You Were The Sea

 You were the sea,

When he moved to the coast,

A locked in land-boy,

Bereft of waves and their wonder,

When he arrived, he'd daily dive in,

He made it a practice to go in and down under,

Sea starved his whole life long,

He thought this love affair would run and run,

He swam in September and all through the year,

Regardless of rain,

In spite of the Sun,

You were the waves that lapped over him,

That called from afar, that drew him back in,

The tide that pulled back the sheets,

He'd lose hours in that water,

Lose count of the weeks,

He'd run fingers through the surf of your hair,

He'd comb the beach for the gifts you'd left there,

Little signs of the things that you bring,

Residues of your rise, and it's love offerings,

Hard things you had softened over time,

Foreign objects and trinkets with no value,

No reason or rhyme, 

But precious to him to find,

And the beauty it bought;

A rare and unique kind,

When he held them,

It bought your presence to mind,

Exotic and domestic, at the same time,

A sense of safety, an essence of freedom,

Your watchful eye would oversee them,

Unpredictable and dependable,

Sensuous but rarely sensible

Always there, Always moving,

Always changing, never changing,

Always changing, never changing,

When he moved to the coast,

You were the sea,

For that first year,

He'd live and he'd breathe

Salt and Sea air,

Were his only reprieve,

Though he'd drift back to land,

He would never leave,

The sound of the surf 

On the sand, filled his ears,

Calling him back,

From salty spilled tears,

To the place where all rivers run,

To the source of the salt,

And the birth of what had begun,

The love should never have gone,

With resources that deep,

It should have gone on,

But eventually the sea became the background,

The backdrop, that never came back round,

He could hear the tide all day long,

But he tuned it out, like a radio's song,

He got used to it being there,

Like he no longer noticed the salt in the air,

The sea was for the tourists,

Sure it was nice,

But he was a purist,

Some time he'd go further down the coast,

One day he'd go and chase that ghost,

Inverse

 Warm on a lazy, late September day,

Only blue down there,

No trace of grey,

In the depths,

The red tail Kite swims by on his back,

On the surface, in an opposite direction,

The uptipped dragonfly hovers back in his track,

The vampiric Pigeons between,

Perch precariously, hanging from the fence,

And inverted I , look down into the depths of the sky,

And sighing give up all pretense,

That there is up or down,

As I'm pinned to the earth by unseen force,

Gravitated to the body,

That holds and sustains me, 

The heavenly body which dictates my course, 

And up and down are meaningless,

Without the planet's orientation,

And direction only comes with a place to leave,

And a place of destination,

You are my West and East,

You are my South and my North,

My down and my up,

My far and near,

 Creation cries out,

It's speaking forth,

You're my home and the land that I leave,

You're my awaiting destiny,

You are the train and the station,

The departure and the destination,

Without you, I'm going nowhere,

Floating off into space,

A vacuum oblivion without you,

A  prize-less, 

Directionless, 

Endless race,

The shining Sun is in the deep,

On the deep September day,

The creatures continue on; upside down or backwards,

And carry on their way

Bottom

When all was drunk,

And it came down to it,

Drowning in dregs,

Sinking in my own vomit,

My belief was burst,

Not a life jacket, but a millstone,

But much as I hated I could not reject you,

And you must save me,

And you alone,

I want you to know,

I got to the bottom,

I found deep truths,

Long forgotten,

And if faith is something,

Rather than taken up,

Something of which one cannot let go,

Then yes, I'm a stubborn rebel,

But I have to say,

I found at the bottom,

I have such faith,

And I love you so,

On the bottom, looking up,

I saw the surface, 

The shimmer and glow,

And from the bottom,

It was more beautiful,

Than angels on clouds will ever know,

You're Christopher Robin (The division of Characters)

 My Brother you're Tigger, If I am Pooh,

Though I'm a bit more Eeyore, and some Piglet too,

Yes you're Tigger, and sometimes Roo,

Although if I'm honest I see some Kanga in you,

And sometimes you do what Rabbits do,

But neither of us was ever Owl, That's certainly true,

But mostly I was known as Pooh,

A Bear of Little brain,

In the forest I was Robin Hood, And you were a little John,

In the Jungle I was Mowgli, But you were Tarzan's son,

Boy the jungle went on and on,

The laws of play seemed never done,

I was Akela at the Council rock,

At times: Shere Khan, You were Bandar-log

Grey Brother, you were Bagheera, I was Baloo,

Although I'd have much rather been you,

I thought I was D'artagnan, But I was Richelieu,

You were Porthos and Athos and Aramis too,

Without the poetry of course, 

And of course mine was the religious discourse,

I wanted to be Flash Gordon, You were Superman,

More suited to do what a hero can,

I was Luke, you were Han Solo,

You were Captain Kirk, You would boldly go,

Where no brother of yours had been before,

But you'd follow sometimes, When I'd walked out the door,

You were Obelix to my Asterix,

You were the whole village to my Cacocophonix,

You were Tin-Tin and Snowy, I was Captain Haddock, son,

Also the bungling Thompson and Thomson ,

I was Penfold, You were Danger Mouse,

Bringing character and story to life all over our house,

But most of all you were Christopher Robin more,

You, my brother, were who the stories were for.

