Edging along the eastern hills
The slow insinuation of light
Gathers to a red stamp that seals
The promise: everything will be alright.

No sceptic can accept this though.
Atmospheric and astronomical
Phenomena like dawn convey no
Epistolary or psychological

Assurances, not while science rules.
What we see there is gravity at work,
Photon-excited molecules.
There is no real contrast between light and dark.

All the same what we see the heart
Illuminates with meanings we don’t own,
The mind a pop-up book on art
We cannot, if we wanted to, fold down

Without ourselves being shut up too.
So when the dawn speaks to us, what it says
Is nothing revolutionary, new,
Nor worn out or burned out just – always.

.

---

Like all my stuff, this might be reworked later but it looks good for now. It reflects on a moment that we all share and it bubbles along like the dawn itself in a matter of fact kind of way. We are all shaped by scientific scepticism yet we all retain cultural meanings developed by previous generations, so we are all a bit schizophrenic really.

Current draft: 26 August 2015

What you see is what I see,
What you see through me,
My reflection in your glass
Tattooed with trees and grass,

Here looking out, there looking in,
Window made of skin,
World a room turned inside out,
Brilliantly thin with doubt,

What is ending, what is starting,
Joining where, where parting,
Who dissolving, who created,
All born all annihilated

In one great outburst of bright light,
Seeing and in sight,
No God shouting thou shalt not,
Just Adam wondering what?

.

---

Another short poem while I work on the novel. I think the universe must really be like looking at ourselves through a window. Identities are confused by their totality. We humans are unique in our ability to distinguish ourselves clearly. The Fall is a night where we see only the reflection. Yes there is more that could be done with this poem.

Current draft:

August 26 2015

The stuff our ring is made of must be strong
Enough to bend but not so as to break,
Common enough to seem of common make
Of course but those who think so will be wrong.

Its design? Unequivocal among
The cognoscenti. Ignorance may take
It for a platitude, never a fake.
Above all else, this ring does not belong.

Rather this ring owns all that lies beyond
Its little circle, brings the world outside
Inside its circle, brings the sceptic round
To its perspective, everything onside,

Like ripples spreading from a stone we fling.
Who can withstand us once we are this ring?

.

---

Conspiracies are not always deliberate. People form groups very casually without understanding the directions the group is taking. Their solidarity is intuitive.

Current edit: 26 August 2015

Fire fills a skirt of grass
To keep itself warm
As evil looking clouds pass
By bringing up a storm.

I’m burning off a pile
Of dry, old garden scraps
I’ve stored up for a while,
A year or two perhaps,

Standing here with the hose,
Keeping things in control,
Relying, if this fails, on those
Clouds to play the role

Of villain in the wings,
A black hat and black heart,
The vampire with his fangs
Out for a bit of skirt,

In case the fire breaks free
And sets my house alight,
Bungalow in between
Bungalows left and right

In a world full of nice
Neighbours and homely scenes,
Where the old anger tries
Not to say what it means.

.

---

Here I am writing about a back yard fire I lit while the storm clouds were approaching. I chose that moment to ensure I kept control of the fire as there was a lot of dead grass and it could easily have got away from me. Such moments always operate like metaphors. Current edit: 26 August 2015