Month: December 2018

said the starlight, to the sea

so said the starlight, to the sea, do you know where all rivers lead? what could you hope to know of me? i’m far above you. out of reach. i sing the music of the spheres, and every dawn, i disappear, oh, cosmic lyre, into the fire, that all things come from. ever higher. responds the sea, pellucidly, don’t you know? you are part of me. we rise and fall symmetrically, there’s so much, still, you’ve yet to see. your glow, reflected on my surface? the exhaled breath of universes. and that’s your path, your shining purpose, celestial child, to learn what love is.       (i will never ever finish my album if i keep insisting on adding new songs. to the sea!)


azurite night, speckled with starlight, and i’ve a bowl of banded pebbles from beesands beach. and the new year is now, almost, within reach. soon, there’ll be snowdrops, wild strawberries, spring, which is sort of the same as everything! (dawn after dark)

conformal (a circle of circles)

there is a whole world built in mystery, from sulfur, salt, and mercury that hides between the ones you see in cyclical exultancy. perihelion, so perfectly, for a moment, it comes close to me, so said the starlight, to the sea, do you know where all rivers lead?     christmas evening, everyone is sleeping, and i just found a rocky mountain columbine, petals torn and pressed between the pages of an old, abandoned, sketchbook.  i’m reading an article about how the correct topology of cyclic cosmology might in fact be circle in circle, and i think i like the idea. that way, everything begins at the end, and there’s not a beginning at all. i’ve drunk far too much champagne.  

december diaries

* december 24th. it’s christmas eve, finally. there are silver star sequins, chestnut peelings, all over the floor, the turkey is swimming in a bath with star anise, the children are adorable, extremely excited, but sleeping now, and i’m trying to decide whether the word synodic is acceptable for use in a song. probably not, but i’ve tuned the top two strings of my guitar down a touch, and it’s as if an entirely new world has opened up, E A D G A D. these december days, so far, have been soft-focused in fog, muted by mist, there’s been frustratingly little frost this month, and no snow, but most mornings are silver soft, raindrops, pared back beauty, slow and sleepy. and, i’ve been feeling as if i’ve love spilling out of me, more even than usual, more than i know what to do with, and that touches everything, life-affirming, but in a delicate way. i think i’m too much of a romantic. i’ll have to work on this.  * i hardly sleep, and when i do, more often than not, i find my way, eventually, to a silver tossing sea. sometimes, it swallows me. once …

these are the memories that will sink into light

this is where the hope is, winter solstice, cold moon, ursids. reflect, take a deep breath, and then look ahead, these are the memories that will sink into light. and i’m breathing cloud into the evening, as around me, the finest rain is falling, radiant and reflected flecks of gold and amber, barely even there, suspended in mid-air. (i’ve three candles burning, beeswax, i’m learning, and chamomile crushed in a cup). 1. may every day touch upon that trembling genesis of inspiration. 2. may the star-shaped sequins that have spilt themselves all over the floor form a trail. 3. may the pine needles please not drop all at once. 4. may the coming months bring me stormy days in misty and mossy places, watercolour paints, and sunday tea breaks, with cake, of course. 5. may those who have come before, and those who will come after, move tangibly, watch over, guide, me. 6. and, may the chestnuts i’ve been peeling, boiling, soaking in vanilla syrup, actually be worth eating.

desert diaries

there is a flowing light, a numinous beauty, that brightens and stills everything around me its gaze holds for a moment, then opens up something, incommunicable, eternal, anchoring in this city, everything is exaggerated. it’s monsoon season, dizzying humidity (even silk and air conditioning isn’t enough for me), and every other evening, the 17-years-asleep cicadas singing in the rosewood shade tree, the one that so very kindly casts its shadow on my burning concrete balcony, are silenced only by the rumbling sounds of another approaching thunderstorm. we are forewarned. could i slip away, quiet? keep myself as a secret? a long drive in the desert … it will all arrive, soon enough. sweeping 60mph winds, southerly, gathering waves or a wall of dust, to rain down upon, or near-suffocate, all of us. lightning will split the sky in a dozen places all at once, and i’ll draw back the blinds, fill the kettle, light a candle, carefully position the most comfortable cushion on the cold and cracking white-tiled floor, and watch. even the neon will …

strontium and spark

the last of a lilac twilight. countryside rushing by the window of my high-speed train, and i’m wondering, again, maybe this is how life is: the most beautiful things, we just get a glimpse of. still, to even be here at all is to break the dark with showers of strontium and spark, is to set the sky alight so that we might pierce even the most frozen november night.

at starcross station

at starcross station, sometimes hidden rivers looking like silver ribbons surrender themselves to the ocean. it’s an ancient conversation, saltwater, and stone. there’s a sonorous space in me. in fact, it spills over everything, and i’d like to seperate it. write songs for the sea! strange, back and forth melodies. haunting, or holy? i think the waves might be decorated time. we are surrounded by stillness. deep breath, then, dive. there’s dust dancing in the sunlight, that’s pouring through the window.

shadow and spire

life. shadow and spire. something leaps like myth from the fire, and carries you higher. — on a midwinter’s evening, i promised forever i had mistletoe clasped between nervous fingers though the fog falls in curtains, i’ve a path lit with lanterns and a string of stars guiding me home.

how light behaves

this place is drenched in divinity, it’s hidden just under everything. my thoughts split themselves into infinity, as if cabalistic commentary. meaning, direction, escaping me. so, i’m 2am tiptoeing threadbare carpets, scattered haphazard on creaking oak floorboards, tealights in lanterns glow soft gentle yellow, and i’m whispering prayers to the ancient and spectral. (i’ve always adored just how light behaves, how it moves through the world in mysterious ways)