Creative Journeys

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Tue, 27 Jul 2010 09:15:00 -0700

cycles of remembrance
do hang on me for a long time now.
I think remembrance creates trust
and trust makes wholes emerge
and perpetuate.

Do you think about trust?

These are the words she wrote me;
a story-girl making paper-planes
of words to fly like storylines.

These are the words she wrote me
to respond to the words I once wrote.
She flies back at me like a full-page mirror
that I read as my reflection.

Little to compensate except for
those storylines that lie as labyrinths
of our lives: stories within stories

where we each learn what is trust.

17.21
9/03/10

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Wed, 14 Jul 2010 09:15:00 -0700

I do not breathe;

breath runs through
me as I be a witness
to its path:

I do not act
although my belief
tells me that I do.

So I think that I act
as forces beyond
compel my movements.

In each thing
we participate
yet in ways

foreign to how
we have been
trained to know.

Eyes open blindly
we choke on air
as we sink to swim.

There is grace
under each stone –
in every breath.

17.00
27/03/09

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Tue, 6 Jul 2010 09:14:00 -0700

Arms holding
in the madness
tight

as wind blows
howls

wraps around
strangles slightly.

I can sleep
although
her body too warm

and sweat sticks
for no reason
against my slumber.

Why she cannot
shed her insistence
for these coverings?

Madness
in the night’s
hot embrace

holding tight
as wind curls

and chimes ring
hung outside
like silver bells.

22.22
23/03/09

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 09:14:00 -0700

Change comes to the one who bends:

like raindrops that fall upon a leaf,
that trickle from its wet green spout;

I sway and droop with the needy,
with the new – if change is what

is required to be near to you.

14.04
20/03/09

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 09:13:00 -0700

Here stands a man who cares:
who is open to being used.

Who is ready to receive your blows
when you need to release your scream.

When your anger bursts out against
the unknown and feeds your fears:

let it all burn against the skin of the man
who stands here patiently waiting…

he knows that he must absorb the punches
from the one who cries inside like a child

to understand what it is to be loved yet
too afraid to dance out of the darkness.

20.55
16/03/09

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 09:12:00 -0700

From where does the change come
if not within yourself?

From the spheres that hang like
baubles in the evening crested sky?

From the sliver of silver fish that
leap from the river to waters high?

From the speckle of worn grass which
tries to show the traveller’s path?

From where and to where, I’d like to know…
Tis perhaps from thy heart

that mysteries murmur
and call as siren song?

22.39
11/03/09

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 09:11:00 -0700

Your power is as subtle as your
Subtlety is powerful.
Like the unknown alongside of you.

Subtle as it streams along your veins
carrying the carrion call. Subtle as
the Icarus fall which none did witness.

More subtle than the faintest wink,
the driest tear, the slightest pangs
of longing.

Subtle it is, subtle it be. Closer to you
than craven desires or deepest fears.
More subtle, more closer, more within you

than you would ever care to imagine.
This is your power. This is the love
that makes you.

23.41
7/03/09

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Fri, 5 Jun 2009 00:59:00 -0700

man of truth

carries on
carries weight

on through the wars

quietly, little noticed
little said, knows the dead

no contradiction

in opposites
lies the way ahead

looking through glass darkly

same as seeing in crystal glass
when all is clear inside.

10.51
13/02/09

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Thu, 28 May 2009 00:59:00 -0700

It’s the thin strip I love:

between horizon and ground
where eyes light upon and linger.

There is a magical shiver that
travels the spine and tingles.

Being human is being capable
of that gaze, of that view.

There is no room that can give
this silent sight and enthrone it

like it really meant something.
Yes it did – yes it will.

Waves pull and sea-folk sing.

20.17
06/02/09

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Thu, 21 May 2009 00:57:00 -0700

The continuous search for truth
rips, slits, and soothes…

like a journey on ice it slides
towards the horizon far.

We each a turgid ragamuffin
who dare to bend; stretch

the cartilage or pull a muscle.
Rigor mortis coming in

to teach us a tale or two.
Sun spreads her fiery arms

to embrace, to burn, to bone
each shy squalid heart-excuse.

The rest of us cough like pilgrims
and decant our tales like sherry.

19.57
06/02/09

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Thu, 14 May 2009 00:55:00 -0700

You buy into it, you lie into it.
You are the bed you weave.

If it could be different
you would make it different:
don’t cry over what you make real.

We are the beginning, we live our
middle ground, we grow the gold elixir.

Somewhere in the struggle I wonder,
yet I never forgive the plunder

of the self.

22.58
31/01/09

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Fri, 8 May 2009 00:53:00 -0700

Body by cool water linger longer by the minute.

It was dreamtime and I was in your space; brown
lashes slapping tanned features furrowed, coyly.
You were seeking something through the meeting
as I passed the moment to assist.

