Mama Tierra

I hold the galaxies in my skin, 

Freckled stardust among a web of veins, 

I am the beauty of virtue not sin, 

The Universe is my name. 

The wind speaks through my bones, 

The mountain faces mouth me signs, 

Each freedom moment and glacial groan, 

Sings, 'I'm so lucky to be alive!'

There's a branch pointing the way for me, 

There's the start of the rains in the air, 

I thank each footstep placed carefully, 

I thank Pachamama for caring. 

The ice builds numb in my face, 

I duck for cover, she throws her gales, 

Stumble up exhausted, looking for safety, 

My breath coming out in wails. 

She is relentless and so beautifullly cruel, 

As I fall down her mountains I smile, 

I thank her so much I feel like a fool, 

You see, she let me live for a while. 

So i slide, knee deep in her earth, 

The snow soaking my socks and my shoes, 

Finally falling off the edge of this southern world, 

Screaming, 'fuck yes, I cant lose!!'.

The glacier grins at me rubbing her hands, 

Clapping thunder over waterfall grey, 

I salute her as I rise myself to stand, 

Completely dissolving myself in the day. 

Rock gossips running under my feet, 

A forced reckoning with fear, with fate, 

Your lessons, Mother Earth, so painfully steep, 

Leaving me in an enlightened state.

La familia del circuito

It is said that those who drink Calafate sour, 

Will return one day in a blessed moment, or hour, 

To the wildlands of Chile, this Patagonian place, 

He explained with a smile on his Brazilian face. 

I want to go back to the mountains, my home, 

Where the men carry life on their shoulders, 

I want to return to the sendero so lonesome, 

With glaciers frozen, the wind even colder. 

Take me to the place where possession's unknown, 

Where there is only the spirit of us, 

Where the flag of Magallanes so proudly is flown, 

Where we leave only footprints in dust. 

There's a place where the wind knocks you down, 

And tests your courage to its very core, 

This place where Pachamama makes you bow, 

A hundred times til you're bloody and sore. 

In return she'll give you her birdsong for free, 

And the embrace of the longest of days, 

When she rains, washing dirt from your eyes you can see, 

All you lacked in that big city haze. 

Take me back to the place where I awake to laughter, 

From my humble tent bed in the mud, 

On the trail it was 'now', there existed no 'after', 

I keep the beauty of the O in my blood. 

Take me to snowfall and the snapfreezing cold, 

Where the wind screams and howls through the night, 

Take me to cliff faces, of terrors untold, 

Force me to face alone, this fear of heights. 

This place has feathers of watery wind, 

Sheer drops onto glacier and ice field, 

If you look closely enough, you'll see rainbows within, 

Tears in my eyes and my heart, I kneel. 

Take me to where the mat'e is shared, 

Crocs as far as the eye can see, 

There is nothing on earth that can ever compare, 

To the gift of each day here, born free. 

I'll go back there one day, I have no doubt, 

There exists magic in forest and sea, 

I'll never forget you, your delighted shouts, 

As these trekkers turned into one family.

Embraces

What the fuck is going on?
How on earth did I grow such fondness
For such creatures,
Tell me preacher, when you speak of holy,
Do you realise your golden connections
Are folding into your soul,
Your being grows older on the shoulders you cry on,
Your best friends, your soul mates,
Your psychological soldiers.

May I interject myself for a sec,
How the fuck does a private Catholic schoolgirl nerd,
With glasses, freckles, a learned way,
The bubble-wrapped only daughter
Of the Colonel and his lady,
Meet such ridiculously incredibly people,
That have become my God, my church, my steeple,
My holy spirit resides in this leap of faith alive,
And I know there is somethin mind-boggling here.

A magician gypsy boy,
Twists perception toying with minds,
This kind kind man doing whatever he can
To see beauty and find
Himself.

A faery flits in, tinkerbell in light and nature,
This beauty beam of love is miniature in statue,
Sister girl fly in my world,
Stay a little while longer,
Theres too much yet to play
And prolong lifes decay today.