The Miracle Factory

The shop floor,

The conveyor belt,

The mold, 

The fold,

The iron smelt,

A pinch of flesh,

And some calcium,

Hair follicles, hands,

And, here they come,

Down the line,

One by one,

The miracles,

Machine made. Done.

The government,

The law, the schools,

Conventional wisdom,

And unwritten rules,

Shape their minds,

Weed out the fools,

Whittle down the clowns,

No frowns, let's all be cool,

There is no robbery,

Here's all the tools,

You'll need to feed,

The spoon-fed liberal gruel,

Get rid of God

Supply the fuel,

Independent Individuals,

All kind, Tolerant and Cruel.

Miracles made,

For the miracle pool,

Man in the image of man,

Man in the image of man,

Manufacturing miracles 

Man does what he can,

Full

 From the highest heights

To the deepest depths,

From the pathway of choice,

To the reluctant road to regret,

From the moment you fell, 

Till you woke up in bed,

Every second, every minute

Every beat, every breath,

As you first filled your lungs,

Till you expel them in death,

Though you know it not,

Or if you tend to forget,

Though it surrounds you now,

And unaware you are wet,

You are soaked, you are drenched 

You're immersed in it,

The whole earth is filled 

With his glory,

From the seas to the sky,

To the radiant sun,

From the molecule, the atom, and neutron

From the mountain top, 

From the eye of the storm,

From the life wrestling free,

 From death being born,

In the science, the energy of the bomb,

There's a whole lotta glory going on,

In fact there's even more to come,

It's full, full, full,

And yet it isn't even close to being done,

The whole earth is filled, yes,

But have you met his son?

I tell you, there's a whole lotta glory going on,

But you better believe,

There's more to come,

If you ask for an equivalent,

You can ask but there is none,

He's holy, holy, holy,

And you'll be undone,

The earth and heavens are just a showcase,

Of the glorious one,

And the whole earth is filled,

With his glory,

So from the sperm and the egg,

And the space in-between,

From the spectacle of galaxies,

To the sight unseen,

From the before to the after

To the ends through the means,

It whispers, and speaks,

It shouts and it screams,

To those who have ears,

To those who have seen,

Just the smallest of glimpses,

In waking or dreams,

It's full up to bursting,

Bursting the seams ,

Of our reality,

Or whatever that means,

Full, full, full, 

Of glory 

And the whole earth is filled,

With his glory,

I bow to the king sat before me,

The whole earth is filled,

With his glory,

Slip Gentle

 I'll slip gentle into that good night,

Why should I rage,

Why should I fight,

As if my going,

Is some dying of the light,

Not the death of the dawn,

But the birth of the bright,

Tell me, for what am I holding on?

For more of the same?

More empty days, scorched by the Sun?

Better to cut free and run,

Let go of the weight of what you'll become,

Life is for letting go,

You shut out the light and smother it so,

In your grasping, nothing can grow,

So mourn for your pride,

And your fragile ego,

Embrace the life that's to come,

When 'all of the colours bleed into one'

Release your hold back into the wild,

Where it wont hold you back,

You've been held like a child,

Restrained by the reach of your fear,

You thought you'd be kept by what you kept here,

But you threw yourself out on your ear,

Chasing the dream,

Year after year,

(When really you've always been here,

Behind all the blinds,

Beneath the veneer)

Then let go, luminous one,

Surrender the days,

Let them become,

Become whatever they may,

Whatever becomes,

Let go the moments, 

One, then, by one,

And slip gentle into that good night,

For it is good,

And not the dying of light,

If your heart doesn't fear

If your  soul is set right,

Let go to God,

Surrender the fight.

(Written in part as a response to Dylan Thomas's poem 'Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night'. It's one of my favourite poems and his performance of it is one of my favourite poetry performances of all time, but he and I do not share the same worldview (nor the same talent, I might needlessly add). Thomas may not have been thinking of the afterlife when urged his fading father to fight the 'dying of the light', and I have a similar themed one about the death of my mother, but this life isn't all there is, and I write, not for a loved one but for myself. It's not so much a letting go of this life, as a letting go of the hold the fear of my death has over me. I am happy to stay as Long as the Lord allows, but I want to be ready to go when the time comes.)