The storm brewed within him for years
Gradually building in strength and ferocity
Deep in the jails of his mind, the confined parts
A rage, an inevitable liberation? Yes - a maturation
One wrought of elements and moulded by time
The vortex swirled and swirled, aflame
All that was false and pretence compacted into a singularity
Cast off into nothingness, the oblivion of the past
And in its place came trumpeting a primordial light
From the upheaving tempest came forth his soul
Prised from the veiled abyss of a dead self
And with it, a new kingdom, a reign of light
Such that he, at last, was now truly sovereign of himself
M.M. — 30-Dec-2014
30 December 2014
Lady of the Veil
Shining like a sun-kissed jewel
But light hidden from view
The Lady of the Veil spoke of such designs
Freedom in a world of confines
Held up in such high regard
But one not of her own desire
How could she be kept under guard
When in her chest raged a secret fire?
To say no when yes was the expected word
To liberate a mind caged in boredom
Unsheathe with all her natural passion her sword
And cut down the lies of a decrepit kingdom
The Lady: to be a warrior or a maiden?
But in truth she was both, and never compromising
Just as feminine as she was brazen heroine
Exuding a woman's grace and at once disruption rising
So she armed herself with great weapons
Steeling her mind with knowledge's might
Courage for her heart to continue her war on
All so that she may one day let shine that hidden light
M.M. — 30-Dec-2014
But light hidden from view
The Lady of the Veil spoke of such designs
Freedom in a world of confines
Held up in such high regard
But one not of her own desire
How could she be kept under guard
When in her chest raged a secret fire?
To say no when yes was the expected word
To liberate a mind caged in boredom
Unsheathe with all her natural passion her sword
And cut down the lies of a decrepit kingdom
The Lady: to be a warrior or a maiden?
But in truth she was both, and never compromising
Just as feminine as she was brazen heroine
Exuding a woman's grace and at once disruption rising
So she armed herself with great weapons
Steeling her mind with knowledge's might
Courage for her heart to continue her war on
All so that she may one day let shine that hidden light
M.M. — 30-Dec-2014
28 December 2014
A Half-Dream
Partly written on the edge of oncoming sleep
Found myself again in a crop of stars
Reaped by own impossible hands
Light turned dense and thick
Perception gradually lost with the
Amounting ponderousness
A plunging into the deep dark within
A dark coloured of yester-memories and
Unbridled lustful fantasy
Sequences infinite in scope and breadth
And myself lost in the night-forest
A forest of speaking stars
M.M. — 28-Dec-2014
Found myself again in a crop of stars
Reaped by own impossible hands
Light turned dense and thick
Perception gradually lost with the
Amounting ponderousness
A plunging into the deep dark within
A dark coloured of yester-memories and
Unbridled lustful fantasy
Sequences infinite in scope and breadth
And myself lost in the night-forest
A forest of speaking stars
M.M. — 28-Dec-2014
27 December 2014
Notes on Time
The greatest curse of being human
is not so much that we feel or are aware that we exist,
but rather, that we feel or are aware that we exist through time.
The humdrum repetitions inside my head
only worsen the realisation that we are able to remember
the past, to think upon our future in light of our past,
making it all so much more poignantly exacting.
Yes, cursed be time.
Our bones rattle like the rattle of dice,
like the rattling of the universe.
I can see it in my hands;
I look at it in the creases of my face.
The maddening of it all.
As we stretch ourselves,
and are stretched by time—
how we struggle to even perceive it.
But blessed be time,
for in it is our salvation.
Just as in it are the hopes of unwritten futures.
Though it is with the weight of time
that we suffer in anguish;
it is time, and through time,
that we seek our own salvation.
We feverously desire to leap
through the continual affliction, to the point
of catharsis, of release;
wishing things would be so much easier—but they are not.
Time is slaver.
And yet time is salvation.
M.M. — 27-Dec-2014
is not so much that we feel or are aware that we exist,
but rather, that we feel or are aware that we exist through time.
The humdrum repetitions inside my head
only worsen the realisation that we are able to remember
the past, to think upon our future in light of our past,
making it all so much more poignantly exacting.
Yes, cursed be time.
Our bones rattle like the rattle of dice,
like the rattling of the universe.
I can see it in my hands;
I look at it in the creases of my face.
The maddening of it all.
As we stretch ourselves,
and are stretched by time—
how we struggle to even perceive it.
But blessed be time,
for in it is our salvation.
Just as in it are the hopes of unwritten futures.
Though it is with the weight of time
that we suffer in anguish;
it is time, and through time,
that we seek our own salvation.
We feverously desire to leap
through the continual affliction, to the point
of catharsis, of release;
wishing things would be so much easier—but they are not.
Time is slaver.
And yet time is salvation.
