Five new poems - introduction

The five poems below I wrote over the course of the last few weeks (in order of last written to first) - and, although they stand by themselves, some explaination is useful :)

The first two are heavily based on the living mayan world view. The Fire is the mayan fire ceremony. This is one of the primary means the maya use to connect to the spiritual sides of life. "The Fire" is dedicated to Viktor who performed a Fire on the hill in Todos Santos which was where I first felt the Fire's magic back in 2001.

The significance of the days in the spiritual calendar, (sometimes called the mayan horiscope), is vital to the mayan world view. This calander is not to be confused with the various yearly, monthly, or agricultual mayan calanders. In the spiritual calander each of the twenty signs has a unique glyph. Spirtual animal protectors and many other attributes are connected with with each sign. Many of these attributes have special significance in the everyday mayan world and have profound mythological meaings. These meanings can be both social and personal. K'at is my sign and has special significance to me. K'at is the net, the web, the seed and has the spiritual protector of the spider. The sign of my future or later life is Ee - the wild cat, the sacred path. Other signs include K'an - the snake, Tijax - the obsidian knife, Tz'i' - the dog and the law, Kame - the owl and the ancestors and Q'anil - the sowing of seeds.

The later part of "The Fire" is about our ancestors - which have great importance in the mayan world view. They are traditionally called to the fire by candles made of pig fat. As someone who is born in the east (from the mayan viewpoint) my own ancestory includes the science that uncovered our genetic roots and our journey out of africa. From a common root - our ancestors divide. The individuals in our lineage who first farmed or fought or used a computer are more and more likely to be different from each other as the events approach our own time . Yet we all have some ancestor who first farmed whether we are African, European, American or Asian.

The four directions are important for the maya. Unlike in the east, the maya directions are not based upon magnetic, or pole star, North but on the axis of the sun in the tropics. Thus the first direction is East where the sun rises - and the colour of this is red. Next is west where the sun sets; coloured black. This is not negative, as in traditional Abrahamic culture, but is about contemplation and powers of recovery rather like Yin in the Chinese tradition. Then comes North and white - clarity and vision in daylight and also in the white smoke of the tree resin, copal. Finally comes south - yellow - the colour of maize - cultivation, civilisation, community and sustenance.

This is, of course only a short introduction - a glimpse of the mayan view of the cosmos. The second poem "The Seed" is part of a deeper more personal journey from the language of the beginning inspired by the type of text found in Genisis to the more Haiku-esque end.

In the third and forth poems, "Sway..." and "Fly-", I have tried to indicate their rhythm using capitals to indicate word stress but also puntuation, and the placement of new lines to show timing. I do not know if such devices will work for others as I am already familar with their music when I read them. In both these poems the rhythm is vitally important for understanding what the poems are really about.

The last poem, "The parable of Chance and Fate", is deliberately self-important - neoclassical but tacky at the same time - like the cheap and grandiose municipal architecture found in every corner of the globe. I wrote it that way to mimic and elicit thoughts and feeling associated with the real subject of the poem. I thought I'd tell you this because I was worried that people would simply dismiss the poem as bloated and concited. :D

Finally, there are some words where I have piled on multiple aural meaning. In order to write them down I had to pick a definite spelling which can obsure other meanings. So the best way to read them is either aloud in the head or aloud aloud. :)

Thanks for reading this - I hope it helps you get more out of my poems.

Cheers,
Steve :)

The Fire

(dedicated to Viktor)


There is magic in the Fire,
from the dawning to the falling,
from the snowline to the maize time,
there is magic in the Fire.

In the way the smoke twists round,
in the way the wax runs with the ground,
there is magic in the Fire,
and the earth is made aflame.

I saw something there,
not with my sight my eyes
but with my feet my heart
and the joins between each part.

I was drunk on smoke
and heat and vapour,
the blood of trees
and the fat of pigs
and the Days, the Day,
the Days.

