Friday, January 29, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Post-It Poem: Waiting
(*) click on the image to see a larger version. Alternatively, you can download it and zoom into the details
Of course, this piece can be read in any order you like, although there is a general narrative idea to it. The last slip is silver in colour but well what can I say, it just looks better live than as a photograph
Post-it Poems: Siempre
Monday, January 25, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
Thought - I
it's so foggy
that the tower where you sit
has only just emerged
for the day
but the day is
done:
half past noon and a morning
cloudied by half dreams
and old mists
and lost sleep
caught between weeks
and words
in the sun
that the tower where you sit
has only just emerged
for the day
but the day is
done:
half past noon and a morning
cloudied by half dreams
and old mists
and lost sleep
caught between weeks
and words
in the sun
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
One Afternoon. July, 2006
A digital flourish,
clickety click beep and
tapping grids in two-by-two frames
stretched by fourteen hours of strain at a desk in a loft,
sandwiched between a wall, another desk
and bricks
and sky
and falling drops of afternoon rain
haunted by a stranger's eyes,
an apology
and a winding column of humanity making its way into every direction
except for the one I'm headed in:
alone under an umbrella
in search of the perfect fountain pen
to write love letters with
on yellow paper
in green ink
on a grey day
clickety click beep and
tapping grids in two-by-two frames
stretched by fourteen hours of strain at a desk in a loft,
sandwiched between a wall, another desk
and bricks
and sky
and falling drops of afternoon rain
haunted by a stranger's eyes,
an apology
and a winding column of humanity making its way into every direction
except for the one I'm headed in:
alone under an umbrella
in search of the perfect fountain pen
to write love letters with
on yellow paper
in green ink
on a grey day
Saturday, January 09, 2010
Thursday, January 07, 2010
Sunday, January 03, 2010
Dark Implosion
Sometimes I feel as if I'll implode into you -
into all the dates and names and songs,
rhymes, places and spaces you talk of all the time
because at some point, I've been there before:
inside the same cryptic words and texts
you hint, mention and throw into
the volley of ideas that I launch around myself:
thoughts like a suit of tentacles
that reach out into the darkness
of unknown possibilities
and odd prodigous events
into all the dates and names and songs,
rhymes, places and spaces you talk of all the time
because at some point, I've been there before:
inside the same cryptic words and texts
you hint, mention and throw into
the volley of ideas that I launch around myself:
thoughts like a suit of tentacles
that reach out into the darkness
of unknown possibilities
and odd prodigous events
From a book I received many years ago:
"You are searching the world for treasure
but the real treasure is yourself.
If you are tempted by bread
you will only find bread.
What you seek for
you become."
- Jalal-ud-din Rumi
but the real treasure is yourself.
If you are tempted by bread
you will only find bread.
What you seek for
you become."
- Jalal-ud-din Rumi
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