William

William has gone back to the motherland. In this instance it is Finland. Generally when will goes away we set up a Facebook group to show how happy we are that he has left us in peace for a while. It might happen again. Perhaps I should be the instigator, and jump right into the role of Admin. Perhaps not? I think it was I who took the job last time William went away.
In honour of him….

fleur

Denial in a pub.

Isolation in a free house.

Bitter hop mouth.

Dark wood floor.

People to ignore.

Sunlight and fake light,
Spread equal shadow,
On green speckled walls.
Soon to be a home for the arts.
For my arts?

An attempt at conversing,
Is not worth anything.
Simply awkward,
And banal.

Perhaps in denial?
About what? I do not know.
But isn’t that the point,
Of denial?
Well, not the point,
But the experience.
The journey.

A road you don’t know,
You travel.
A sense of confusion,
That you cant quite reach.
Put up on a shelf,
And, even on your toes,
You’re too small.
Too naïve.

Denial.

A few Latitude Festival images.

Sleep could never have happened.

Sleep did not happen,
Sleep could not have happened.

Not while liquid snakes,
Streamed through the porch,
Of my tent.

Not while bees swarmed,
Deafeningly on the canvas.

Not while a strobe of lights,
Pierced the sky.
And the Gods applauded,
With red handed cheer.

Sleep could never have happened.

And now, I sit under Victorian sky,
With squinted eye,
And a head like a,
Cracked walnut.

With dirt coffee,
And a green tea pot.

My wellingtons,
Two sizes too small,
And a breeze,
Which is cool.

The grass dries slowly,
Under the mildest sun,
And my spirits are lifted,
And the specs of rain,
Still clear on this tent city,
Become small.

As if strewn with ants.

The world is waking up,
But I,
Never slept.

Darkness displaced and a calm sea.

For now I sit alone,
And I am really at a loss,
To explain how I feel.
I know my body is hot,
And the evening is humid.
But this body is not mine,
And this evening is not mine to claim.

My brain and heart are detached.
They are in limbo,
Until you return.
And I yearn, to see you!

Stuck in suspension,
As if captured in a photo.
And I know you had to go,
And I know you’ll come back,
And not everything is white and black.
But the contrast of your absence,
Holds no immediate hope.
And as such, I feel hopeless.

That week was the pinnacle of my year,
And it is clear, I am empty,
And as fragile as a shell.
These brittle bones crumble,
Like waves breaking down,
On a sand castle.

The rainy weather seems so apt,
But the sun will come when you’re done.
And while the sun will put many smiles,
On many faces,
You will put a smile on mine.

But until that day,
Until you return,
I yearn.
I am frozen,
Unanimated in a frame.
I feel warm when I read your name,
Imagine how I’ll feel,
When I see your sweet face.
Darkness displaced,
And a calm sea.

If that is what’s meant to be,
I hope so,
So be it.

And I don’t think I am holding a solution.

Is this real life?
Or is this just one example of living?
Which brings up again,
The question of normality,
And I suppose conformity,
And needlessness,
And me.

And am I living,
Or do I just live?

When I look down upon this page,
What do I see?
The inky thoughts,
Of a burnt orange man?
Or the obvious philosophies,
Of a delusional fool?
It’s a grey area.

And I don’t think I am holding,
A solution.
But, if not I,
Then who?

Again I say.

Rain of rain,
Come down again,
And drench my skin.
Let your subtle magic,
Cleanse my sin.
And let the future cold,
I know I’ll feel,
Never in.

This leaking sky,
Has not passed by,
And the day is vivid,
Under a gloomy sheet.
The covering clouds,
Show only yielding ways,
And I can’t wait,
For another sunny day.

In sun and rain,
The world is made new,
And that brings joy,
To us all.

But for now,
Rain of rain,
Come down,
Break on my crown.
Make my newly dry,
Head of hair,
Wet again.

And the grin on my face,
May seem misplaced,
But in truth,
I love a warm storm.
And this may be at odds,
With what you think,
I just said.
But it is not.

And so,
Again I say…

I have these little voices.

Do I just fall,
For every girl I meet?
Am I so desperate,
That I need to clean my feet?
Clean my body of all,
This dirt.

This dirt is my sin,
And my sin can never,
Be washed away.
No amount of running,
Or exercise,
Will tone my attributes.

So, why do I fall?
And why am I always falling?
And at what to point do I stop?
I’ve never known,
Less to be more.
And more or less,
I never will.

But, never say never,
Never talk in absolutes.
I can only hope my sin,
Is unnoticeable,
To those I fall before.

And I have these little voices,
Whispering pains to my ears.
And they tell me what I know,
And what I know is this…