The days of my ancestors;
When they first walked out from Africa
When they first befriended Dog,
and laughed as Bird,
and danced as Snake,
constructed knives,
and nets,
and planted seeds,
and warred,
and cried,
and tried to make things better,
then tried to makes things better.

There is magic in the Fire
and the Days, the Day,
the Days.

The Seed

I am K'at; the seed.
Not the sower.
Not the tree.
Not the flower.
But the seed.
And I am ON the tree of life.
And I FALL upon the ground.
And into this Earth I settle;
a delicate life,
waiting for the rain,
a plan unseen;
containing all I have come from
and all I will be.

I am one of many;
complete but small,
uncounted in a cloud of crowds
and falling seperate;
longing for the earth.
And when I find my place,
upon Earth's mercy I will split,
and be no more.
Stretching upwards and downwards,
in Faith of sky and soil
with all protection lost.

Remain fertile ground!
Promise me my promise will deliver
or I will scatter in the dust,
a grain amongst the specks,
in the corner of my vision.
I will fear to be
a barren case,
dead in the wind
and blown in the desert.

But even deserts can have rain.
and even winds have song.
The seeds of a tree are many,
and darkened moons and seasons empty.
And yes, our many hopes seem wasted
but if we wait
stretch out our webs of light
fasten to the wind,
the earth, the rain, the night,
we can catch Time;
Thruming on a strand.
Then will I let go
and leave, in pulsing lome of life,
my end,
and let the tree eclipse my weighted moment.

When once was grit
a forest will arise.
And when I am a cat
there I will hunt;
between the trees,
along the shoreline of the lake,
passing the stones along the path.

Sway...

Sway ...
Lay- zhur-lee,
Sway ...
I see the
Trees ...
and I am
Glad ...
a leaf drifts
Down ...
on a calm
Day ...
I loose the
Ground ...
amongst the
Leaves...

In ...

Awe ...
as I look
Up ...
its muscles
Flex ...
around green
Light ...
and I branch
Out ...
my arms a-
- Loft ...
beneath the
Shade ...
of shimmered
Shoals ...

Of ...

Leaves ...
in front of
Leaves ...
in front of
Sky ...
and all a-
-Massed ...
they flicker
By ...
as if to
Say ...
"We are a-
- Live ...
and we are
One ...

And ...

Sway ...
around the
Trunk ...
that reaches
Up ...
into the
Sky ...
on a clear
day ...
I loose the
Ground ...
I see the
Trees ...

And ...

Sway -

Fly

just very , Tick , tick,
Tick , tick ,
Tick , tick ,
Tick.
just very , Tick , tick,
Tick , tick ,
Tick , tick ,
Tick.
and in the , Space ,
-.- , -.- ,
between each, Tick ,
-.- , -.- ,
this is the , Trick ,
to live your, Life ,
inside the , Spaces,
of each , Tick ,
and so the , Stillness,
of the , Mind ,
is re-vealed ,
in the , Time ,
between the , Seconds,
of the , Clock ,
and the , Ticks ,
that matter , Not ,
and you just
Fly-

The parable of chance and fate

I saw a boxing match
'tween Fate and Chance.
The betting was on Fate
and chance stood "not a chance".
But when the bell did ring
Fate charged and swung where Chance had stood
but Chance danced round with bluring jabs.
From all directions, all at once,
those glancing blows felled Fate.
And Fate lay cold against the canvas.

And whereupon, the crowd did rise, as one,
and surging forward, lifted Fate, unconcious,high,
and cheered Fate as the winner.
And all the betters backing Fate
in thrilling tones and sharp debate
made earnestly to speculate
about the next match up
'tween Fate and Skill
or Fate and Worth
dependent on their taxes

A short note on the poems below

The poems below were all written by me in the space of around three days early in June 2009. In terms of order - I put those which I was most comfortable sharing up first - so they are right at the bottom - so you may want to start there :)
As you can probably tell from some of the poems, I was really going through some tough stuff at the time and writting the poems was a way to express some of my deepest unsaid emotional currents and get them out of me.
I am, of course, not moody and brooding on death and pain all the time :)

thanks for reading - and I hope you get something out of them :)