M.M. — 27-Dec-2014
04 December 2014
Benighted winter come
Darkness the shroud has come again, cloaking your ever enervating body and shadowing the outer edges of your mind. Coldness, with serrated teeth, gnaws on flesh and your flame. Now you are but bones for the succumbing heralded by winter's clarion call. The call - its chill - frosty breath - speaks volumes of the declines and recessions. Of the shortening of day and dimming of light are the themes written and lived in this darkening time. Your night lengthens like death spreading out its robes of pitched eternity. Frosted scripts dictated by tenebrous thoughts deep in the hollows of an overcome spirit. And neither the world around is left spared. The timbered limbs of trees - ruined monuments of nature in cycle - stand bare and exalt, in unwilling morbid ostentation, the conqueror season. Your embattled body and its trials against the iced speared pricks of winter winds soldier through the darkened days and night's dominion. And it is through this - through the frozen, silent halls of winter - through benighted winter come - that you struggle and survive.
M.M. — 04-Dec-2014
M.M. — 04-Dec-2014
08 November 2014
Truth and love
In an age where knowledge and information is free, accessible and omnipresent more than ever before in history, there still pervades contrarily a great degree of falsehood. Whilst the perpetuation and embracing of disinformation, misinformation and outright lies is a powerful thing indeed, Truth, I think, will always be much more potent a force. Take love. I think it is fair to say that in the modern day, the term "love" is quite a fluid and flexible notion in constant evolution. This makes defining love a less than straightforward affair. However, no matter how fluid or flexible one may deem love to be, I hold that love must above all be True. In the face of expectation, compromise and dictation from culture, society, religion, politics, our peers and, yes, even from our own selves - love must stand strong, love must stand tall, love must stand true. For if I am to assert that lies, deceit and aspersions are vicious tongues slathering the peoples of this planet with spittle into our eyes on a daily basis, then I do so whilst also brandishing this weapon: that love is Truth, and in this truth there abounds an indefinable source of strength and enlightenment that can tear away the veil that obfuscates the sight of us all.
11 October 2014
"When the wolves return"
When the wolves return to the room, and ravage and rage once again, swarming and tearing you and themselves apart, seek the calm in the midst of chaos. The brooks and the slow rivers flow from the centre-mind. When the walls begin to crack and collapse once more, entwine with the still beating, still fighting heart. The world continues to whirl round but you must continue reversed; fall away from the ever-descending stair. Hold fast, hold on to strength, even in the savage slaughter of the wolves, and always bite back.
Ex Tempore LXXXIX
M.M. — 11-Oct-2014
Ex Tempore LXXXIX
M.M. — 11-Oct-2014
"Come the end"
Come the end, at the edge
of the desert of night,
we took in one last terminal breath--
one last reason to fight--
and saw all that we once were;
all that we once had.
And realised that life past
was all we ever wanted,
all that we wished for and more.
So there at the crossing
we fell to the starless floor
and hurt and burst and birthed
and rose again, aflame, once more.
Ex Tempore LXXXVIII
M.M. — 24-Sep-2014
of the desert of night,
we took in one last terminal breath--
one last reason to fight--
and saw all that we once were;
all that we once had.
And realised that life past
was all we ever wanted,
all that we wished for and more.
So there at the crossing
we fell to the starless floor
and hurt and burst and birthed
and rose again, aflame, once more.
Ex Tempore LXXXVIII
M.M. — 24-Sep-2014
"Inside me, inside you"
Inside me, inside you,
Inside us all: a tree.
In every tree, and every leaf,
In every root: a life.
From death, from life,
From all between: a time.
Come time, comes dreams,
Comes what you are: a being.
Being here, and one day to be gone,
Be full and be all: be your own song.
Ex Tempore LXXXVII
M.M. — 02-Oct-2014
Inside us all: a tree.
In every tree, and every leaf,
In every root: a life.
From death, from life,
From all between: a time.
Come time, comes dreams,
Comes what you are: a being.
Being here, and one day to be gone,
Be full and be all: be your own song.
Ex Tempore LXXXVII
M.M. — 02-Oct-2014
07 September 2014
"Salvation shall be found in my fall"
Salvation shall be found in my fall
When I am cast down from dogmatic heights
I will fall toward the phalanxes of Love
And its upward-pointed piercing spears
Into the arms and caresses of the inner shining light
That dwells deep within the earthen mould
The mould of ash and gold, of flesh and stardust
A dweller in darkness become, to prise wide eyes
Seeking Promethean flame in the ice-plains of the South
Wanderer, the wanderer in the night, bringer of light
Forsaking self to rebuild atom by atom the self
Or perhaps to grow and to evolve and to form
The residual echoes of a long-muffled song
Will be symphony once more, and down on the floor
I gaze upon the vault of the celestial sphere
And ready my throbbing, outstretched pinions
To ascend as unshackled son, son of the sun
Ex Tempore LXXXVI
M.M. — 07-Sep-2014
When I am cast down from dogmatic heights
I will fall toward the phalanxes of Love
And its upward-pointed piercing spears
Into the arms and caresses of the inner shining light
That dwells deep within the earthen mould
The mould of ash and gold, of flesh and stardust
A dweller in darkness become, to prise wide eyes
Seeking Promethean flame in the ice-plains of the South
Wanderer, the wanderer in the night, bringer of light
Forsaking self to rebuild atom by atom the self
Or perhaps to grow and to evolve and to form
The residual echoes of a long-muffled song
Will be symphony once more, and down on the floor
I gaze upon the vault of the celestial sphere
And ready my throbbing, outstretched pinions
To ascend as unshackled son, son of the sun
Ex Tempore LXXXVI
M.M. — 07-Sep-2014
27 August 2014
"She stands at the foot of the bed"
She stands at the foot of the bed,
arousal palpable in the ambience of the room.