Pixie gypsy bouncing dance,
Eyes smile wide as oceans wave,
Theres a certain kind of saving
She grants me every day.
Love you sister, love you lady,
Walk this way a while more
And in the waning moon,
Let me hear your lionhearted roar.

These dearest hearts of mine, divine,
Feel like mere whispers in the wind,
You feel their touch upon your soul,
Though they may disappear again.
Friends I love, minds connected,
A happy life somehow elected,
Feels like a dream I conjured, prayed for,
In some smoke-induced haze.

Teach me this my ideal folk,
Teach me the beauty connect unspoken,
To stoke the fire, breathe the warmth and
Choke on overwhelming love smoke.
I cannot hold the fire close,
Only marvel at her rosy cheeks,
I cannot speak to her in wooden creaks,
We reach eachothers hearts through dancing,
The answers clear, my fears dont stay,
And I start my life again,
In the holiest of places,
In the embraces of my friends.

Bold

Have you ever dreamed of something so hard that it hurts to wake up?
Have you ever doubted the makeup of your DNA, just craving change?
Have you ever seen your old self fall by the wayside so quick?
Have you ever licked a star hoping to ingest some of that magic?

I have done all these things, my heart singing dreamsong in
The depths of my imaginings.
My cells knowing there's something added, something not freely found,
My old self waves back serenely, wishing me well on my journey,
As though I'm the star and she's just the memory of me.

Mark Durant - Barbados 24.11

Give us a go then, he chuckles in cheer
Let me see those juggling balls my dear,
It as been a lifetime since we've seen eachother,
And juggling? It's been about two years.

I saw you on the other train, girl,
A free spirit, I thought, from Thailand perhaps,
You see, I am from Barbados, a different world,
And as I practise my juggle he claps.

Bedreaded beanie, the kindest new soul,
That is born from connections all over,
He is another star child walking this world,
Its how I recognised my rasta brother.

Let us discuss quantum physics my friend,
And the 13th horoscope, that hidden gem,
We talk of djembes, poi and Israel,
The train click clacking along November's rails.

I'll see you again one day, I'm certain,
Whether Tel Aviv, Sydney or Barbadan paradise,
With a flick of the dreads he was off with a nod,
And that salute of peace in the city of lights.

Boundless Beauty

Still flying high from the success of our third Art Party. For more details, visit our blog here

I'm still flying high on the wings of last night,
I cannot yet believe my own eyes memory,
See, when blessing and love merge into one space,
We're left knowing the face of our revery.


Could this all be a dream, this life,
Some elaborate mask on the world?
If it should be, then let us decorate it tonight
and be worn by each boy and girl.


Boundless beauty, few things see,
But my darlings, between you and me,
I'm pretty sure we've found something
Magic in our Art Party.


Keep connecting, feel the fire,
As this love turns grows ever higher,
Flickering flame of passion grow warm,
Unleash the storm of the living afterlife.


In each mind a golden gem,
Covered in flesh not yet forgotten,
We reclaim our right to community,
In the unity of our holy den.


Go back to the Womb,
Says the voice in your head,
Let your dreams be born anew,
Let the light of creation wash over you,
This is my way of saying thank you.

A Dave at the Seaside

Older man earnest singin'

With someone's soul on his sleeve, 

His music closes my eyes

And it's makin' me believe

Harmonica tun, sway, 

To the peaceful lullaby, 

Wry smiles to the crowd, hey, 

As the strangers wander by...

Staring off to the right, 

Nimble fingers know the way, 

Happy place momentarily, 

Light fading from our day.

Decked in confidence, 

And a jacket, loving leather, 

Taking us away with him, 

Together we float, together...

His voice a sandy memory, 

Of faded life in yesterday, 

A comforting father figure, 

With a tender musical ear.

Keep me floatin' Mr. Tuneful, 

Strum on, sing on and play, 

Show me this happy kind of life, 

Holes

I don't know how to take this sadness from you, 

My Words are just letters, an out of key tune

And my hugs are just feelings, and touches and skin

And I dunno how to release this sadness from within you

Though i want to, I can't take your tears away, 

But only show you silver linings as i wipe them from your face

And Though i have a cheek and i will hold you near, 

I want you to rest your fears on my shoulder, 

I'll hold your pain for a minute, so you feel younger, not older, 

And though I cannot being to imagine your mourning, 

Brother, trust me, this is all part of your journey, 

This confusion that eats you and swallows yo whole, 

Will one day rest peacefully inside your soul. 