I knew you were looking through for spirit song
in the books lying still, spine name revealed to me;
yes, I could assist.

I will pass you on your way to where you wish to go
if you do indicate, I did say, and I did make my move.

Somewhere in the shadow ether you will have moved on
towards your target immersed in sea shanty song, salt
dried upon your skin to mark the waves you passed.

I would be long gone.

14.42
31/01/09

Hombre

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Tue, 7 Apr 2009 07:21:00 -0700

The traveling man
moves about
because he can.

He's the hombre
of falling leaves;

of time left lying
in shallow pools
bottom of the glass.

17.00
12/11/08
(Madrid)

Fool Defeated

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Mon, 9 Mar 2009 13:58:00 -0700

When there is nothing but silence
coming through the space between
your lips like mysteries,

I know I have been defeated
by the subtlety of language.

When I hear in the still air
what neither of us
has dared to reveal,

I know I have been out-done
by the energy of the heart.

And when I announce my victory
to the stormy winds outside,
to declare myself the victor:

I know I have been the fool
who will laugh til ever more.

22.05
09/03/09

-

Very much alive

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 11:11:00 -0800

I’m not dead but very much alive.
I have my alibi. I have my beating heart.

I have no diversion or excuses.
I am strong – and I’m coming on.

Yes – I’m coming on.
And the song is getting louder.

It will be sung all over soon.
I am not the only one.

I am not the lone singer.
Soon there will be many.

Then the song will be a great one.
Our future too – bring it on…

00.08
27/09/08

Be Calmed, Be With Me

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 11:11:00 -0800

I know you wanted to share
so much with me: your dreams
and the rivers that flow in-between.

Yet now it all seems lost; I have severed
the physical umbilical - you sense the loss.

Be calmed, be with me: in this world
all connections remain throughout.

The world as hologram holds us still.
Separated, we grow as friends forevermore.

22.35
31/08/08

where silence dwells

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 11:11:00 -0800

I don't know how to say this:

my heart is like a vacuum pill,
ready to love, ready to kill.

I stand before the seraphim,
no holy ghost, no ephemera.

I dance the polka-dot in blackest robes,
my heart throbs, my head is hot -

there's a space where dreams come to settle
and silence dwells like night.

I could love more if I tried, if I might.

22.13
31/08/08

The poison chalice

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Fri, 6 Feb 2009 12:21:00 -0800

The poison chalice
sits inside of me,

a loving cup
made of clay.

I drink, I drink,
so heartily
it makes my blood
black as love.

Come again -
if not now
then another day.

Something inside of me
refuses to lie down in the sun
or to go away.

I kneel like a beggar,
hands clasped:

am I praying
or do I betray?

21.40
31/08/08

Electric Vocal

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 16:42:00 -0800

Peaceness of evening near complete
against the electric vocal storm outside;

melodies of some future scrape against
the slumber of the solemn night.

I am ravenous for the invisible delight
of an opening like claws extended.

12/12/08
00.46

#1

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Sat, 18 Oct 2008 12:43:00 -0700

I want to dance with the great light
Of my being; shards of iridescent filaments
Spluttering and shooting like Aztec darts
From the blower’s breath.

Yet I get these threads of alcohol plying
Their trade in my veins and evening ways.

Out damn poison canals of sherry-wine blood.
Disperse – the warrior needs you no more.

On towards the great tightrope; where
Life dangles like a honey stem
Over the abyss, and wind trickles.

20.41
18/10/08

The Passing

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 03:48:00 -0700

There's something that I'm not doing
Something that needs to be done.

Like a melody left unsung
A dinner uncooked
Lips left untouched.

As wind through trees does blow
So too I must find the true
Nature of my passing.

11.52
10/10/08

New collection of poetry available to download from here

-

A loving drop

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 15:41:00 -0700

If I have spilt a loving drop
from another human heart,

I do this from a caring debt
to leave a chrysalis behind

as catalyst to a birth of
some future butterfly.

There Is

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 15:15:00 -0700

There is a pain, there is a love,
There is a rage, there is the dove.

There is compassion.
There is frustration.
There is the knowing
And the whole unknowing.

There are the stars shining
And the nights closing in.
There is the thankfulness
And there are the years ahead.

There is the flow of love.
And all of the above.

23.19
30/08/08

Imperfect

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 02:38:00 -0700

We'll get it right in another life
if we don't get it right in this one.

This is no excuse to stop loving
or to love the loving too much.

There's a bigger picture waiting to be sown
through the threads of our imperfect embraces.

22.06
23/08/08

Untitled

noreply@blogger.com (Kingsley) — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 07:59:00 -0700

When you sleep do you listen
to your breathing
like a star's internal fiery furnace?

When I breath in and out,
out and in,
I am reminded of the way a breeze
carries along the scent of a flower
and disperses it like pollen.

19/01/08