Lights dimmed low, illuminating the rising heat in the air.
She stands like a bedevilled Eve in the garden of passion;
smooth, delicate—tautened strength in supple limbs.
A shift and a motion and the warm light quivers as she draws closer.
Electric storms like love's naïve, expectant first kiss.
Coronal mass ejections like the relenting of higher wills.
A staggering, a stifling and a kinetic chaos
—then a succumbing, a slowing and an enfolding collapse.
Her silver whispers stir residually quavering darkness
as sleep starts to steal us away into lesser dreams.
Ex Tempore LXXXV
M.M. — 27-Aug-2014
arousal palpable in the ambience of the room.
Lights dimmed low, illuminating the rising heat in the air.
She stands like a bedevilled Eve in the garden of passion;
smooth, delicate—tautened strength in supple limbs.
A shift and a motion and the warm light quivers as she draws closer.
Electric storms like love's naïve, expectant first kiss.
Coronal mass ejections like the relenting of higher wills.
A staggering, a stifling and a kinetic chaos
—then a succumbing, a slowing and an enfolding collapse.
Her silver whispers stir residually quavering darkness
as sleep starts to steal us away into lesser dreams.
Ex Tempore LXXXV
M.M. — 27-Aug-2014
24 August 2014
Monolith
The monolith stands imperiously deep inside,
tendrils deeply rooted and extending far into the core
and into peripheries. Sometimes obsidian-black obelisk,
sometimes billion-year moribund sun eclipsing everything.
In its vasculature, branching in itself fractally, flows
thick fluid of starless night that pollutes the estuaries of
thought and dream. The monolith is nourished when fear
is sown and reaped in fields of beleaguered heart.
Dynamic as life when life is beset by tides of turbulent sea
and lightning from an electrically painted sky—And the sky
always filled with swirling vortices of dark and sodden grey cloud.
The shadow of the monolith is the shadow of self-doubt,
and there in the suffocating shade light is starved and slain.
It speaks in infrasonic reverberations, in a language of silken darkness.
It suggests, it hints and implies, it weaves possibilities and futures—
The forks in the path, that lead back on themselves, are of the monolith's design.
The struggle against it is endless; it stains hands black and reveals
the voids and chasms that perforate even the most armoured mind.
Lightless and imposing stands the monolith deep at the centre;
solid, fluid and eternal, the monolith erected itself deep in the heart.
Ex Tempore LXXXIV
M.M. — 24-Aug-2014
tendrils deeply rooted and extending far into the core
and into peripheries. Sometimes obsidian-black obelisk,
sometimes billion-year moribund sun eclipsing everything.
In its vasculature, branching in itself fractally, flows
thick fluid of starless night that pollutes the estuaries of
thought and dream. The monolith is nourished when fear
is sown and reaped in fields of beleaguered heart.
Dynamic as life when life is beset by tides of turbulent sea
and lightning from an electrically painted sky—And the sky
always filled with swirling vortices of dark and sodden grey cloud.
The shadow of the monolith is the shadow of self-doubt,
and there in the suffocating shade light is starved and slain.
It speaks in infrasonic reverberations, in a language of silken darkness.
It suggests, it hints and implies, it weaves possibilities and futures—
The forks in the path, that lead back on themselves, are of the monolith's design.
The struggle against it is endless; it stains hands black and reveals
the voids and chasms that perforate even the most armoured mind.
Lightless and imposing stands the monolith deep at the centre;
solid, fluid and eternal, the monolith erected itself deep in the heart.
