Beyond Boundaries

Never a truer word…

Mon, 07 May 2012 08:57:48 +0100

Never a truer word…

Musing I

Thu, 19 Apr 2012 21:36:05 +0100

Today: time spent trying not to let life happen while I was too busy doing other things!

Somehow, there was, in the back of my mind, the notion that I was certainly in the wrong place and definitely at the wrong time.

There is no replacement for the happy chatter of children eager to share their day, the peal of their keen and quick description; words stumbling over each other to describe the green car painted or the outcome of show-and-tell.

Today, I was definitely in the wrong place and certainly at the wrong time - and then I wasn’t…

ASJ Perera / 19 April 2012

Unanswerable

Wed, 04 Apr 2012 22:24:28 +0100

Is each moment like the wind,

laying its warm or icy hands upon each soul before passing through?

Is it there and then gone? Or, is it like an hourglass,

Running a stream of sand, whose quantity is unknown?

If so, how many grains are left until the last?

If every breath is like these falling flecks of gold,

Where do they collect at hour’s end?

Perhaps each leaf of an enchanted tale animates our hours.

If so, are we our own heroes?

Or, will divine intervention imbue our good books

To send a saviour; an unassuming cameraman,

One who will capture ungainly moments in sepia tones.

Will we inhale his musky scent, while pasting each inky print

Into our albums? Will we peal with wheezing laughter

Later on, lapping sweet, reminiscent treats

And walk our fingers through these pages.

Will we ever hold a moment’s fullest worth?

ASJ Perera/ 4 April 2012

"Poetry is eternal graffiti written in the heart of everyone."

Sun, 01 Apr 2012 19:33:38 +0100

“Poetry is eternal graffiti written in the heart of everyone.”

- Lawrence Ferlinghetti (via ikilledjackjohnson)

Nude Patents

Sun, 01 Apr 2012 19:29:47 +0100

Nude Patents

There they stood –

Nude patent three-inch beauties,

Backlit by white fluorescence.

Winking in the retail light;

I thought I was in love.

Bowled over

by their cocktail waitress form

Atop their cocky, creamy stems.

In my throat, glee bobbed up and down

As their cool patent pressed against my palm.

That night, their pale purity

Flushed now and then a deeper hue

On the balmy terrace.

Buttery bulbs of tulips lit the table.

Gilded strings of glowing cherry tubers

Hung over our heads,

Shuddering and juddering to

The breeze and jazzy pulse of Armstrong’s

Hooting horn blowing a hoolie

Inside; assailing the slick and chequered mirror-shine floor.

That harlequin Harlem haunt hid the gouges

Of each heavy stiletto scrape,

Each catty scratch, proclaiming lindy-hopping,

Bouncing buoyancy. Ella’s oaky tones smoke each

Pair of bending bodies till they wilt.

Beneath the subtle undulation of our white table cloth,

Those patent heels tip-tapped to the tip-top tick-tock.

Nude sling-backs strum the flagstones; glossy gloves

For silken toes that wiggle in their hold,

Winking in the heady night; I thought I was in love.

Words to live by!

Sun, 01 Apr 2012 18:03:21 +0100

Words to live by!

laughingsquid: Disco Ball Helmet Reminds me of Walker!

Sat, 31 Mar 2012 21:08:59 +0100

laughingsquid:

Disco Ball Helmet

Reminds me of Walker!

ilovereadingandwriting: (via Tips for writing a blog - how to...

Fri, 30 Mar 2012 19:37:12 +0100

ilovereadingandwriting:

(via Tips for writing a blog - how to overcome writers block - Little Miss Momma)

Once you learn, you never forget how!

Fri, 30 Mar 2012 19:32:47 +0100

Once you learn, you never forget how!

Photo

Sun, 25 Mar 2012 11:59:51 +0100

Photo

Sat, 17 Mar 2012 22:34:28 +0000

Trial by Fire

Sat, 17 Mar 2012 22:06:00 +0000

Each bite was sharp, as I remember:

Tiny teeth gnawing ferociously, harbouring

the greed that is bred into their instincts.

Their bodies glistened, swollen and bulbous.

I would’ve liked to hold one, struggling,

between thumb and forefinger -

and simply squash.

I imagined the round redness of its bottom

bulging under the pressure of what must seem

like giant pincers - then buckling.

Bursting like a blueberry, spurting

blue-black sweetness over my offending palm.

Caught red-handed? You could say it was;

innate.

