I'd love a breath strong enough
to snuff every last light in this street
all snuffed but the little lights
littering the sky,
where are you now?-
O quiet ones
you wait behind
in line
for the hype to wipe us out
If I huffed this street to dark
the huddles of men
would litter the morning
with tools to fix it

Given this solitude; to dine with it in blustering gusts of cold
and hot throated cigarettes
and hasty vapours overhead
all arush in white and shiftlessness...and shapelessness.
I am the distinguished guest
in powerful company

the screen let in too much interior with it, so I sent it with a slam
and now i'm alone in the splintered;
I can't miss out on ( Read more... )

In milky grey cover of peacenight
I settle like mist over all
all even, all cool, all air
I cannot be moved, be shaken

In milky grey cover of peace night
Im a silhouette dark and striking
all stable, all finite, all see me
I cannot be swept, be forgotten

In milky grey cover of peacenight
I traipse like a girl through all parts
all forming, all moving, all ( Read more... )

comment
http://anissa-c.livejournal.com/53025.html?nc=2&style=mine
what a breath of fresh air for me to be able to read your stuff again. I didn't realise how much I missed it. The way you express yourself skips my head and heads staright to my heart. Thanks.
Oh and I didnt mean that i wanted you to pay me back. An artisit nees their tools and if u ( Read more... )

A strong man fighting is standing.
He is sitting on a bench warm, in half lit noon sun. He is in his 3 o' clock lecture. His professor moves in and out of a hole, scurrying to  prepare himself for a long winter, he is lecturing on the signs in nature, and guiding his students as to how to see them and respond in kind. As the breeze catches a touch ( Read more... )

We musn't idealise the scholar gypsy and sink further from his cry. We must hear the call, decide what to hold.

Two hands: in our closed hand, what we choose to pursue, holding it tight from compromise. With the other open hand we must let the next gust of wind catch up all the chaff that it holds, the little threads that time and numbers gradually ( Read more... )

Ha...hippies eh? I think perhaps Coleridge did have similar ideas, like freedom of expression, unconventional spirituality, the simplified communal living, the whole drug thing. Maybe we will look back and give the 60s hippies more honour than our society gives them now. Maybe they were the modern unacknowledged legislators. Maybe there was more ( Read more... )

The packed bags speak for themselves. Do we sometimes need to leave this built up monstrosity to find some peace of mind? Yes. The moment I get out of the car and inhale air that actually does more good than harm to my body, I feel my entire body exhale in relief. I'm fairly sure my heart rate halves when I visit my home in the hills.
As I was ( Read more... )

'Sundays are the only things we give away; -how generous'

We give sundays
the last reserves of our energies
resources FLASHING
and laying on blankets in
sunlight,
purify the pursuits 
that lead to planks and water
the mortar and pestels 
of our existence
rises with the cream:
Sunday sieve our sins aways
Sunday sieve our sins away

AEM


( Read more... )

hey caitlin,
loved the spontanaety of your poem, the images are so immediate and varied just like us all where in one moment we can switch from thinking about a dear loved person to us, to a random thought about eating chocolate cake. All your writing seems to be becoming much more open than it used to, i really enjoy reading it
love ya x

http:// ( Read more... )