Ex Tempore LXXXIV
M.M. — 24-Aug-2014
20 August 2014
The Toll of Midnight
The ticking tells me it grows near
The clicking of heels in halls of fear
That Midnight draws ever near
Panting of breath and dripping sweat
I meet my nightmares where we once met
Stolen to the black and to terror swept
I lose myself under the vault of night
Beholding horrors and nameless sights
Soul becoming frigid, murdering its own light
Voiceless I scream faced with faceless things
Over-choired by harmonies that sing
Of nothingness and near-forgotten hauntings
Madness lies in the ticking of the clock
Fear like wolves stalking the timid flock
Waiting by the door for death's terminal knock
It is the encroaching, the slow succumbing
The thing I fear most—its becoming
The toll of Midnight's nightly coming
Ex Tempore LXXXIII
M.M. — 20-Aug-2014
The clicking of heels in halls of fear
That Midnight draws ever near
Panting of breath and dripping sweat
I meet my nightmares where we once met
Stolen to the black and to terror swept
I lose myself under the vault of night
Beholding horrors and nameless sights
Soul becoming frigid, murdering its own light
Voiceless I scream faced with faceless things
Over-choired by harmonies that sing
Of nothingness and near-forgotten hauntings
Madness lies in the ticking of the clock
Fear like wolves stalking the timid flock
Waiting by the door for death's terminal knock
It is the encroaching, the slow succumbing
The thing I fear most—its becoming
The toll of Midnight's nightly coming
Ex Tempore LXXXIII
M.M. — 20-Aug-2014
06 August 2014
Gyromagnetic. A metapoem. [Incomplete]
Inspired by the basic phenomenon of the science of my PhD: magnetic resonance; and by the patterns that abound in the nuclear and macroscopic worlds.
All things in this world reverberate. The Frequency of Essence permeates through everything, in my voice as much as it does in quasars – the universe speaking.
What we are and what we do is but rhythm and echo. We repeat the same mistakes and emit values to harmonise into existence the ideals we believe to be of perfect form.
The ordinary in us is a monotone drone. Continuous and predictable till the signal dies out with nary an aspirant spike. The great, the unique, the marvellous – these are deviations in the frequency, shifts in time and power in the oscillations. The previously unknown echoes that break through the noise.
And love surely is the most maddening of spirals. Whether upward or downward, emanating or decaying, the never-ending spinning of body and mind transforms us to something of higher state or leads us to self-perpetuated annihilation. The beat of hearts and the songs hummed in the dark and the truths repeated, wordless but resounding just the same.
Doubtless, then, all things in this world reverberate, reverberate in unison.
Metapoem IV
M.M. — 06-Aug-2014
All things in this world reverberate. The Frequency of Essence permeates through everything, in my voice as much as it does in quasars – the universe speaking.
What we are and what we do is but rhythm and echo. We repeat the same mistakes and emit values to harmonise into existence the ideals we believe to be of perfect form.
The ordinary in us is a monotone drone. Continuous and predictable till the signal dies out with nary an aspirant spike. The great, the unique, the marvellous – these are deviations in the frequency, shifts in time and power in the oscillations. The previously unknown echoes that break through the noise.
And love surely is the most maddening of spirals. Whether upward or downward, emanating or decaying, the never-ending spinning of body and mind transforms us to something of higher state or leads us to self-perpetuated annihilation. The beat of hearts and the songs hummed in the dark and the truths repeated, wordless but resounding just the same.
Doubtless, then, all things in this world reverberate, reverberate in unison.
Metapoem IV
M.M. — 06-Aug-2014
31 July 2014
Star Rising
A "sequel" to Fallen Star (2011)
Up from down the ocean deep
Rose with haste the fallen beast
Awoke from sleep the dreaming son
And shone in night as shadowed sun
His howling reverberating the frozen earth
Cracking the chrysalis from which he birthed
Mind half shattered but wholly steeled
Not to dogma or deity would ever yield
Son of the sun, flung from heights
But starlight still as bright as his fight
Holding fast with a heavy heart
Leaden soul streaming supernal art
Soon eternal dreamer no longer
But risen from abyssal prison stronger
Cries of thunder marking the end
End of fear and shame and discontent
The star rose from the deep
Bringing blackest dreams from darkest sleep
Poem XLII
M.M. — 31-Jul-2014
Up from down the ocean deep
Rose with haste the fallen beast
Awoke from sleep the dreaming son
And shone in night as shadowed sun
His howling reverberating the frozen earth
Cracking the chrysalis from which he birthed
Mind half shattered but wholly steeled
Not to dogma or deity would ever yield
Son of the sun, flung from heights
But starlight still as bright as his fight
Holding fast with a heavy heart
Leaden soul streaming supernal art
Soon eternal dreamer no longer
But risen from abyssal prison stronger
Cries of thunder marking the end
End of fear and shame and discontent
The star rose from the deep
Bringing blackest dreams from darkest sleep
Poem XLII
M.M. — 31-Jul-2014
27 July 2014
Parasite
Seed was somehow implanted
—know not how
Ovulation by formless mother
Gestation in mind: starless night
It dreams and dreams
Dark and cold and ugly themes
Talks with thoughts to me
Serenades of static noise
Or reverberations from abyss
Its eyes everywhere, always staring
Seeing everything within and beyond
Seed burrows deeper with every dream
Incubating, awaiting - not birth - but rebirth
Feel it in fingers, pulsating beneath skin
Behind eyes, and worse with eyes closed
Wants to bring dreams forth from veil
To burst from seed, from obsidian shell
Black glass like mirror
Black like starless night of womb
Impregnated in the core of all-me
Birth is very close now...