At first immune to the growing map of bite marks

on my feet and ankles, I came to stark awareness

once the sticky mess was spilled. The stomping of my feet

shook their foundations, just as the chewing of their jaws

threw my balance; but I retraced my route.

Back on the verandah, surveying their resilience,

was I the victor?

ASJ Perera/ 17 March 2012

Antidote?

Sat, 10 Mar 2012 22:35:45 +0000

Antidote?

ode to blowd up hope

Sat, 10 Mar 2012 22:30:46 +0000

blue:

eleven eyes of yours
reflect themselves endlessly,
the countless remainder dreamily
shut.

nature
soils herself
at the sight of you—

strawberry teeth
that immaculate smile.

as you enter,
emaciated skeletons
and affable man-whales alike
perish instantaneously;
the former of desire,
the latter, of fulfillment.

one soft word
incites gathered masses to riot,
frightens nearby leviathans,
and stops a potential infinite
in its tracks.

Capsule

Sat, 10 Mar 2012 22:19:00 +0000

Where are the caps you’ll press to your skulls,

With their visors as shields from midday laser beam rays?

And the caps you’ll fill in your guns, cool metal to palms,

Open cradle for shells, the capsules of mortality.

Where are the caps you’ll press to plastic

Cylinders of candy capsules, antidote to ailing flesh?

They radiate the call of remedy

To shaking hands, desperate for reprieve .

Preventative, pre-emptive, pro-active, reactive,

Combative, collective, eclectic, corrective…

They rattle like maracas to the rhythm of your wrist;

Eager tremors meeting grateful grasp.

Popping, bursting, small explosion.

Sedately covers calm conversion.

ASJ Perera/ 10 March 2012

Connectivity

Sat, 26 Feb 2011 19:41:13 +0000

Connectivity

Radiohead - High and Dry

Tue, 22 Feb 2011 22:57:00 +0000

Radiohead - High and Dry

Renga of Solitude

Tue, 22 Feb 2011 22:25:00 +0000

Bereft of feeling;

Emptiness is the hollow,

Tinny echo left

When emotion has

Been replaced. It’s the desert

Of searching; yearning

To be found intact.

It’s the farthest point from home

You will ever know.

ASJ Perera/ 22 February 2011

This poem is a tribute to someone I love...

Fri, 18 Feb 2011 21:29:00 +0000

Tribute

Maisie K of the tenth day -

Your freshness brings the Spring

Even prior to its burgeoning.

In your arms, I played.

For there, God’s spirit wings.

In gaudy, printed cotton shifts,

I revelled in the gowns

Your deft hands found

The time to smock and stitch.

For there, I found my crown.

Those soft, broad straps were made

Like the velvet of your touch,

Slowing me when I rushed

Where angels feared to tread.

I never balked the cloth you chose.

Swaddled in red and blue,

Patchwork-print, batik in ochre,

I could walk the whole day over

My brick-fronted porch of maroon.

I see us sitting on its steps, my one and only.

Flaming, hard-shelled seeds

Were what I filled in uneven, glass bottles

Till you scooped them into fabric triangles

That your expert hands then sealed.

I never ate what you said not to; berries picked and berries squashed

Have never passed my lips.

O, to hold just one creation of your hands,

To feel the silky folds of those toast-brown wands

That cast their magic in invisible wisps.

O you, the bringer of peace.

Maisie K of the tenth day -

The porridge you stirred

Still churns in oaty swirls

Within my bowl, from my larder bay.

Each milky flake is your essence.

Only since my own blue-eyed gem

Have I learned your sweet and salty ways

Of wooden-spoon forays

Into worlds of frilly, dolly clothes and the fixing of frayed hems

Your lessons are not lost in me.

The ring of blue around each knowing eye

Always accepted, always expected

Talent - and I performed, resurrected

To wholeness by your side.

In you, I was sufficient in the realms of ‘good enough’.

Your blouse was always talcum-fresh

Bracelets tinkling at your wrists

They held the golden hue of fairytales.

Your slender calves and ankles led

To the soft-soled padding of your slippers.

Maisie K of the tenth day -

The whirring of your sewing machine

To the pedalling of your feet

Is where my worship now must lay;

To your curly-headed safe embrace is where my soul retreats.

ASJ Perera/ 18 February 2011

"The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul set on fire."

Sun, 13 Feb 2011 22:46:04 +0000

“The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul set on fire.”

- Ferdinand Foch (via thingssheloves)