleep forever in our own Eden.
Lucifer and Jesus, locked in eternity; or as long as the world rotates.
Orbiting the sun, and listening to the solar system.
Hiding from God.

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.

Matter/shatter

If we’re talking
about hope.
These simple things should matter.
We are matter.
We are blood.
We are all wet underneath.
Which skin matters?
This one cuts. This life shatters.
03.47; call my name.
Blur and hum.
You see it in my eyes.
I’m not ashamed,
to say.
That all the Gods drip down the same.
And enter our purple veins.
Which one is better?
We are all
fragile.
Please handle with care.
And stare,
and care.
For their heart is on your hand.
Precious matter.
Jehovah or Allah.
Peace be upon us.

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.

Thumbing the pages

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The Gospel of no-one

Be careful of those who open their diamond hands.
Chewing opium smoked souls and offering hearts.
These will be those closest to you.
Forgive them, we know not what we do.
Swimming in the sin of a century.
Crawling once more on the back of time.
A miseducation of things once told.
Scratched on tablets, ground down like baby teeth.
But the skies won’t fall.
And though walls grow tall we strengthen our desire.
To avoid smashing galaxies and fragile pieces of others.
Every time you try to be what they expect, the honey sting;
the disdainful look of Lucifer drops all that is tired.
We become more inspired.
And make way for the inevitable bliss.
In Zion.

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.

Skirt your soul

Coughing on the brick dust.
Not complaining.
Just re-arranging.
This sanctuary you’ve housed us in.
Licking the light that shines through the stained teared windows.
You cover me in everything.
You wrap me around you like a piece of string.
Feeling the blood pump through these veins.
Skin on skin. Lips to lips.
With an infinity smile you harken me forward.
Out of this church of our hearts.
The fresh mountain air hits my lungs.
Breathing in the butterfly breath of your exhale.
You tomorrow’s sigh.
Hand gripped and stable. Grounded when I was falling apart.
Steadied my soul.
And when I was letting go, you let me fly.
Soar.

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.

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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!’’

Dear silent shadow

My mind is playing silly games. Your turn.
Synchronised with moon tides and memories.
Waiting for the dust to settle, for the world to quieten.
For me to subdue, acquiesce or fold.
These growing pains, leave me breathless and blurry eyed.
Trying to unhook you, to dispel the miser and the misery.
Parading the joyfulness of a child. Spank me into correction.
Treat me like a four year old, chastise in your maturity.
Even kids get story time and chocolates.
Where is my reward for good behaviour?
Peter panning my tinkerbell tendencies.
Where is my previous saviour?
I’m losing my religion, as it drips away in tears shed from you.
I hear you calling, wanting to play again.
Foolish games?
I drift into my sleep, so turn down your loud bittersweet.
Dreaming, so our broken wings can soar. That’s all that’s left.

Perilous Pilgrimage

I feel so sad, what you did isn’t right.
It crawls into me like the cold, and settles for days ahead.
These emotions prickle with fear, unsure of the wavering.
Unsure of the horror to come.
We bunker down for the winter ahead, the early winter that never really left.
You climb out of it so quickly, please don’t leave me here covered with this.
Baptise me in your tears, as I swim in my own.
Down to the depths where the monsters sleep.
All this chatter, and all this delay just keeps me from you.
A traveller on the road, passing temples and pyramids alone.
Do I rest here, do I seep into the soil and sand? Mummifying our love for a thousand more years?
There is no doubt of your divinity, your cruel punishments are of a biblical nature.
You are the God I yearn for, who loved me in thy own image, but asks me to change.
I will make my way, I will climb and move the mountain. Yet I will leave breadcrumbs in my wake.
I’ll meet you there, on the hill with no name while we look to the stars.
You will see our love, burning across the cosmos, trailing the Holy Ghost.
You are my Mecca, you will also be my shroud.

I kill the darkness

Are you still thinking, brain turning, losing love? Of course you are.
Has the line you drew been crossed by my clumsy shoe; of course it has.
Leaving, emptying the room in thirty seconds flat, a record.
I’m peeling the hatred away that is covered in your discontent.
No sunny skies, no sunny ray of light. All is dark as the void suffocates.
I’ve grown tired of the claustrophobia; I’ve always had one hand on the door.
I’ve always had good intentions, and ears closed to opposites to ignore.
I’m on my knees that you left here, I’m crying deep into my hands.
The tears do nothing but burn me, and make it even so hard to stand.
Behind me the devils are mounting, the spectre of death is my friend.
The god I thought has abandoned me, left a note that read ‘your own end’.
So I turn from this place where you left me, and I acknowledge the reasons you fly.
Then you come back despite it all, despite the horror I’ve caused.
And you give me the strength to both stand up, and accept everything is really my fault.
The crack of light is suddenly blinding, the darkness is melting away.
And I tell you it will be different, if you have faith in me and stay.
So I kill the black and darkness, I kill all the fear and all the dread.
And I put to sleep all the bullshit, and smash my love inside your head.
10 months of investment, and 7 days of unrest.
I want to take back all the anger, and all the things I detest.
And do you still think of ending it all? Of course you will.
And you’ll still think of things as all wrong? Of course you will.
And I know your heart is aching, bleeding. Of course I do.
But let me be the bandage that heals, let me bleed for you.