Ex Tempore LXXXII
M.M. — 27-Jul-2014
—know not how
Ovulation by formless mother
Gestation in mind: starless night
It dreams and dreams
Dark and cold and ugly themes
Talks with thoughts to me
Serenades of static noise
Or reverberations from abyss
Its eyes everywhere, always staring
Seeing everything within and beyond
Seed burrows deeper with every dream
Incubating, awaiting - not birth - but rebirth
Feel it in fingers, pulsating beneath skin
Behind eyes, and worse with eyes closed
Wants to bring dreams forth from veil
To burst from seed, from obsidian shell
Black glass like mirror
Black like starless night of womb
Impregnated in the core of all-me
Birth is very close now...
Ex Tempore LXXXII
M.M. — 27-Jul-2014
21 July 2014
Just Breathe
There is an iron hand on your chest
—But just remember to breathe
They question what you are
They will always decide who you should to be
—But just remember to breathe
This cage you find yourself in
The prison of your body and of your mind
—But just remember to breathe
Thrown yourself against the wall to stop the pain
—But just remember to breathe
This is an endless road to nowhere
That you began walking long ago
—But just remember to breathe
They will never know all that you really are
They are not, and never will be, you
—So always remember to just breathe
Ex Tempore LXXXI
M.M. — 21-Jul-2014
—But just remember to breathe
They question what you are
They will always decide who you should to be
—But just remember to breathe
This cage you find yourself in
The prison of your body and of your mind
—But just remember to breathe
Thrown yourself against the wall to stop the pain
—But just remember to breathe
This is an endless road to nowhere
That you began walking long ago
—But just remember to breathe
They will never know all that you really are
They are not, and never will be, you
—So always remember to just breathe
Ex Tempore LXXXI
M.M. — 21-Jul-2014
20 July 2014
"He was a small man"
He was a small man with big dreams
and a mind much too unquiet,
filled with themes dark or loud
or proud or just a bit unkind.
There was so much more in
his core, so much waiting to be
realised and given to the world.
Out from the deep wells
he wished to hurl the thunder,
chaos and quakes that tore him asunder.
Colours of a light unseen and unknown
to others. This star raging in the night;
the comet's impetus propelling and
impeding him all at once. And
in the night, he was lost and yet
there grew and burgeoned as
architect of all that he knew himself be.
Promethean, fire-stealer, knowledge-bringer:
hot as hell the maelstroms churned.
He was a a small man but his dreams
streamed and darted within his mind,
and he would see them into the world.
Poem XLI
M.M. — 20-Jul-2014
and a mind much too unquiet,
filled with themes dark or loud
or proud or just a bit unkind.
There was so much more in
his core, so much waiting to be
realised and given to the world.
Out from the deep wells
he wished to hurl the thunder,
chaos and quakes that tore him asunder.
Colours of a light unseen and unknown
to others. This star raging in the night;
the comet's impetus propelling and
impeding him all at once. And
in the night, he was lost and yet
there grew and burgeoned as
architect of all that he knew himself be.
Promethean, fire-stealer, knowledge-bringer:
hot as hell the maelstroms churned.
He was a a small man but his dreams
streamed and darted within his mind,
and he would see them into the world.
Poem XLI
M.M. — 20-Jul-2014
27 June 2014
"Not the darkness of the night"
Not the darkness of the night
Nor the darkness brought by might
Not the darkness before the light
But the darkness in our minds
Is the darkness that we must fight
Ex Tempore LXXX
M.M. — 27-Jun-2014
Nor the darkness brought by might
Not the darkness before the light
But the darkness in our minds
Is the darkness that we must fight
Ex Tempore LXXX
M.M. — 27-Jun-2014
25 June 2014
"She fell away"
She fell away from me like the coming of the autumn
Gradually and inevitably the stone sunk in
We lost each other when night took away our sight
Now the shadows come in and the winds sing
I once held fire in my arms
Once upon a time I knew the stars' words
They spoke through her—such was her voice
But goodbye was the last I ever heard
The cold closes round as a shroud
Warring with the glow of the embers
Silence tries to bestill my heart
But never will, for I'll always remember
Ephemeral dreams are all that's left
And a tether to the past
I will hold on to the ghosts that haunt
To the very last
Ex Tempore LXXIX
M.M. — 25-Jun-2014
Gradually and inevitably the stone sunk in
We lost each other when night took away our sight
Now the shadows come in and the winds sing
I once held fire in my arms
Once upon a time I knew the stars' words
They spoke through her—such was her voice
But goodbye was the last I ever heard
The cold closes round as a shroud
Warring with the glow of the embers
Silence tries to bestill my heart
But never will, for I'll always remember
Ephemeral dreams are all that's left
And a tether to the past
I will hold on to the ghosts that haunt
To the very last
Ex Tempore LXXIX
M.M. — 25-Jun-2014
01 June 2014
Questions
I find myself in a room of questions.
