Time, the absence of time and other abstractions

1

She heard the lock

turn, footsteps

in the hall; a pause,

on the floorboard

outside her door.

 

6 o’clock.

 

2.

The clock stopped and

who knows what time it was?

 

He heard the intermittent twitter

in the trees, the rush of wheels

on the cool tarmac; eyes fixed

on the one spot upon

the brick wall. I thought of,

 

what?

Nothing, half-images that flit

like night wings thru air

too quick, and darkness.

 

3.

And the sun rose

and rubbed her windows;

the sky, sprung-clean.

Even the flies, she feels,

bless the air. There,

 

I’m 16 again

cruising the centuries

in spring, the cemetery

path. I strode miles

over the stone and

bone, an eye on death,

but blithe, blowing my

long smoke to the sky

high, thinking, what?

Right now…right now…

 

[I wanted to seize time,

my happiness]

 

 

4.

I’m happy now to glide

beneath the pale blue eyes

of evening; her skies

 

of mottled whites and lights.

I walk from the light.

What joy?

 

To find you here.

 

24-25 September 2015

Reflections while sitting on the Train

Pathways 003

 

Something unravels and disperses
as we,
each step taken,
walk out the accumulation of
lifetimes….our pasts
pounded into asphalt
poured onto paper
and canvas
gone with the rolling over
of relentlessly passing seasons

Steps which take us
beyond
to where we have not been before
where no ancestor has been…

Maori say
that we look towards our ancestors…
true – for the ancestors face us
and we look back at them
as we confront our pasts
which are in front of us….still
and
until we can dispense
with the attachment to these pasts
the shame
the glories
the losses
achievements
we remain bound.

Our pasts are written on our faces
as with
the man I see seated opposite…
full moko, wearing his art
and ancestry upon his face.
For each of us, we wear a
map – a slice of
Humanity
on a globe, within a Universe of Being
each cell upon our faces
carries every memory
back to a creative thought
in the mind of the Creator
who dreamed Universes….
made Matter
and this we are remembering and
releasing from bondage
in our images and words.

 

Copyright 2009

 

 

Tick Tock

10.35 pm

Tick tock

Xmas is coming

What a crock!

Love and peace

is surpassed

by expectations

by presents

large bows

large packages

presented with

large promises

huge expectations

Tick tock

ready to rock

and roll

for Xmas

Hell yeah

Will smile

put on my

elf suit

Hopefully score

Yeeha!

Xmas is coming

10.45pm

Am prepared

have reindeer

ready to go

my wings coincide

with theirs

Just need Rudolph

to charge his nose

for the next adventure

Tick tock

says Alice

A Christmas poem for World peace

The world sleeps

Waiting

for salvation

Christmas is

a time for

celebration

World peace

Joy and jubilation

I wish I could sleep

I wish I could weep

for the homeless

the joyless

the hungry….

The world keeps

on turning

Sun keeps

on burning

Moon keeps

returning

to Goddess

Spare a thought

for the homeless

the joyless

the hungry

This Christmas

as the world sleeps

in blameless bliss

Send out a kiss

for World peace

Joy and jubilation

Meandering river

My mind

is wandering

My mind

is clear

My river

is meandering

over smooth rocks

Rivulets split

into their own paths

much like mine

trickling over brooks

nooks

and finding crannies

Places to grow

and be nurtured

Lamb raw

Wild salad

Iodine on skin

Rock salt

blended together

with kumera

straight from the pot

laughing

crying

over Coro

converted into

Shorty for the last night

My mind

is wandering

My mind

is opaque

living

in the wake

of serenity

Rivulets spit

out their own words

much like mine

pricking at your thoughts

invading

your dreams

at night

My pussy is sorted

My space

is at ease

Blended together

with artworks

straight from the car

beguiling

smiling

over new movie

on hard drive

yet to watch

My mind

is

open….

I am an Anarchist!!!

This is an anarchy poem!

