The Hours are Slow.

This Phrase,

This Concept,

Time as our enemy,

Time like that Dutch Lesbian

Angrily pointing out, 

Each and every Tick,

Each and every Tock,

each pulsing beat a mini-dart

to the heart,

Pierce, 

Pierce, 

Piercing my soul,

As if, as though, by some contrast, I should have achieved in,

that Blink,

saving of our whales or,

saved the world in Marvel style or,

saved a thought

that would warm the hearts of millions!

Who laid this burden on my shoulders?

to bear

to carry

to cradle

Who hitched my trailer of purpose to this?

to this tick

to this tock

Who wrote these rules ?

the book

the map

this encyclopaedic burden to my heart, my soul,

This Phrase

this Concept

The hours are slow 

but the pay is poor.

—

Etches 

The White House

Sunday 13th October 2019

(thanks to Robyn Williams G M Vietnam for the DL Image  - womin in comfortable shoes)

A History of lighthouses

you may know from where this comes

from nearby we see,

lives lost at sea,

broken apart on craggy rock,

so grief like the storms themselves,

descends,

whipping the souls of the loved,

so beat upon the leaders door,

cry to community,

to  build -  to support - to imagine,

a warning beacon! 

a light of safety and secured hope!

ruin shall descend no more!

...

now they stand still,

on windless days,

a seagulls home,

watching the five year old, 

with giggling smile,

no longer courageous, 

no longer galant protectors of love,

mere friends,

with a blade of grass,

that stands for this season in the field nearby,

where does the passion go

where is the fight

why does the beige descend

now neither hot nor cold

now uncontroversial 

what invisible force?

what magnetism?

silently and softly tucks the meaning away,

in hidden places,

lost,

lost as deep as the oceans floors,

somewhere but, nowhere at all.

Etches 

6th Nov 2019

TWH

\ pointlessness and powerlessness are often not so peaceful, beneath each summer sun and  sandy beach lies a treasure of anger and loss.

once with grand purpose

now artefact

some distant anthropologist

will look pretentiously and remark

we of the future will ponder what dreams

once were

and Arrogance

And Arrogance


Arrogance,
the overestimation of,
ones own abilities,
Blindness to Blackness,
the lack of inner sight,
assumption that you know,
you feel, you care, alas
Rusted on,
this gate will not open, ever
for strangers,
for opinion,
no hinge squeaks of change,
shout loud,
shout louder,
make sure no one else can,
speak, or be heard,
make sure no one else can,
breathe.


Thomas
The White House
Oxford

Geroge Floyd killed this last week. by systematic hatred and
arrogance.

Carried Along

waiting for life

to come to me (& you)

what a mistake

this has been

a knock

an email

twinkle twinkle

iPhone sounds

carried down

carried along

by the river named

circumstance

fate the myth

is alive in my mind

dutifully directing

life's crossroads

listen brother, listen hard,

the music has not died,

not yet, perhaps not ever,

let your faith loudly knock on life's door

Etches Penmen

10th March 2020

TWH

It Came to Pass

Pass high (in the mountains).

For I must be about my fathers business.

Storing treasures in the heart.

And it came to pass,

That after forty years in our wilderness,

We saw as though the first dawn,

We saw,

For suddenly there was with the angel,

a Multitude of the host of heaven.

Quickly can the loneliness be forgotten,

And the river filled.

Behold there was a man who came out,

of the waters and the spirit was upon him ,

We saw as though the first dawn,

We saw,

Yes all those who heard him were astonished,

They were amazed.

'Return to the quarry, the rock from which you were hewn',

Return and see the journey for all its (h)arrows and (h)ills.  

I must be about my fathers business.

Thomas Poe

Singapore Jan  2007

Spirit teach me your ways

Luke chapter 1

Music [Mark Schultz a 1000 miles and more, low key.]

Uncertainty just entered the ring

It’s a Smokey old theatre, 

For the sport of boxing,

Fluorescent lights, 

Murmur of crowds,

Spilling of beers,

And the opponent we all hate, just 

Swaggered into the hall,

Down the aisle glaring at all,

We shrink back as Mr. Uncertainty

bounces over the ropes, 

And lands on the matting with a 

clunking sneer,

He   can    smell    the   fear.

[Hesitation denial , how did I get here?]

He looks v e r y big from my corner,

where I cringe from

cuts and bruises of previous fights,

Of fancy and where hopes had been,

Now the threat of what must happen

Is as foggy and wet as my brow,

Sauna’d with sweat..

[Is there an subsitutue? an escape ?]

The bell howls in this cavern, and

rings in my head bringing,

me to my feet and my face to my foe,

Mr Uncertainty standing proudly centre ring,

I approach, yet he looks not at me,

But calls to all the audience !

Who rolling back in revulsion and fear,

Thinks he’s about to eat me right here.

[Time slows to a misty forlorn crawl?]

Cold clandistune Déjà vu, 

Now I am not so sure,

as I’ve Heard of his type, they’re big in the press,

and report a good fight,

Perhaps as I come closer now,

He’s a bit thin and grey and looks,

squeamish and lucent and hollow ,

The look on his face is changing back and forth,

His legs bulge and then wane,

His skin looks aged weary and coarse.

[Breathe deep rememeber love and resilience ?]

It begins,

There is no choice.

Forward downward onward upward ,

I’m in the ring with uncertainty and only

Hollywoods Poet Philosphers know 

the meaning,

Chalky dust floats in the light ,

Pondering the unknown outcome.

T. Poe

September 19 2001

Oxford

Unfinished as yet.

Remembered and edited at CV19  

Mosaic

Pattern

interpreted,

Pattern 

Misunderstood,

significance sought,

a shadow that finds night,

truth of where we are,

lies in the concrete cracks,

the heat bakes,

the cold freezes,

in between we find a moment,

of our joy,

look out,

look in,

but most of all lets look,

ponder,

and take all in.

the days, the weeks,

the life of now,

called to account,

what will the measure be,

yes again lets hear,

Donne's bell,

calling, for me and ye,

incessant reminder of the edge,

adjust your set and lets,  see it as it is,

not how our 'morals' wish,

Truth above all else,

plunge into her and 

Etches Penmen

Oxford 5th April 2020

our minds desire to find patterns and attribute post hoc meaning is a deception we find hard to be awake to and cast aside when not useful.