...and perhaps you will discover that these things which lightened your days were not as bright as first imagined, but that the illusion had more conviction than the illumination, and in the dying light and disorientation the darkness passed each of your senses through the aperture of the new: the flesh; the structures; the worn artefacts of the world became a braille for your lovely hands.

All Posts Categorised "Poetry"

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• 
  by
  Jé Maverick
  
  Sunday, September 26, 2010
  Even now,

  I want to speak to you of dreams

  and their rigor mortis, of hands

  and their inabilities

  to scoop anguish – their

  abject failure

  to trace the lines of ugliness

  with any grace…
  Read more
  
• 
  by
  Jé Maverick
  
  Saturday, September 25, 2010
  On a beach in Sausalito,

  damp with skirts of ebb

  and flow,

  you etched my name with your

  heart and the bounty

  of the sea.

  Sand dollars,

  driftwood,

  sea glass,

  dreams,

  all conspired on

  a barefoot afternoon

  to spell me out:

  my name in the sand,

  my name in the powdered earth,

  you sang me free -

  gave me the timeless

  song of things

  worn down by the undertow,

  of edges

  softened by the current,

  of fruit rounded by the unceasing motion

  of the breakers,

  by the phases of

  the ardent moon…
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• 
  by
  Jé Maverick
  
  Friday, September 24, 2010
  How light, we rise; how dark, we fall,

  imprisoned puppets in the squall

  of life: how do we cope at all

  with every tweaking string?

  The way we break, the way we bend,

  the games we play at and pretend,

  those days we think we’ll never mend,

  or ever bear to sing…
  Read more
  
• 
  by
  Jé Maverick
  
  Thursday, September 23, 2010
  At the submillimetre level, things can look shaky to the even-handed

  twenty/twenty visionaries in all of us. For stability to be ensured,

  only a man (who are essentially calm) should attempt to navigate

  a course for the masses to follow, and even then he must be in

  the company of ten good men. Men of sound minds. Men of faultless

  instruments. Men who chart off the graph in terms of their belief.

  Rituals can’t be bought with pennies. That’s how it unravels, and the ultimate

  reason to have so many witnesses. To climb the mountain you need the support.

  To lay siege to the fortress you first need an enemy. And to suck the

  marrow from the Lord’s grey bone you can’t be an isolato. You need the comfort of many,

  for if you are daunted with the presence of his face, if you are shaved with the sharp

  wit of his sermon, you will need good men to brace you.
  Read more
  
• 
  by
  Jé Maverick
  
  Wednesday, September 15, 2010
  Just four letters in a mouth,

  you are a swollen word,

  an impregnable word,

  a dazzling swarm.

  A toast to all things:

  to the shape of men;

  the fathomless water

  of women;

  to the song in the damp earth,

  to the light,

  the heady air;

  the lotus bud; the grape; to the

  pitch of a note; to the memory

  of green days; to nights, thick

  with celestial bodies

  and the cries of the newly born…
  Read more
  
• 
  by
  Jé Maverick
  
  Monday, July 26, 2010
  So, I must have woken closer to the sun than ever

  because it’s needling the back of my eyes

  in harsher and more complicated ways than before,

  and this headache is so phenomenal

  that I feel like framing it and hanging it

  as an example to all who complain in the future.

  I’ll refer to it as the great headsplitter of ’10

  a pain among pains, women will weep and men will wince

  when they hear my tale. It’s not the hangover,

  but this proximity to the sun, which is, I guess,
  Read more
  
• 
  by
  Jé Maverick
  
  Sunday, July 25, 2010
  It was a vast country

  where the strangers ignore you

  so much that you doubt your own presence.

  They are all in Love too:

  bumping into things,

  forgetting to eat,

  whistling and smiling unconsciously

  while looking into space.
  Read more
  
• 
  by
  Jé Maverick
  
  Friday, July 23, 2010
  It rises from Its bed.

  It walks to the door.

  It opens the door.

  It walks out of the door.

  It closes the door.

  It walks down a hallway.

  At the end of the hallway It turns left into a kitchen.

  It turns the light on in the kitchen.

  It walks to the counter on which the kettle is placed.

  It turns off an electricity socket on the wall.
  Read more
  
• 
  by
  Jé Maverick
  
  Thursday, July 22, 2010
  You can only flourish

  beyond the reach of words –

  past articulation:

  inscrutable; transcendent.
  Read more
  
• 
  by
  Jé Maverick
  
  Tuesday, March 30, 2010
  Neck:

  river of life,

  thick vine

  of sublime flesh,

  volatile succulent -

  your secrets

  are Creation’s

  sacred crafting…
  Read more