She is up there flying high, in the clearest of skies, 

And she's waiting for all the rest of us to fly, 

So she can tell us, this was my story, my life, 

So she can tell us the reason she wanted to die. 

I can't capture your breaking, i can't stem the flow of pain, 

You're making memories circl round the innermost parts of your brain, 

And you'll never gain clarity unles you feel such dark, 

And you'll never move forward as long as your mind stays stuck

MY brother, let me hold you, let me carry your burden now, 

Let me serve your soul and fill those holles

Con Yogi

Sister you have a very lucky face, sister

You know you’ve missed no opportunities,

And sister the things I can tell you now,

If only you’d just listen to me.

The lines on your forehead are fortunate,

I can tell, he says, sister, I am a yogi,

And your eyes, that beauty, they offer no threat,

To anyman, they make people happy.

I have seen his smile before

In the openness spoken in a child of fourteen,

In the wild imagination land unseen,

In a baby boy, or child of three,

In the widened eyes and excited delight

Of a girls first kiss at seventeen,

That ear-to-ear grin of ivory teeth

This knowing yogi , I chanced to meet.

My bosslady sat off to the side,

Silently laughing and rolling her eyes,

You know you got conned, she said with a smile,

He’s working his charms in these city’s miles

While I sat there agreeing 100 per cent

I regretted nothing of the money I’d spent,

The donation given to a moment in time,

When he said sister, just be divine to me

Open your eyes and look deep in mine,

Trust that this magic exists and you’ll find that

Though I know mind games as I know street shame,

I maintain you’re incredibly powerful.

Look at me sister, trust in my spirit,

The whistling wind agrees, can you hear it,

And near god you reside, your energy flying

Surely you can help me feed my family tonight.

Sticky Singapore

The heavy air sticks to me, pulling me

Through each drift of unconsciousness,

Each pore of restless sweating,

Laboured breathing me, forgetting the chill of home,

And the drone of fellow worker bees slowly dies away

As the sun beats down on this exotic day.

The heat settles loudly and the drip of salty me,

Glistens ever so quietly down the nile of my spine,

Gathering speed and extra brine,

This tributary of being will one day

Reach the sea, and purify my seeing with refreshing clarity.

Eyelids like sandbags, closing off the flood of humidity,

Gritty eyeballs ever widening at the single seasonality,

And my blood boils wildly in this steaming city,

Thighs chafing enough to start a fire,

Nose turned toward the sky,

I get the faint whiff of paradise,

I tell ya, it ain’t pretty living in this city.

This place of patchy faces and sweat stains from wrist to shoulder,

This melting pot of eastern flavours, heritage from every culture,

And the dampened brow and cheerful souls, make sweltering here a pleasure,

A treasure chest of western lifestyle, with oriental condiments,

A complimentary country with transcendental tendencies,

A new me born in monsoon storms and a

Sticky eternal summer breeze,

How easy it would be to live here permanently.

South Port

We’re imitating the mating calls of dolphins, fish and whales,

The wailing moans and melancholic tones of males hunting females,

By the water forts of steel and glass and torturous cranes and cargo casks,

Containers masking the horizon while cranes move fast in tandem,

If you close your eyes and taste the breeze,

And shut your mind off to all you see,

You might as well be underneath the oily water surfacing,

Those mournful sounds have me surrounded, crooning from left to right,

And the boats idle slowly along their way in the mid-afternoon light.

Ridiculous Breakfast

There are more breakfast foods here than you can poke a stick at,

But then, who’s the authority on poking sticks?, I thought,

Licking that fattening spoonful of decadence, Indulgence at its finest, meals served in delicate china

And 200 different tables for me to choose to dine at,

There are street signs pointing the way inside

This hall of culinary portraiture,

A Japanese corner, Korean corner, noodles with your tea?

A splash of champagne with your juice? Don’t mind if I do!

