Best Extract Poems
Imagine the weight of the air in that house
which in the summer months would strangle you,
wearing heated gloves. Tough luck.
A gulf of emotion that is always a week ahead;
trying to claw back
a sense of permanence
as it lingers in a cold sweat. Windows
crack with discomfort; the place is dead.
All of those whispering memories
that remind me of my crippled crown
an accolade
of atrocities;
dripping with blood that is warm, not red.
Dried it looks a heavy brown, stiff as lead.
Imagine the ricochet of a drunken fist
that snuggles nicely between the nose and lips.
Impact dribbling
down
the spine and slapping the hips. The barrels
of my skull, those holes that whistle in the wind
a sort of lubricated lisp that rests on tears.
A sense of brutal butchery that batters
the borders of belief,
a false economy
to pray that some how, some day and in some
small way this tale will turn. Dismay,
this is not pain. This is not the teething
clamp of a hungry blade, the creasing
curve
through flesh and vein.
This is my reality, or at least it was,
why? because. The luck of the draw, the imploding
exploding, digesting, regurgitating ying and yang
of this universe - the gaunt keeper of humanity.
Sanctimonious,
a symbol of sellotape
that binds me perversely to my past. Manipulative
memories that need to be restrained, filed
with all the crap. A thrill, a subversive
all too serious sensational sense
of seniority,
capped with stark stupidity.
An intoxicated journey that reached an end. Your
choices scarred me; let's not pretend.
Sing me a sweet song
of brave and heroic men
long ago passed on
(for some unknown reason, this popped into my head…no reason…odd)
EXTRACTS
speculations
of
identity
so
unintentional
bring
intensity
dovetailed
with
uncertainty
mixed
in
doubt
brings
watchfulness
in
breathless
sensations
linger
in
twilight
where
the
impulse
of
fact&reason
so
palpables
in design
& magnificent
axiomatic
imagery
I have emptyness inside my bristling bones
Filled with sorrow, away, alone
I'm in between the lines of a blank paper
separate from the others, like a skyscraper
Does anyone lend out a hand?
Does anyone understand?
Only one but he has reasons
to be gone at certain seasons
Will I ever find another friend?
Will I survive till the end?
I grow weiry of these feelings
I am tired, unexpired
Tick tock tick goes the clock
I await for him to step in the door
Then these feelings go away
But not forever,
They'll be back someday......
This change is the only thing that I had no control over
What I discover now is that I never had nor ever will have any control over it
That the stillness was always there
That there was nothing to achieve
That it was always way beyond me
And totally was me, every atom
No, it was never something outside of myself, but was something that I had to be still enough to see was always there
As I am aware of doing now, curious about what is going on
Curious about who I am, who I really am
About all these layers and levels that form a human life that I am privileged to be able to view and feel and experience from the inside
As we are all able to do, equally
Each of us given this gift
Consciousness happening now
Without effort or specialness
Without conditions, no ‘buts’
No one has more consciousness, nor less
It’s just a case of knowing that that is the bottom line, nothing else
Of trying everything else, of going round the houses
Of climbing into the misty mountains and returning to the market place
Of doing everything special and coming back to the normal
Knowing that we are who we are
Which is what we sought and what we saw in those glimpses that they say are difficult to sustain
That created more division than we’d ever known before
Thinking that we now had a higher and lower nature
An ego and an authentic self, battling it out endlessly
More divided than ever and further from the real
Though even in that we never moved away
Just that it distracted us
Delaying knowing and feeling that it’s simply this, simply this
Which is everything
Including the battle between the ego and the authentic self and all other internal warfare
Knowing that it is not who we are
Noble and interesting though it may sound
A worthy life project, do we dare to abandon it?
That would surely be nihilism or defeatism?
That would be worse than all the struggles and battles
Like giving up
Like dying
We are the event horizon in which everything is happening
Are we going to quibble about what arrives on that horizon?
Accepting this and throwing away that?
Nit picking for the authentic bits and chucking out the ego bits?
Making the best of a bad job
An endless wheel
Distraction from the real
Come down from the mountain, there is nothing missing here
The real awaits us, for when we are ready
When yesterday left, today I'm a little right.
This is a tad bereft, yet full with almight.
Misconceptions or misinterpretations, either way it's confusion.
Dreaming of incarnations, and snarled in the illusion.
Mass produced Catholics, unforgotten inside their cathedral.
Discovered some of the relics,
Ancient talisman are unbelievable.
Go forth into the tomb,
Open the sarcophagus, let the rancid stench consume.
Gathering up all that is charmed,
Born inside the depleted after birth.
This does not meant to be alarmed,
However it's been full of its worth.
Die another time, live in today.
Write another rhyme, lines lined word play.
Shaman type, opening the 3rd eye.
Extracted and ripe, breathe to see thru the lie.
Contradiction is a great way to open minds,
Salvation is not a problem unless you are in their binds.
Bells chime and chime, before you can get away with it.
In time covered in lime, and I"m chock-full of grit.
Ready to go to the next, yes I've been there before.
Sometimes just a little vexed, benumbed to the core of my lore.
And as always plum rotten to the core..
The ethereal glow only dims to get brighter
The day only darkens to later get lighter
The burden only shrinks to increase my strength
Time only shortens to extend its length
Sometimes we must bleed to know we're alive
Sometimes we must starve before we can thrive
Sometimes we must die to feel our best
Sometimes we must run a marathon before we rest
Now show me how you treat the least
Then show me what you feed the beast
Show me who you have at your feast
Rich man or poor man? Pauper or a priest?