Questions lock and bar the door and
questions are scrawled all over the walls.
In the grip of doubt I ask myself endlessly
of how to escape the cages,
to find my way out of the dark-night forests.
Questions I have asked for years
are as familiar to me as my kin and
replayed as often as my most important memories.
But the worst question of all is
the one which I know all too well
and yet do not know how to ask.
Ex Tempore LXXVIII
M.M. — 01-Jun-2014
Questions lock and bar the door and
questions are scrawled all over the walls.
In the grip of doubt I ask myself endlessly
of how to escape the cages,
to find my way out of the dark-night forests.
Questions I have asked for years
are as familiar to me as my kin and
replayed as often as my most important memories.
But the worst question of all is
the one which I know all too well
and yet do not know how to ask.
Ex Tempore LXXVIII
M.M. — 01-Jun-2014
17 May 2014
All things begin and end with me
All things begin and end with me. This is not to say that things not of me are not in themselves real, but rather that meaning is inherently a consequence of my self, my "I". To echo Crowley, each of us is a star. A star bright in the void and burning ever so fervently. The paths that we wend and burn are for us to choose - both the direction and the meaning. Whilst whoever and whatever we each are may be things some of us share, in the end, all things begin and end with each of us. We are unique, perfect in our imperfections, stars in the void, burning in whatever way that is our own.
20 April 2014
Ode to Words
Fly, fly my words, fly on high
Birthed from fire, fly through the sky
Like wisps of wonder whispered in dead of night
Soar free, unfettered from silence's bite
Unfurl your sails and course through the seas
Through my mind's oceans go forth from me
Search for wherever your destination lies
Whether in empyreal heights or otherwise
The infinite cage of my mind is too confined for you
So like flood and storm I release you without construal
Take your power and freedom and wreak as you will
Ever and always, for my aims remain unfulfilled
Then hurry, you nebulous weights of mine
Fly, fly till you find others of your kind
Perhaps in others' minds or in the black
Fly for you are not meant to turn back
Ex Tempore LXXVII
M.M. — 20-Apr-2014
Birthed from fire, fly through the sky
Like wisps of wonder whispered in dead of night
Soar free, unfettered from silence's bite
Unfurl your sails and course through the seas
Through my mind's oceans go forth from me
Search for wherever your destination lies
Whether in empyreal heights or otherwise
The infinite cage of my mind is too confined for you
So like flood and storm I release you without construal
Take your power and freedom and wreak as you will
Ever and always, for my aims remain unfulfilled
Then hurry, you nebulous weights of mine
Fly, fly till you find others of your kind
Perhaps in others' minds or in the black
Fly for you are not meant to turn back
Ex Tempore LXXVII
M.M. — 20-Apr-2014
19 April 2014
Sundown in Cardiff
The sun falls in Cardiff
and amber suffuses onto building and bystander.
Onto bricks and rooftops and in the trees
the dying golden light casts itself
as the earth's warmth recedes.
I walk along with music in my ears,
a silent observer in a city of glass and concrete.
In all the windows I see sundown mirrored,
sundown and the world itself reflected.
I have been here before,
in another time, another place—
but it is as it has always been:
walking through the city and watching the pace of life.
Here the faces are the same,
and so too the movements;
but each, as I have come to know, is unique and individual.
Amber scatters its terminal magic as it has always done,
but this city is but another in the journey.
I will ever be the observer,
but an observer of a world of my own choosing.
Ex Tempore LXXVI
M.M. — 19-Apr-2014
and amber suffuses onto building and bystander.
Onto bricks and rooftops and in the trees
the dying golden light casts itself
as the earth's warmth recedes.
I walk along with music in my ears,
a silent observer in a city of glass and concrete.
In all the windows I see sundown mirrored,
sundown and the world itself reflected.
I have been here before,
in another time, another place—
but it is as it has always been:
walking through the city and watching the pace of life.
Here the faces are the same,
and so too the movements;
but each, as I have come to know, is unique and individual.
Amber scatters its terminal magic as it has always done,
but this city is but another in the journey.
I will ever be the observer,
but an observer of a world of my own choosing.
Ex Tempore LXXVI
M.M. — 19-Apr-2014
27 March 2014
Limits
Everything we know and everything we believe is limited to a given extent. This is at once a bad and good thing. It is a bad thing because we may rely on assumptions when said assumptions are not appropriate for a given situation. I may make the mistake of believing that something or someone is the case when in fact my beliefs are too limited to make an informed and proper decision about such—which could result in a range of detrimental consequences. And it is a good thing because our limits are what permit growth and development; they are what engenders learning, and importantly, re-learning. As a scientist, this excites me because it means that what I may know and discover today could very likely be supplanted tomorrow; something new is always waiting to be known—my current knowledge is only as firm and as confident as the knowledge I will acquire tomorrow. And tomorrow will always await.
