Fragile Plates

Giorgio di Chiricho

Down the fifty drawn vacuum pipes
His last run was timed out
It made him drown up the sacred crown
Longing for glory again
Nothing got swayed – nothing of note
Tired of the decrepit drone ballads
He took a trip lying down in an oval-shaped plain
In the next life it would be a sapphire bowl
Of purple fruit low hanging in cryptic labyrinths
The gutter bites
The knife and then the swipes
Locked doors and slashed faces
Ships re-built in bombed out yards
The grain now the high gain
The shooting crafts on mercy street
The brawls of crimson faded grey
Distraught lovers laugh
Even though it is no game
Crazy hearse-chamber minds
Sabotaging time
Like a miner dealt the worst hand
His next mission is to kill now the thrill is botched
Until the lever breaks
And all kings, paupers, astronauts and pitchforks
Are strewn on a level field of play

 

By Nicholas Peart

Written on 2nd May 2018

(c)All Rights Reserved 

 

Image: Painting by Giorgio de Chirico

 

All Strong In A Silent Plain

IMG_0089

Lion channels low under solemn crow glides

the real beast crashing too hard

I saw marks all over the parish floor

the uniform conformed emotion

risks like snake bites

an area of fear untouched

perhaps locked for eternity

as ever I see death in countless eyes

I muster all physical and mental strength to pray

and on top in the most tender of ways

spiritual inter-cosmic multitasking

until my brain collapses and candles surround me

an unusual death to dwell on

where grains have no meaning and screams are forever muted

love vanishing to the naked eye

but to the third eye only so much one can stand

it cannot be but walking on air with his breath the key

all signals unfurl and unleash the dreams of golden days

but journeys back can rock the core too much

even if all risks must stain and fear be embraced.

Arms to fruitless mother milk

with four white pristine horses ready to glow a shade of bright blinding white

an eclipse purity

my loving sometimes got in the way

and my chains were my companions in disguise

my dangerous impulses not so strong anymore

purple skies appear when they want

but every phenomenon is a more profound gift

my new responsibility is to sharpen my listening

my most cherished love

I am here and I won’t bolt

by my bedside my heart and refreshed brain wait

I have nothing but time

To read our lines

our back spaces

these holy chests most people bury

mine are in the public domain

don’t be scared and don’t try

after all

everybody makes tunnel love

but many make war light-bright

private love

public war

a duality of insanity

a unity of nothing

I shut my eyes and roll to the next day

every meaningful marble with me always

tall lightweight pendulum rocks

each swing a new interval

but my mind is a landscape the same as it ever was

I don’t leave the hill

I feign no emotion

like a statue still

only the pouring acid rain can shift me

yet electric minds can fix and propel me

all the while pouring out the hole

old laws applied to obtuse staccato barrel drones

no motion

for the fuel to rise above the needle of colour-sound

the brakes are off

multiple claw-ladders await and before I ask the first top-sphere question

I become part of the full uni-vertigo trip

top bop-trad-time-forte

meta-moves (a web of new coordinates)

all strong in a silent plain

 

by Nicholas Peart

17th January 2016

©All rights reserved

Image: Driftwood (2012) by Nicholas Peart

Life File

IMG_0085

In the limited train of life
all eyes point to invisible glory
a self conquest over great city fires
along the tow-line never straight
inside I watch and photograph
with my bloodstream the current
then I bend down to salvage a fresh severed leaf
turning it inward
I waste no energy
I let the wind, the sun and the rain speak
in this way the connection is made
kingdoms dissolve whilst spirits lift or crash
no dice required
only a clean mind and a warm heart
then it can start all over in a white room
and not overloaded in a junk shop
now the prized question is asked;
how can the unconscious shine brighter?
and the conscious be dimmed?
or;
how can the dark be killed?
and let there only be light?
all files should be minded
all sides of life relished
killing one for the other
then you must return to the core and try harder my friend
too much light blinds
in darkness there can be energy
restoration
savouring and making the dark your ally only makes light more delightful
and life of more value
precious
like the air we breathe and the water we drink