Oceans dry up and stars burn out
The deaf see keenly while the blind shout
Glaciers melt and the mountains crumble
Quadriplegic acrobats make athletes stumble
Sometimes we dry tears to make floods flow
Sometimes to move at light speed we must walk slow
Sometimes a galaxy can be the size of a dot
Sometimes for something to grow it must 1st rot
Show me the biggest guy in the room
Then whisper to me what you assume
Show me who is on the top of your hit list
Then I'll show you a reformed recidivist
The sky will tear open and God will wink
Little green men will kidnap the missing link
The lion will eat grass and lay with the lamb
And all of life will be revealed as a hologram
It is amazing how the mind and emotions can take us on a journey
In a few moving deeply into some doubt
Or insecurity, vulnerability
Or overwhelmed, weak, inner crumbling
Feel it fully
Why not?
This is reality
And then, when the feelings are still strong
This sense of nothing moving
Nothing has moved
Nothing changed
All as it was
Everything returning to balance
There’s nothing wrong with these thoughts and feelings
It just means we’re human!
But the difference is, not lingering
Not staying there, or not choosing to stay there
Even if those difficult feelings remain
It’s accepting, but also more than that
Maybe it’s trust?
A trust that isn’t shaken
Despite what is passing through us
It’s the same with feelings of elation
It passes through
And we return to balance
Nothing moved
Nothing changed
The rootedness is deeper than this
Is unmoved
Fully experiencing it all
But also….just watching
Knowing there is a deeper truth
A more grounded place
From where it is possible to feel the fullness of human life
Yet also……just watching
There is a lightness
And at the same time a deep connectedness
Our spirit is light
Our body is connected
The beauty is in the balance of the two
Each of us is this
The seen and the unseen
The movement, the involvement
And that which watches
One is not real and the other unreal
Both are real
But only when they come together is there the understanding of that
It’s not that one is active and the other passive
They belong together, when we are active and also when we are passive
And everywhere in between
We are both spirit and material
And they were never separate
I write upon the page
Words plucked from the air
The clarity of the moment passes
My words falter, fade and disappear
Return a moment later
Vibrant with life
Razor sharp and crystal clear,
The words of an old man
Half awake half asleep
The meandering, ambling words of an old man
Drifting in and out of consciousness
Tripping over himself and falling onto the page,
I sleep in the silence of a dream
More restless than the night
More vivid than the day
And waken to a flood of memories
A torrent of voices shouting and screaming
Inside my head
The haunted ghosts of yesterday return
Like vengeful demons resurrected from the dead,
And memory is more transparent
In the light of here and now
All that is and is not
The present and hereafter
Are conceived in the moment
Flashes of inspiration
The lights of a city in lockdown
And the absentee soldier asleep on the park bench,
Elusive ideas are born, run wild and escape into night
The body grows old and tired
While the mind exalted above the boundaries
Of time and space
Elevated to a new dimension
A heightened sense of awareness
Whereby one is conscious of consciousness
But free from attachment
Free from doubt, fear, hopelessness and despair
One who greets death with a broad smile
As though meeting an old friend
After a long absence,
And the joy of life abounds everywhere
Beautiful in the spring
Like a flower in first bloom
Bright and vibrant with colour
Sweet scented on the fragrant air
Standing proud, noble and dignified
In the green garden of youth...
W.A CHOLT. Copyright Fergal O Reilly. 2020
17/7/20
stretching gray
sheet sentinels
of bush
observe
a symphony of rain
wavers
a brook Rachmaninoff’s
the clinch of entropy
listen
Pastels of light
reach canopy
painting nature
With one luminous
golden strand
know
possum
crawling nose
scampers retreat,
as alien scents
reach downwind
become
cockatoo’s
Stark flamingo serenade,
into the pink
disc
wonder
the conjuring
of disrobing life,
its peaceful uproar
savoring
cinnamon specks
waiting future’s call
hope
salt cracks
from my face
at my feet
free
From air a scientists extract alcohol
For Russians an excellent type of warfare
We will to drink until die out all,
But so enemies will die of lack of air
A fire in the kitchen?
I smell of smoke in the hall.
Somebody is very guiltily
Washing down the wall.
What’s left of the toaster’s
Just a burnt plastic shell.
Some time last night
We almost had a mini hell.
Thank the Lord for CCTV.
A bit of a disturbing sight
He’d come in a bit tipsy
Just after midnight.
Put the toaster on the hob
Switched the wrong device on
Seemed blithely unaware that
The smoke alarm had gone.
He’d sat drinking tea
Supremely unaware
Of the flames and smoke
Swirling around his chair.
A pajamaed figure appears
Smoke alarm must have alerted
Situation quickly sorted
Potential emergency averted.
White faced and anxious
Sitting with his dad and me
As we all sit and watch
The Closed Circuit Tv.
He’d been doing so well
Getting back on track
But, three steps forward
And two steps back.
Give credit where it’s due,
Criticise where it’s earned,
Put it down to experience,
Just another lesson learned.
Mending broken soldiers
We all voluntarily chose
Win or lose its a gamble
Last night it was close.
Fear
it's a picture
focused or
unfocised....
...
Love,
a picture
alive
colorful...
Passion,
it's a weapon
dangerous,
and confused ...
Hate,
it's a fire
mortal,
infernal...
The doubt
it's a passage,
unseen landscape ...
Luck
Something simple
that easily
doesn't happen ...
Music,
it is a dream
sung or
touched