In Irony

In short,
In brevity,
that one word
one phrase
that takes all strands
and complex issues
and wraps them in an instant.
Those crystal words
that now are picked up, traded.
"The media have lost the plot"

A love poem

Ahhh mmm ohhh,
fast and slow
Upon your body lies my gaze,
until your eyes and nose and chin
...and eyes,
and choosing both your pupils bright
I canot look them all.
Poor senses, smell and touch and sight
please kiss my voice and steal my plight
and let us meet and breath together
first contact,
souls
that are forever.

on loneliness

I am so lonely,lonely,lonely so,
with but this page to answer me
and now I wish I could
drain out my blood into this ink
all my pain into these words
purge, cry, purge and finish!
I am not!
Broke up.
Bewildered.
I know not what I feel.
Searching for something more,
some point resistance in the brain,
some cornered object that I could turn,
over and over,
to make,
to mold.
Yet I find nothing!

Another Day

Another day,
another hour,
and I am in the same position,
and the world accumalates its dust,
and the world accumalates its rust.

Another day,
another hour,
and I am in the same position.
I am sure I made a move;
a mighty effort!
Sure as a hammer's arc;
Sure as the mighty clang,
I did bang,
and my arm grew weary;
and my hope grew faint.
and here I am,
almost in the same position.

Another day,
another hour,
regret piled on regret,
no point to fret.
That terrible feeling of time being wasted.
I feel very close to death
and yet my body does not know it yet.

untitled

Where are my little pills?
my little foiled pop-'em-outs.
Dire things will happen if I miss you.
And I have lost you.

Diagnosis

Sometimes I'm very pompous.
Sometimes I'm very drab.
Sometimes I make the best of things
I've ever, never had.
Fast dance around the voidy thing;
the pit that pulls me in.
It is not there. I do not see.
I nod the madman's nod with glee.
repeat repeat repeat with me
'I have no rope', 'I have no tree'.
I cannot face this sad.

I am wearing out my life.
I am weary with my strife.
I am heavy with my tears
that hide from me when near.
How I wish to let them flow
and burn my cheeks, they burn my soul.
I am very very sad
and I'm trying to be glad.
I am broken in my mind.
It was the best one I could find.

On Speaking and Listening

There is something crisp in the sound of my own voice
that lacks when others say my story.
Is it the same for you?
when mouths consume the essence of the words
and let but sound escape.
Hold on to the creative act.
It is the Word made spoken,
in violent power 'gainst the sky
thick air to sculpt and sway.
So does this make you now, my lover,
for you to listen and unravel,
from ear to mouth to throat to spine?
before I knew? - the silent time.
and do you know me, more, than me?
I weep,
because I did not listen.
I turned my body, cocked my head,
and looked forward when you read.

The iron man

I have an Iron man inside
so small about three inches tall
and primitive and hard.
It lives inside
where all my writhe and kicking flails
donot shift him, but birth my fails
so heavy in my heart.
My head, my loins
and him do tear apart
my being.
I am stubborn.
He is iron.
He is stone
and compels me be alone.
I was not loved as child
but trained to grow along a path
mapped out and flawed.
That Iron Man stood off the way
and bent that crooked path astray
and wound me in a spiral
by force of Gravity alone.
He is heavy
Iron and Stone
and primitive and hard.

His blood flowed bitter in my veins
and could but I plant him at my goal
his will would pull me to him cold.
His snarl inside my bones my taste
'neath languid muscles of my face.
Would you see him in my eyes?
or could magnetic pull disguise
his longing to be whole
if, I did plant him at my goal.
And yet, he is inside
and pins me to the ground
and round and round and round
I swirm and thrash.
I strain and push against the past.

At Rest

Today the words came slowly
slurred and blurred and lowly
meandering in pace and soothing space
all full and round and hushed
no waste

today this pen it glides
and slides into the words it scribes
and meaning is forgotton
like a rain drop in a pool
free as a fool
This languid language long caress
the slightest touch the slowest breath
I am at rest