Omelette chef lets me choose my fillings,

And enough loaves of bread to make a boulangerie jealous,

There is no more mellow a way to start one’s day

Than with such breakfast piggery.

A cereal bar like no other, as I scout the pastry corner

I uncover a wealth of Danish delicacies,

My health impaired just by seeing these sweet little

Cavity givers, these frivolous little butter puffs,

And even before tasting one, I had had enough.

A coffee menu as long as the last book I read,

Choose from skim milk, half cream, rice or almond milk,

No fewer than 10 options,

Stopping to rethink that last 2 breakfast decisions,

Led me down the path of temptation for all foods given,

My kingdom for a simple meal, I begged silently, mentally pleading,

I simply do not need another excuse to overfeed,

All I want is a bowl of oats and a chipped mug of instant coffee.

Uncomplicated, unfussy, that’s teh epitome of me,

When it comes to breakfast foods and morning eateries,

My moods depend on breaky and most every day I’m happy  but on this fast breaking day I just walked away confused.

Mum

So, my four brothers, being a completely uncreative lot, 
asked me to write a poem about our mother,
That cover of second skin, 
     the woman who smells like warm linen in the morning,
     Or should I say, the dappled afternoon, long after the sun has slapped us awake
to the tune of birdsong, 
      No, our mother could sleep for a long long time.
I've never wondered why,
as I've always just assumed that she's
       playing catchups after patching up the broken skin of her rowdy children.
you know what they say about assumptions though, 
that they're the mother of all... mistakes,
But those nights she stayed awake so we wouldn't choke on vomit in our sleep,
stroking broken hearts that bent to bullies and creeps in the playground,
yes let our dearest mum stay soundly dozing now.

She accepted our flaws as par for the course in the
           lawless childhood that was our youth.
To tell the truth I’ve never respected her more
           than when she cared for us uncouth, baby-toothed brats.
This selfless dame first gave her maiden name,
 then her chance at fame to fill her life with
            board games, insurance claims and family photo frames.
After years of feeding, cleaning, cooking, singing, 
            dreaming up big futures for us kids,
            to rest her mind from what we did or did not do,
            her brain has flew the coop,
packing light with just the slight bags under her eye lids, 
those bags we stuffed full of
lies and tears,
            our mother needs her rest, she's finding peace tonight.

This woman doesn't see the world like you,
she's quirky, lively, full of tunes,
      Her fumes of love will always fry us,
      Like lasers beaming from her eyes to pierce a
      single point of light in you, 
      a star given by the moon.
She accepts the worst but expects the best,
      holds us pressed against her breast when the testing trials of life,
prove she's a wonder mother, a wonderwife.
Her crooning, lilting voice always soothing nightmare nights, 
when the world had tilted on its side and nothing really seemed quite right,
From before we could even think our mother hummed to us and winked in fun,
to bond with her one daughter and her four strapping sons.

Before any of this came along, before the song of lullaby,
My Mum would never justify to anyone the way she'd 
        walk the hallways on her hands,
        Or cartwheel til she couldn't stand or
        play drums on pots and pans or 
        climb trees in a furious manner,
or how she used to tan herself with olive oil and butter.
So curious to me, this gymnast girl so free,
From what everyone else believed,
she wasn't naive, 
she loved everything, 
and I"m pretty sure she was a hippie.
          I've seen those dresses Mum, you can't fool me, 
          I've seen those photos of you in the seventies,
          With that power perm and enormous shouldering,
Assimilating to progressing society,
Underneath, our mother stays free,

She’s the tooth fairy, and Easter bunny,
She’s the doctor and the nurse,
She’s the Mary Poppins of our family, holding the whole world in her purse,
And if she could, she’d ensure that we’d all get what we deserve,
Buy us coloured shirts of all the places she’s seen of this earth,
          to dance and jump around in, 
          cursing stillness, since her birth.

 The woman who bounces around the living room
           to the tune of her husbands crooning, 
           with the hose of a vaccuum horsing around
           Her man was clowning too.
They play together at fifty five,
As though it was the first time,
I see the wonder in their eyes at this love in their lives,
Still the passionate abandoned youth 
           in disguise.

