Untitled
Grave of the sea
in silver cloud light
Why do they not see you?
The hills are dark sighs
Caressing your mirror sides
This humanity of hustle, greed,
grey structure
Must . . .
Absorb you
Drown in your glistening secrets
Be blinded by your silver beauty
Scrape back
the walls of the stomach
Feel you . . . there
You, surging,
strength in the blood
strength of timelessness
strength of tradition
strength undeniable
Deep in the dark belly
of all life.
That Granada Night
Your memory
is the silver lark of death
waiting for love
to outshine time
You are in that Granada night
snaking through sandy alleys
into the underworld
where lament drew blood
and tears formed red stars
to shroud the moon
You were my laughter
Floating down river
Caught by the lip of the cave
Sucked into dark
Where the myths of
openings to the underworld
are real,
I kissed blue lips
once blood red
Take me downriver
where the cave
opens into
night.
To Know
The blackbird on the aerial outside
Knows many things
The butcher yesterday knows
things I never will
The feel of the knife
The peel of flesh from bone
The severed connections of life
The strength of a man
What it's like to wield
I am trying to uncover
the marketplace of my time
avoiding lines in social networking
where everyone's a star
a dream-liver, creator
If the wiry mind
Settles and gathers dust
Sending out roots
in sandy earth
Wait till the sun's low
Cut them off, just
where they are strongest
Pull them out
by their tails
Split them in two
Tether them to the
clothesline
Wait for the wind
The creaking of steel
Wait for the thread
of night
Looping over buildings,
clots of earth
Wait for the neighbour's
warbling to cease
Let their tails whip
Like eels through water
Then pull them down
Twist and tie them
to spindly, sturdy
branches
Build a shelter
Against the clouds,
the thunder, the
lightning
and the sour hills.
I am currently working on a collection of poetry entitled, ´La Sangre Fundamental.´ Originally from Oamaru, I am currently living in Zacoalco de Torres, Jalisco, Mexico.
I see myself as a folk artist involved with the stories of the people and the mixture of stories that people bring with them, especially those that create them, as a mixture of many cultures or subconsciously as impulses, beliefs, and habits that come down through the blood without people even knowing from which blood. I am involved with the truth that lies in this essential spirit, the spirit that is at the root of humanity.