 

by Nicholas Peart

Written: 19th January 2016

©All Rights Reserved

Image: Equator Line (2014) by Nicholas Peart
Location: Macapá, Brazil

Acceptance

IMG_0088

In the grinder (growth stage) room
unrested but still on the pulse and breath
my uneven face stares beyond the vanishing point
my amygdala overworked in an unrequited sweatshop way
sounds of random degrees
big boil messes on ruptured lands
longing for England’s greenest fields
yet turning your back on it’s rotting core
but this begs the question;
has it changed or have I changed?
has the light inside of me gone bankrupt?
in the most dense of doubt I pull the plug out of my brain until tomorrow
a new day;
always a gamble
yet on a new day
love can be king again
sometimes my imagination and sense of wonder are all I have
yet when the wolves of this mental arena are singing
I feel like nothing can stand in my way
sharp blinding sparks dart
in the middle form show
as the next stem grows
and poison paths trick
life’s complexities hum
yet why cry?
if adventure is your calling?

A broken note ripples
as others slide and burn out
my eyes fall on the final act
before the curtains close all systems;
of varying degrees of harmony
the temptation to run explodes
but why am I running?
what and whom am I running from?
who am I?

I crawl the floor
fragments of my broken cup surround me
I don’t have the strength to mend it
as I drift into the white
and sleep til kingdom come

A torn burnt sky appears
the beat of life goes on
then the sun blesses other corners
dogs keep barking
low clouds hold on
my grass a modest hue of green
yet this side is very gentle
I smile and wish the best for all
my body and mind 500 stations from the haywain

 

by Nicholas Peart

21st January 2016

(All rights reserved)

Image: Water Lily Pond (after Monet) (2014) by Nicholas Peart
Location: Nieuw Amsterdam, Surinam

Only You

IMG_0108

The uni-vow
no sacred hill needed
no prominent monument
only you
and the you inside of you
the message stays the same
and the sharp neon points remain to be found
all a quest but seldom in vein
by the end fame and glory are of no hold
the process and the filth and the fire and the heat;
are the gains of wild imagination
the friendly ghosts and faithful angles of truth and beauty
of song and dance
measures and corners shot
the limit snapped
tall tree sanctuaries
tall tellers
smoothing the way from blue
polishing the dirt
making a full body and gem of you

 

by Nicholas Peart

24th January 2016

(All rights reserved)

 

Image: Electric Blue (after Dan Favin) (2013) by Nicholas Peart

Long Ago On Differing Paths

IMG_0104

Long ago on differing paths
by my torched chest and pierced side
black blood in high pressure jets
past the sacred bend
my love up on the endless roof
plateau smashing and attention grabbing
all rubbed to meet the grade
how we could talk in these tones
his sharp teeth boned-proof
in a silent faded space
nothing overgrown stands in our way
lathed light bolts potent;
great happiness clues
from me to you

 

by Nicholas Peart

21st March 2016

©All rights reserved

 

Image: The Last Stand Of The Claw Relics (2015) by Nicholas Peart

 

 

Funeral Pyres Of Fantastic Disguise

IMG_0189

Through different glass slides of my existence
bailout blackout days
in hand with garden delights
or is it my mind that sets the controls?

We instinctively and without thinking and awareness
say something is good or bad
delicious or rotten
beautiful or ugly
a gas or unbearable
but is this all in our minds?

Holy dove prayers
shut books and creased faces
kicked boxes with emotion wires
multi foliate metropolises
growth mistaken for regression
hollow fame and smokey dreams
psychedelic views colour the air

All the more inside
it had cherished it’s time
where ‘no’ is the elusive ring
and hard wheat with strand strength
smashed the platinum gates.
The doors wretched…
unclear love in translucent light
cheap happiness in false time
higher planets turn and abandon cries
from ages left behind
the strong bounce of new horizons
future creatures bent on banishment than beauty
the higher stairs stand strong
all cravings pulse then whimper
small blossoms of victory for all
familiar shadows of humble high connection matter
stewed flights of envied fancy;
nothing but a fool’s pool
a come-down calling;
clunked in over-observed glitter dust
the light trick the eternal life trick
reality a mundane non stop silence
most noise an illusion and loss temptation
a distraction from un-heeded space;
the stage when the body and mind never felt so free
and this a freedom so simple to acquire
the complex low-conscious wading an unnecessary test
I hope someday the next level comes to you