She's a force to be reckoned with,
A monument to lead us home,
To show us the way to the heaven she knows.
Mamma light up the way
Sunrise the night into day
Please tell me of the secrets of our future fate.

So now maybe you get it, 
that we deserve none of the credit we get just to exist.
I reserve it all for Mum, for every little kiss and the life she missed 
                           in order to help me in mine.
Does she wistfully wonder what it would have been like, 
to give up the blunder of kids and family alike,
              to hike round the world, 
              spike up her hair 
              take a different path to that of childbearer? 

I owe her my everything and 
hope that I now bring to her world that unique pearl of relationship 
between a mother and a girl.

I see you

Mmmmm mmm, I see you
Through those insecurities you
Wear those stony stares like
A threadbare coat of not caring,
Those insecurities I see,
Certain purities that speak to me,
And through this cloak of being,
I see you seeing
Me.

This cold night air matches your
Frozen stare
That way you don't care for me,
But don't you see that shit don't matter to me?

Under my skin you piss and you grin
At this secular way that you've chosen
To fit with the devil within,
That twisted wind
There's a hurricane today.

There's a storm all round
But a point that's so soundless
A point of profound singularity,
This point in you that I see.

This protective cloak
With your dagger and rope
The choke of authenticity,
You don't forget what I see, a mirror image
of me
And that hidden puddle of serenity.

Waiting for the pin
To poke and to sting and to sin at me,
Won't you sit in this minute with me

Mmmmm I see you.

I won't try a thing at all
To catch this fallen angel,
This danger of pain and of anger,
This frame of mind, of forgotten time,
The time you've let it be.

Now is the moment,
Sit sit here with me,
And if you follow this path of true beauty,
This awkward, awful moment I see,
It's the real you, it's the real me.

Inspiration

Inspiration is a funny thing,

as it travels those roundabouts and swings,

those many doubts and little stings ,

the direct results of overthinking.

They say, I’m inspired! With a flash of the eye

and a knowing smile and a spirit that flies

but they don’t tell the lie behind this smile,

that if life is your throat, inspiration is bile.

You wonder why artists are angsty and sad?

You see only darkness, expressions of madness  

the stark reality behind this facade is directionless,

aggression’s the basis of art.

Inspiration comes from a broken soul,

from the cigarette burns that left little holes

in your shirt and your mind, that hurting defined

in a pulsing of energy, angry, resigned.

Inspiration is hate, covered in poetry

and though you sew it together you’ll see that the

flow you denote and the glow that you show

was grown from a tale not of friend but of foe.

Inspiration is a punch in the gut,

it’s the smut in your lover, not the virtue or otherwise misaligned idea of your life, inspiration does not smile, it cries.

It snaps you out of your illusory world,

the sting of the scorpion slowly uncurls

and you see the girl you’re hurling abuse at

as no more than recluse, no more than a rat.

Inspiration isn’t pretty and sweet,

it does not sit tamely at your dainty feet,

but rather it  jumps straight out of your chest

and greets you with your absolute worst, not your best.

Inspiration hits you like a bolt of lightning,

but it does not comfort you, it is frightening and wild

and sighting it clearly makes adult from child,

remember, inspiration aint mild.

It slaps you about and breaks open your heart,

to turn violence and fear and hurt into art

and though its the trigger, the step at the start,

never forget the truth of Descartes.

He says, raise your soul so high that offense cannot reach it,

and sure it may be one thing to preach it

but teach yourself to use courage and sense

every time that your mind perceives an offense.

Inspiration aint kind, that’s for damn sure,

it’s the seed in the mind that sits rotten and raw

but from it comes beauty and these little flaws

keep me in a state of near constant awe.

Thank you for your provocations today,

thank you for giving me the words to say,

that inspiration is torment, and torture and hate,

it’s this trigger that changes my daily fate.

Old man

I saw an old man sitting on the street the other day, in fact we all saw him, we all see him each day, as we turn away our faces and ignore our keen embarrassment for this human who can’t get his shit together, or can’t find a job, apartment or shower, and just lazes his days on gutter corners and paved beds underneath a mass of humans refusing to shed a tear or throw a gaze his way.

