Art In Many Forms

a 'caithris / the wake

This morning, awake
i hear your tones, not as a whisper, nor sunken dreamscape.
solid reality struck a chord, as i reach
out to touch known. expectant in explicit
connection. but you & all your rhythmic shapes, so full of energy
are absent.

from my chamber. loss [rings]
out. i know this place, the darkness recognises me. tomorrow screams
and sounds it's memory
in constant vibration. time
pays no heed to emotion lost,
tears hit the space between.
objects remind,
that you were. your watch sleeps silently ticking in another land, beside
my bed.
i touch connective warmth into
it's face, the face
that saw you live to ritual.

there is a stain, on my heart
i can't wash out.
drunk on vinegar, it remains
shadowed by the day after. when the world was new to me.
the first fall of snow, chilled b***d
gutted rooms. i [buried]
the daylight with your leaving. boxed love up.
that night i burnt summer in the backyard. ashes to ash,
& fed the weeds with love. all trace of us gone, i wait for your return. i know time will wake. recognising me in your face,
sensing movement,
inclined gravitation
offsetting the [un]balanced,
times hands will
[move]me on.

©kbain2018.

https://karenbain4.wordpress.com/2017/09/02/a-caithris-the-wake/

the clay / an crèadh

what we are is illusion
and all around a construct
of a dream or of a hell, dependent only on whichever end of the microscope
you’re looking through, been granted
access to. capitalists have
no power and yet hold all. full of false delusions, no insights, no light, no infinite—no witchcraft coursing through their hearts.
if indeed—they have a heart,
if indeed—it is possible for the hollow man
to have a soul, in which a heart resides and grows to bloom.
inside
a crumbling pile of dirt
or earth,
the clay —which is too natural the source of
life—for any hollow man. what is the earth when it dies ?
the plant that is deprived of light and life,
restricted in its growth, starved of nourishment and of the sun
and yet unlike the hollow man—it feels.
the earth brings forth and nurtures life, supports.
even the dead moon has a purpose,
comforts us in its light, shining a way out
through the darkness.

©kbain2019.

the clay / an crèadh https://karenbain4.wordpress.com/2019/09/22/the-clay-an-creadh/ via ‬