Electric calm
a yield never coasting
an overflowing love
a fume box
clean seeds of future worlds
in a wonder-belt wall
old sound in stupored city squares
the glows crush down and morph
to funeral pyres of fantastic disguise

 

by Nicholas Peart

1st February 2016

©All rights reserved

 

Image: The Garden Of Earthly Delights (1495-1505) by Hieronymous Bosch

Crowland

IMG_0761

 

pulsating hornets brew on growth mutations

around the stuck up stations

immense in time revered around the world

calling across the fine lines

separating the shielded divide

from the unruly philistines penetrated by the big eyed rays from Venus

settling debts on broken chimney tops

a stretch

unicorn and leprechaun dreams

on the psychedelic reel

of the next year of the horse in junction

with the insatiable beat

of the sound of hollow cries

defending the name

to go by then breaking their necks over

counter pleasures for real

really had to make the grain

in track to be when you let it out

scaling orange sunsets reflecting maggots

a plenty on hooks

to fry

and worthless degree of harm no crime

posing fatal marks

dripping red on polluted greens

something to tell your grandchildren to go by

and reassess what’s done

to predict impossible to say

get once you sterilzed

on every bit of bark

coming close to caving in

projectile promises airbrush

the scope of needs and well being

intact

diving through the combative

vertigo waving the sky

in time to the rhythm

perceived along stained riverbanks

to the holes of the crows counting rapid fire

and innovative skill burning white hot

waiting for the end to get nearer.

 

By Nicholas Peart

Taken from the poetry collection In Arctic Measure (poems 2004-7)

(All rights reserved)

 

Image: A Winter In Crowland (2008) by Nicholas Peart

Junkyard Sacrifice

 

IMG_3592

 

well I would talk forward
in candle phone motion
on the arm a hit to lift off
till we make the star spangled banner in the sky positioned to face

the padded floor of consistency moving and changing at a height only you could predict
no one will ever know

amazed by the sight
shamed by the lack
of tangible potential area
I want to feel…
a funtime waiting
from the source of the shield… the source of real mankind
the route of chance
a destination
we don’t look back
once the needle plays
all the points A to Z
(the comedown back to alpha)

television
wireless
all our material possessions:
a ride
that’s all it is…
just a ride
to the apple of the universal broken heart…

through the mirror we’ll see and find ways to mend

with what’s left…
with haste…

with passion…
combined thought control…
sealing the wings to complete
the spiritual circulation to the next level eyes forming from the back of the head now connecting to the constellations we’re all a part…
purer…
the strait of unity constructed
from the backbone rubble of the past…

and how it shines

blinding the moons all turning
so surreptitiously their duty

then morning another ball

to do the job
its oyster
of many years
in between…
and a mere crumb of these years are yours and mine

 

 

By Nicholas Peart

Taken from the poetry collection In Arctic Measure (poems 2004-7)

©All Rights Reserved

 

 

Image from the short film Breakdown (2014) by Nicholas Peart

Lifting Me Higher

IMG_0760

 

Lifting me higher
as low grade red mines
over-sprout green, thick and moist
a one way ticket from madness
although no certain destination
I feel calm
zero/numb

I don’t overstretch my luck in abundance
I have no heavy and overly lofty desires
to be a universal, ubiquitous never satisfied sun king
too much; turbo balls smashing
only my anonymity is king

Life on a snake-oiled tightrope line
Devils square rooting on blind fast loop
So far my classic neurones keep the elusive glass
white and bright
even at my lowest ebb
when all I see is dust and empty boxes

Yet the moon is always there
So is my imagination
Dogs keep barking
as the cricket symphonies pump and power the stars
and matter I’ll never know

 

By Nicholas Peart

Originally written on 15th February 2015

(All rights reserved)