Are we not all human? I ask the spirit of social decay, wandering these roads, alleyways like flayed flesh, whipped off the main body, a thousands lashes until you’re sorry , contorted and cold, behold your punishment for poor choice and folly, society discards you like a grown girl does a dolly, and as the bodies are forgotten and the years go on, this army of displaced souls silently await revolution.

We wrap our hearts in convention and politess, and instead of seeing a mess that we offer to clean, we step over it deftly, carefully we sidle by, turning away our eyes and wondering whats for dinner tonight, and should we or should we not buy that dress, and do we confess that we constructed this cess pit but now cannot stand the stench to be near it. We fear those souls who have grown forgotten, old, though all they are asking is for a chance at tomorrow, sign after sorrowful sign, bent at the knees and body resigned, wondering if anyone will give away a piece of their kindness today.

A courteous scrawl on a scrap of cardboard, like an orchestra’s forgotten chords, all we hear is the distant echo of an empty concert hall and the memory of a mister who used to have it all. A bad call, addictions’ thralls, or the destructive path of life appalled this man who held symphonies in his spinal cord and composed sonatas in his soul, songs that live in in the walls of our historic home, our sight knows they’re there though the melodies died long ago.

Curled into himself, the man’s own body was his shelter from the elements of cognitive dissonance, the everyman turning away from his brother, he covered himself from our judgement, the windstorm of apathy, and hail of cold shouldering and every now and then a bold beg of  some dollars or cents will ensure he can fill his bowl among the souls of other lost men.

Please don’t judge me his cardboard sign whispered, I kissed a prayer to the misty ghosts soliciting hope in the form of opening your purse and charitably taking away some of their burdens, by giving them a way to buy a few more minutes of life today. A bottle clutched in a telltale brown paper bag, the essence of this man’s coping and every swallow loosens the noose of rope around his starving throat. Don’t judge me says the sign, pointing the way to the end of the line of a life given up in the winds of time to unforgiving change, and wouldn’t you do the same, and drink away your wretched pain, if you had no one, and no reason left to keep your mind sane, and wouldn’t you try to welcome dark nights wrapped in a shawl of whisky or of wine and calling out, fighting regrets gone by, the scrawl reading, please don’t judge me tonight.

Be free

The best lives are still plagued by

Death drive explosions inside

And the desire to fuel the fire of destruction

And lose your mind.

No matter how hard you try to control your mask

And carry on with the farce of social interaction,

All you wanna do is whack shit. Cry a bit and bubble over with angry reaction

When the blood pounds in your ears, drowning sounds and growing fears

That the current surrounds you’ve

Found yourself in are choking you, banging against

That ticking little temple nerve,

Like a bomb attempting to go off

Underneath a suffocating knot of tensing muscles and

Offending thoughts

Of course no one likes being angry but we jump into anger, clawing at it like a dying man

Drawing his last breath.

The selfish dive into negative emotion as the ocean of tears overwhelm the shores of your mind,

You’re at the helm of sadness, the brink of madness and as you blink and blur your vision, you temporarily forget why you’re here,

Tears are a girls manifestation of the festering frustration,

Like the aggression and muscles on a man.

Tunnel vision

Selective hearing

You’re looking through eyes that have turned off their seeing

And by being your ire and fueling that fire, your’e ruining your way to have a good day – but we all go on doing it anyway...

Notice how quickly you click on your mood and aggression, like a little light switch you’ve taken to pressing on

Well conserve some energy, and stop feeling rough,

Just make the decision to turn it off,

The environment is crying out to be saved

From your depraved mindset

And the way you’re fretting over something you’ll forget soon enough anyway.

So instead of that flashing burning rage

Turn to a fresh page of your brain and you’ll

Skip the angsty stage of indignance and outrage.

If you limit the ways you react without favour

You’ll deliver to your life a positive flavour of opportunity.

You’ll act with impunity thereafter and find the way forward with laughter

Peace and a pinch of self-deprecation.

Take it less seriously and instead of imperiously defending your honour,

And wearily arguing the toss all the time,

The loss of your mind makes you overlook the miracle that is your life.

