Skip to main content

Silence 2

 

Silence 2

 

I dream of the orange-red-blue coals of my childhood or is it my future?

I sat on one line a while determined not to rush, well actually just dog tired & sleepy

I’m trying to work with silence, the quiet where as yet I haven’t found the rhythm

Well there are many pauses for starters, we must walk away from the poem & do something else

You cannot force things, as forcing things makes a clunky sound, like someone helping you through gritted teeth

Prepare for such noises as you grow older & require caring for

Relax the temples lower the shoulders seek not to possess the rhythm

The problem for man is once he’s located an idea, he seeks to narrow the perspective & frame

& cease being attuned

One must remove expectations, caring not if the poem is written or not,

If anything real is to be achieved beyond merely completing a task at the cost of existence/nature

I had combative dreams last night & woke up angry, maybe that’s why this isn’t quite working

I’m too full of rinse to be able to dream the clear & enter by the eye & ear towards silence

God help empty me of my chagrin I want to begin with an open breast

But wanting to listen is not the same thing as a selfless ear, not passive but attuned

There’s now stripey leggings in my periphery which is different

Sometimes it takes an action of another or nature to enliven the quiet

To let it feel fresh again, like the fizz of a rare lemonade to an 8 year old child

It’s 8.14am & some coloured light has come to meet the grey outside

It rained much of the night, my night of dreaming about fights & arguing my case

But today, the shackle to public opinion is rightly undoing & I seek to become tender to my enquiry

My experiment with my local environment, what I can see over the fence

I guess yesterday popped a little coz there was a little fiction, it sounds like I’m taking myself

Way too seriously & so my chainsaw sings a funny song in actions like charades, my silent crystal & titanium chainsaw

& the light comes out behind the veil of curtain nevertheless the morning is brighter now 8.22.

I wanna put some music on now, this baby is cooked.

 

 

Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

“I didn’t know!”

  “I didn’t know!”   Don’t get me wrong In a Two Party preferred system  I have no choice but to give preferences to Labor The Coalition are scum But Jacinta Allen, Victorian Premier Claimed in a Truth Telling Commission that she never knew about massacres Of Indigenous people in the state She’d never looked up The history of her country The history of the state she leads She’s Premier! She leads a department that ‘manages Indigenous affairs’ We are currently in the process of negotiating a Treaty What did she think happened to all the Aboriginal people?! They went up to live up the Magic Faraway Tree? “No one told me!” No one ever told me either I fuckin researched It was really easy Took 10 minutes There’s this new thing called the Internet & you search stuff up Like History A subject no longer taught in many schools past year 7 I deduced a lot from observing the place & how allergic we are of looking at ourselves ...

‘The Garden of Love’

  ‘The Garden of Love’ (after William Blake)   Some young punk Tryin to be ‘hard’ Pussyole! with his mate Said “no flowers!” I was holding some wildflowers To put in my vase at the apartment I asked him “why not?” He said nothing That’s right keep walking bish! To bloodclot! I don’t walk around defensive So I’m not quick to attack I’d rather they think about it themselves ‘Without flowers there is no life’ He dreams Try that on for size ‘You say “no!” to flowers & you say “no!” to life’ Echoed on the wind 'You can’t eat money!' Unity & Devision He hears across the wires 'Not that way!... ... why have you forsaken us?' He feels the ancestors   & again I am reminded of Blake’s ‘The Garden of Love’*   Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.   * The Garden of Love By  William Blake I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, W...

Though it made me a poet

Though it made me a poet   This is a superior microwave to the last if  everything has to be a competition I guess it does! In the Kafkaesque vortex Where one is trying merely to ask a question Instead one is sold something I’m monastic or have acute anxiety Anxiety is pretty cute Like a decapitated bleeding brain Covered in snails turned carnivore By the wrack & ruin of a child’s innocence The fist in the sister’s face The knife in the wall Did I imagine the latter, dream it or see it? Who threw it? Must have been the bowie Still life goes on So I went to school the next morning & got my mouth taped up For being a chatterbox Such is the life of a privileged 5 year old It made me a poet     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.