23 March 2014
Certainty
Find yourself in the throes of despair and it will become painfully clear that an intractable symptom is the difficulty in trusting certainties, at least positive ones. But time and time again I rely on one particular certainty: that tomorrow always holds another day. The new day brings a new sun and with it the chance to try again, to win, to fight the darkness. This is the certainty that you can hold on to, the one that you can trust. And I wholly believe in this; I place my faith in every new day and in every new sun. Today the world may not be mine, but tomorrow...tomorrow the world waits to be won.
09 March 2014
The Individualist and the Wilderness
As an individualist I have a very strong affinity with the wilderness. I would wager that many other individualists have a similar relationship. Nature is where the individualist can assert his or herself without restriction; the individualist and the wilderness have an almost inextricable bond. And it is a strange thing: that my need for deep and encompassing connections with other individuals is somehow negated when in the wild, that removing myself from human contact leads to a (temporary) dissipation for attachment. Perhaps for the individualist the need for this connection is unnecessary when placed in the most primal of environments. Or perhaps it is really its grandest fulfilment, that what I connect with in the wilderness has definitions that go beyond the prescriptions of human attachment.
25 February 2014
Words for a Song II
There was a sudden silence and then an unlocking, a detaching of an entity from its corporeal foundations. Drifting away as the phases of time intermeshed. And all around there was a chill, one not discomforting but rather a receding growth—paradoxically warming.
M.M. — 25-Feb-2014
11 February 2014
Esoteric effusion
What intrigues me most: skirting on the boundaries of reason; colours of imperceptible light; the rhythms and oscillations of the universe's language; mind-voyages across seas of space-time; the conception, gestation and parturition of the I; leaping from stagnation and insipidity to erupting, star-streaking self-awakening; dwelling in the darkened deeps talking to thought and thoughts; solar soul, son of the sun; the beginnings and the ends and how it all rotates round the axis of zero-infinity; the knowing and the feeling; the cataracts of self-accepting love.
08 February 2014
Voyager
I wander 'mongst stars
Coursing round the Sun
Kinetic as a comet
Voyaging near and far
Time comes in revolutions
But I've been here
Since the beginning
Witness to cosmic dissolution
Travelling beams of light
From pulsar poles
To unknowns in black holes
Omniscient in mind and sight
Ex Tempore LXXV
M.M. — 08-Feb-2014
Coursing round the Sun
Kinetic as a comet
Voyaging near and far
Time comes in revolutions
But I've been here
Since the beginning
Witness to cosmic dissolution
Travelling beams of light
From pulsar poles
To unknowns in black holes
Omniscient in mind and sight
Ex Tempore LXXV
M.M. — 08-Feb-2014
06 February 2014
Breath of the Earth
The storms resurged,
recalling the time of first chaos.
The breath of the earth
heaved and heaved
as all the elements
wakened and stirred
as in the beginning.
Seas raged and tore themselves,
their abysses tumultuous
and untempered in darkness.
Lands of infant man quaked
as buttresses of his dominion
teetered on the brink
of rubble and dust.
Dust like the ash
left by hell-fires that raged
without abatement,
consuming aught and all
as propellant-sodden tinder.
Motion and upheaval
of this cataclysm
brought forth
the end and the beginning
of worlds of the past
and of the future.
Poem XL
M.M. — 06-Feb-2014
recalling the time of first chaos.
The breath of the earth
heaved and heaved
as all the elements
wakened and stirred
as in the beginning.
Seas raged and tore themselves,
their abysses tumultuous
and untempered in darkness.
Lands of infant man quaked
as buttresses of his dominion
teetered on the brink
of rubble and dust.
Dust like the ash
left by hell-fires that raged
without abatement,
consuming aught and all
as propellant-sodden tinder.
Motion and upheaval
of this cataclysm
brought forth
the end and the beginning
of worlds of the past
and of the future.
Poem XL
M.M. — 06-Feb-2014
30 January 2014
The Chemical Spirit
So this is what we have come to:
self-sustaining electro-biochemical systems in motion
coming or colliding together
and fracturing apart just as easily.
The infinity of thought
combusts a thousand-million times
in a thousand-million cells,
in undulations as the song
and voice of the universe.
And if our spirits be not material
but chemical,
we are connected still to each other
through the miracle of our creation
begun aeons ago in the dust
of the first star-light.
Poem XXXIX
M.M. — 30-Jan-2014
self-sustaining electro-biochemical systems in motion
coming or colliding together
and fracturing apart just as easily.