If you block your neural pathways,

Those stargazing pieces of creative DNA,

You risk losing the future’s positive solutions

And the bad energy builds up like a

Pollution-strewn street that the powers-that-be have forgotten to sweep.

Keep the calm detachment,

So the lake in your spiritual catchment stays ripple-free and

The floating purity of that inky water is growing deeper into your eternal zen-ity.

Be free of the weight of anger and clear the wave of resentment.

Be free.

Incredible Human Girl

I want to touch your hand. I want to touch the lines on your knuckles and trace your shadows til they fade away, miss summertime, I want you to shine at me and let me hold your hand, I’d do anything you demanded just to be near to you, I want your paint stains on my canvas soul and I want to know that you’ll run so fast with me the holes in my mind’ll start whistling.

My lips haven’t been too far from yours all week, and the ghost of this kiss just lingers and whispers its breath on those knuckles and fingers and freckles and tongue, you’ve been somersaulting in my dreams all week, and thumbing through my thoughts like the bookworm in us all, murmuring the things we’re too shy to ever say, all week I’ve been thinking of those sweet lips, ladyface.

I’m all tucked up in a dark room with no moon to remind me of reality.

There’s no word to explain this illusion I’m living in,

It’s not a state for the outside world to share with me, and all I really want is to be entangled in your limbs and, kissing the lushest of lashes, hushing matters away that can be dealt with on ordinary days, but in this moment, being tucked up with you,

We can be any illusion we choose.
 

Good souls meet, greeting eachother with laughter and share perfect imperfections,

The connection like déjà vu, my souls recollection of this beauty in you, brings affectionate hugs and flirty cues, imbuing me with pseudo-confidence, memorising allusions and colourful tattoos and truthfully I don’t know what to do, I’m in such a state of trance near you.

If you were to lay beside me now I know I would crave you not leaving, crave how you laugh and your eyes crinkle up, I wouldn’t sleep a wink, just stay up all night, you make the hours fly by and I just want to know it all despite not having the time to stay with you tonight, and lets put our unpolished feelings together to weather this stormy dark, and we’ll rub them, surely we can make a spark to bring in the new morning, and in this dawn, leave your mark on me.

Come over tomorrow, we can laugh at nothing, or everything also, let me tug those heartstrings, from one artist to another, from friends into lovers, don’t be blue, she says, the sky’s got it covered, and discovering the divine bodymind in you, is merely the start of this adventuring duo, this pursuing of life and new birth in July of a beautiful bond, an artistic ally.

Lifted more paint and timber today than a body builder lifts in steel

In a year.

I’m near dead, in bed, tired, and I don’t know how much longer my eyelids can hold their own, it’s almost time to rest this headbone so on that note, I’m totally excited to dream of me you cider sun tree grass happy world

Goodnight, dream sweet,  incredible human girl.

YES

There is something that I'll always say to you 

And no matter what we do or don't go through,

This grain of truth, this sea of soothing tunes, 

And in all my many happy moons i shout hell yes, 

I have never seen a better type of Jess that this, 

Yes. 

Yes I will help you with your homework. 

Yes I will throw you over my shoulder, child, smiling. 

Yes I will help you move and yes to unpack too. 

Yes I will love you always and truthfully.. forever, 

Yes I will always want us to know eachother. 

Yes I will hold you when you are standing on the edge, 

And yes we'll laugh it off when all is done and said, 

Yes I will be led down the garden path by whomever, 

But Yes I will always endeavour to love my kin and brethren, brother. 

There is no other way for this life to exist

But for those three little words peering outta the mist, 

Just a simple peaceful, soliloquist, 

I love you, singing wistfully. 

Yes of course my soul of brother, I will philosophise with you, 

You too sister, yes as a matter of fact, i DO want to kiss you, 

Yes let us sing and play and dance, 

Yes let us float to creative highlands, 

And by dawn, yes we'll warm ourselves, 

Yes we'll poke fires, 

Yes I will cry for my strange confused world out there, 

And Yes I will try to make it better one by one. 

and yes my star and my light,