Independence

by Poetry

hills & rivers by Loch Lomond
curling stones surmounting God
& gentle shores teasing infinity are
beautiful
               but they are not you

I think some part of you
resents that the idea
that I can unearth beauty
independently

               after so long
as a filter – telling me what is
beautiful & what is not –
I still know my own beauties
when I see them

               every rolling wave
& subtle crash of birds slipping
beneath the waters & the distant hiss
of wheels on wet earth
I am becoming aware that beauty
perhaps
is not your concern

Over the years, I have learned how incredibly easy it is to be inspired, stimulated and set on fire by the unfamiliar. Even just a few hours, or days, in a different environment, with different concerns and different pleasures too, is like a shock to the system. It is easy to create beautiful things, and even easier to admire, the beauty of the unfamiliar. It is considerably more difficult, and perhaps more worthwhile, to unveil the beauties in the everyday things. To admire, perhaps, how the condensation on your car window shapes different patterns depending on whether you leave for work at 7:47 or 8:02. To be stimulated by the hiss of the same tyres on the same road, but the shifting nature of the world around you turns each layered day into a crescendo across the year. To close your eyes and feel the sun on your face with the same pleasure as the rain.

Easy to say; easy to romanticise. Almost impossible to do. But that, I think, is the goal. I think that’s how we survive. Learn to love our shells and our cages. Learn to smile at the cracking whips and the wheeling of hospital gurneys too.

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The Moth

the Moth
had crawled inside & exuded its own
brilliant
light curving
a perfect body; had crawled
inside & found

Finding Life Prosaic

fingers bleeding prosaic, money
to clog arteries and veins,
to quell the rise and flow of
something…

Zephyr

it would be nice I think it would be nice
to pretend that all this pain is purely for you
romantic in our fucked up way how fucked we
have always been it comes now to romance
and something like love truth is
I was hurting & hurting myself

River Desire

creations bare bones
now fresh frost curves nudity
living silken suit
sky heaves as life leaves
tense and laboured atmosphere
ice rolls and rises