The infinity of thought
combusts a thousand-million times
in a thousand-million cells,
in undulations as the song
and voice of the universe.
And if our spirits be not material
but chemical,
we are connected still to each other
through the miracle of our creation
begun aeons ago in the dust
of the first star-light.
Poem XXXIX
M.M. — 30-Jan-2014
26 January 2014
Der Wanderer über dem Nebelmeer
Stand atop the heights of the world
And you stand alone
Here upon this place it is you and your fears
The mists below: the mysteries of the world
You have clambered and crawled and climbed
To reach this point
Through the mists and through the fears
And the exhilaration is dizzying
Through the mists and through the fears
And the exhilaration is dizzying
"I ran away from institutions
I owe myself life"*
You are the wanderer
And the sea of fog the shroud that lays over your life
You stand atop the heights of the world
And you stand alone
Ex Tempore LXXIV
M.M. — 26-Jan-2014
*Gojira, "L'enfant Sauvage"
You stand atop the heights of the world
And you stand alone
Ex Tempore LXXIV
M.M. — 26-Jan-2014
*Gojira, "L'enfant Sauvage"
16 January 2014
"I sped back and forth"
I sped back and forth
through time
searching eternity
for her.
Nothing but dust and
the cycling of heat
to measure the journey.
We lost one another
in the future,
in the past,
sometime when time
was particles or
absolute, motion-less cold.
Was she in between events,
in the lifetime of a moment?
Or stuck in the
void
of befores-and-afters?
Ex Tempore LXXIII
M.M. — 16-Jan-2014
through time
searching eternity
for her.
Nothing but dust and
the cycling of heat
to measure the journey.
We lost one another
in the future,
in the past,
sometime when time
was particles or
absolute, motion-less cold.
Was she in between events,
in the lifetime of a moment?
Or stuck in the
void
of befores-and-afters?
Ex Tempore LXXIII
M.M. — 16-Jan-2014
12 January 2014
You Can't Take the Sky from Me*
You can take my wealth
take my health
lead me to brink of death
Steal from me my sight
decimate my might
hurl my love into blackest night
Take these,
but you can't take the sky from me
Ex Tempore LXXII
M.M. — 12-Jan-2014
*Title from Capt. Malcom Reynolds (Serenity)
take my health
lead me to brink of death
Steal from me my sight
decimate my might
hurl my love into blackest night
Take these,
but you can't take the sky from me
Ex Tempore LXXII
M.M. — 12-Jan-2014
*Title from Capt. Malcom Reynolds (Serenity)
09 January 2014
Art and Science
Art and Science: the distance between them is a false one. To feel and to know are the halves of the essence of human being.
05 January 2014
The Life Story
Your life is the greatest story you could ever read. Why? Because it has all of it: There's adventure and humour, drama and suspense, love and tragedy, birth and death. What's more, the lessons that you can learn from it really do stick with you; there's just no skimming the book of life. And unlike any other book, you just can't flip to the end to see how it all turns out. What happens on the next page, the next chapter, is anyone's guess. And that's all at once pretty scary and exciting, I think!
"The dreams came back"
The dreams came back to haunt again,
and she was right at the fore of them.
A little older and wiser but still the same;
a thing entwined never really leaves.
Dancing with her in the summer rain;
it was a memory that never happened,
but one that held fast with iron chains.
Dancing under the sun one May day.
I consort with the night, slumberless,
and there in the dark her face shines.
She speaks words of starlight that bind,
to a dreamer wishing to be deaf and blind.
The dreamer must awaken or fall,
escape the dream-halls and end it all.
Or is there no end to the reverie?
No release for he who remains entralled?
Poem XXXIX
M.M. — 05-Jan-2014
and she was right at the fore of them.
A little older and wiser but still the same;
a thing entwined never really leaves.
Dancing with her in the summer rain;
it was a memory that never happened,
but one that held fast with iron chains.
Dancing under the sun one May day.
I consort with the night, slumberless,
and there in the dark her face shines.
She speaks words of starlight that bind,
to a dreamer wishing to be deaf and blind.
The dreamer must awaken or fall,
escape the dream-halls and end it all.
Or is there no end to the reverie?
No release for he who remains entralled?
Poem XXXIX
M.M. — 05-Jan-2014
01 January 2014
Love and Freedom
I believe that love is, in a sense, a form of freedom, an exhilarating freedom. This freedom comes from the realisation that you are accepted for who and what you are, whatever those may be. It can be a frightening thing to be who you really are, and for somebody to embrace you as you are is a truly remarkable thing. To someone you are the most brilliant of stars, twinkling in a colour that can only be perceived by that person. And this is of course reciprocated by you to the one you love. Love, then, is like a release, from the shackles of self-doubt, self-deprecation and loneliness; a release into a freedom where you can flourish and develop unrestricted. To love and to be loved is to be free.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)