Blogs

Eyewitness

Still waiting for my saviour,

storms tear me limb from limb;

my fingers feel like seaweed...

I'm so far out I'm too far in.

I am a lonely man, my solitude is true

my eyes have borne stark witness

and now my nights are numbered, too.

I've seen the smiles on dead hands,

the stars shine, but they're not for me.



I prophesy disaster and then I count the cost...

I shine but, shining, dying,

I know that I am almost lost.

On the table lies blank paper

and my tower is built on stone

I only have blunt scissors,

I only have the bluntest home...

I've been the witness, and the seal of death

lingers in the molten wax that is my head.



When you see the skeletons

of sailing-ship spars sinking low

You'll begin to wonder if the points

of all the ancients myths

are solemnly directed straight at you...



Pictures/Lighthouse

(Eddies, rocks, ships, collision, remorse)



Eyewitness

No time now for contrition:

the time for that's long past.

The walls are thin as tissue and

if I talk I'll crack the glass.

So I only think on how it might have been,

locked in silent monologue, in silent scream.



I'm much too tired to speak

and, as the waves crash on the bleak

stones of the tower, I start to freak

and find that I am overcome...



S.H.M.

'Unreal, unreal' ghost helmsmen scream

and fall in through the sky,

not breaking through my seagull shrieks...

no breaks until I die:

the spectres scratch on window-slits -

hollowed faces and mindless grins

only intent on destroying what they've lost.



I crawl the wall till steepness ends

in the vertical fall;

my pain has sailed into the sea:

no joking hopes at dawn.

White bone shine in the iron-jaw mask

lost mastheads pierce the freezing dark

and parallel my isolated tower...

no paraffin for the flame

no harbour left to gain.



Presence of the Night / Kosmos Tours

'Alone, alone' the ghosts all call,

pinpoint me in the light.

The only life I feel at all

is the presence of the night.



Would you cry if I died?

Would you catch the final words of mine?

Would you catch my words?

I know that there's no time

I know that there's no rhyme...

false signs find me

I don't want to hate,

I just want to grow;

why can't I let me

live and be free?

but I die very slowly alone.

I know more ways,

I am so afraid,

myself won't let me

just be myself

and so I am completely alone...



The maelstrom of my memory

is a vampire and it feeds on me

now, staggering madly, over the brink I fall.



(Custard's) Last Stand

Lighthouses might house the key

but can I reach the door?



I want to walk on the sea

so that I may better find a shore...

but how can I ever keep my feet dry?

I scan the horizon

I must keep my eyes on all parts of me.



Looking back on the years

it seems that I have lost my way:

Like a dog in the night, I have run to a manger

now I am the stranger I stay in.

All of the grief I have seen

leaves me chasing solitary peace;

But I hold experience in my head...

I'm too close to the light

I don't think I see right, for I blind me...



The Clot Thickens

Where is the God that guides my hand?

How can the hands of others reach me?

When will I find what I grope for?

Who is going to teach me?

I am me / me are we / we can't see

any way out of here.

Crashing sea - a trophied history:

Chance has lost my Guinevere...



I don't want to be one wave in the water

But sea will drag me deep

One more haggard drowned man...



I can see the lemmings coming,

but I know I'm just a man;

Do I join or do I founder?

Which can is the best I may?

I never thought it could come to this,

as you sit there crying,

hanging on with your fingertips

to something that's already dead.

Now we're into a game

and it's all a bit strange.



Once on a time we were sincere;

now, we're acting charades,

hiding behind cracked images

from other people's stages;

now, we're into a game,

and it's all a bit strange,

but familiar, too...

the rules never change; I know it, but do you?



I've seen it all before,

and this play no longer moves me,

but the closing of a door

is never easy

You stare out in yellow eyes larger than my mind;
in viscous pools of joy, relaxing, we glide...
it's all too beautiful
for my mind to bear.
and, as we shimmer into sleep, something's unshared.

But, seeing the flower that was there yesterday,
a tear forms just behind the soft peace of your shades...
The world's too lonely
for a message to slip
but between the dying rails of peace
you trip.

The petals that were blooming are just paper in your hand;
your eyes, which were clear in the night, are opaque as you stand...
It was too beautiful
for it to last...
These visions shimmer and fade out of
the glass.

Sometimes you feel so far away,

distanced from all the action of the play,

unable to grasp significance,

marking the plot with diffident dismay,

stranded at centre stage,

scrabbling through your diary for a lost page:

unsure of the dream.

Kicking a stone across the beach,

aching for love and comfort out of reach:

the way ahead seems to be so bleak,

there's no-one with any friendship left to speak

or show any relation

between your present and future situations...

lost to the dream.

Away, away, away--look to the future day

for hope, some form of peace

within the growing storm.

I climb through the evening,

alive and believing

in time we shall all know our goals

and so, finally, home;

for now, all is secret -

though how could I speak it,

allow me the dream in my eye!

I've been waiting for such a long time

just to see it at last, all of the hands tightly clasped,

all of us pilgrims.

Walking in silence down the coast,

merely to journey - here hope is the most,

merely to know there is an end;

all of us - lovers, brothers, sisters, friends

hand in hand.

Shining footprints on the wet sand

lead to the dream.

The time has come, the tide has almost run

and drained the deep: I rise from lifelong sleep.

It seems such a long time

I've dreamed but now, awake,

I can see we are pilgrims and so

must walk this road,

unknown in our purpose,

alone, but not worthless,

and home ever calling us on.

We've been waiting here for so long,

all of our hands joined in hope,

holding the weight on the rope

all of us pilgrims.