Church is a social experiment

It’s a place

to stage your event

Dressing up with

hats and gloves

on a Sunday

Words exchanged

eyebrows raised

Organ plays

Pews create a nostalgic

view

from when you were

an innocent

wooden and resolute

straight backs in your seats

No whispering lads

No funny boys

No sounds

Oops, I just thought out loud!!!

What the fuck did I say?

My mind is in total

Disarray…

Life is a social enigma

It’s a place

to stage your event

Dressing up with

nose rings and piercings

Tattoos to shock

I kid you not!!

But expression

is your rock and roll

Traffic rolls by

Evening birds cry

I think alone

And question why???

the innocents

are taken by the darkness

Wooden and resolute

Just want to cause people

to die

We come in peace

Shoot to kill, shoot to kill, shoot to kill…

That’s life Jim

But not as we know it

not as we know it

not as we know it…

Life is a social experiment

It’s a place

to stake your claim

spread your name

place the blame

sometimes…

What the fuck?

Most people suck!!

How straight backed

and resolute are you?

Do you really want to change

the world?

I AM AN ANARCHIST!!!

I am a butterfly

I flutter by

But I paint a picture

as it is

I am not afraid

to open my tongue

Freed from the child

that binds

to the mother

I dare to face

the eagles, the doves, the peacocks

I am the owl

I fly at night

The darkness guides me

towards the light

though I am

but a small voice

how to end it

if you don’t listen at the time time time

at the precious time

when you begin

to love in time

one note

one tooth

one flower

 

if you don’t hear the one one one

the one writing

trying to write

one by one

one song

one face

one day

 

if you don’t learn to turn turn turn

about face with grace

turn and face

this morning’s face

and another and

another and

the next

 

then keep calm calm calm

take off your heart

put on your face

make morning wait

and when you

fool me too

we’re finished.

 

©Vivian Thonger 2015

Hair Of The Dog

His hair is a wild sea of waves

tall and standing, and wispy wavelets

They rise and fall on a tough chest

and he presses a quivering leg to mine

It is always so: he roams the hills of his dreams,

threading through trees, sniffling in lupins,

racing in the wooded lanes

Now he dreams again, his leg warm,

his mind racing with his heart

It is the comfort of companionship

I feel it as I leave, and I wonder

If he knows I will come back, or just hope

Some days he stares at nothing;

but it is not nothing, surely, but those

who once lay as he does now

They are here, too, seen and unseen,

and they chase in the night: frost tinkling on coats

 

 

 

Marquetry

Lace:trellis interwoven threads

trace patterns in my head

fine needlepoint that pierced through

the fabric of my thought

and connect me to you

I hold you to the light

but nothing shines

reflections shade the paper

where have you gone ?

I heard a tinkling laughter with your smile

the sun has you now

the earth will bear you onward

green pastures to rest

farewell  oh my beloved

 

 

Untitled

What doth beyond my window break?

Tis the moon,

Her face dressed by the stars,

A blanket of clouds caressing her lips…

 

 

 

No Limit

We are limited in the Cyrillic language to 26 letters
I will post them to you
Don’t limit the space in your heart for forgiveness

We are bounded by the bandage of hate that holds dominion
let it creep away and
we will not bleed to death

We seem immersed in time, yet my mind perceives infinite truth
can yours believe in mercy?..
it is timeless

Ours the hours to revel in romance
enjoy life don’t define it
give a little
love lots
listen to the cries of those in need
heed them,
even the disillusioned ones,
need an answer
that doesn’t blow their minds

Here is a life to lead us, where ?
don’t wander or wonder yet
just live………………………….
and gift mercy  ………….

© 6 hours ago

The Cottage

The last bloom has gone.

The gate is closed.

This is a cottage of stories.

They are within rough-sawn walls,

closeted under a peak roof.

I want to go to each room,

feel the raised floral walls,

the give of the shiny floor.

Cobwebs cling. A starling is at home.

One day I will open the door.

It, I imagine, will creak

and dust will dance in a column of light.

I will see my imaginings,

my part in a story untold