Detonation Rows


As cold steel fingers cease the reaping of the pitiful sows
a new class of heads are banged together like balls on detonation row
new questions grew from a town view that few wanted to see
yet it often pleased and comforted me
see a new suspended vision exuding a rare power
after years of numbed technical ecstasy
I want to see, feel and move
like the exponential growth of a rare full blooming flower
In this frame living is the fullest
and all the honey and the grime I can roll in
keep pumping my heart, mind, soul and body
on all fours: the sacred four burning
a blinding wipe out


By Nicholas Peart

3rd May 2020

(c)All Rights Reserved


Image: Anselm Kiefer The Orders of the Night (Die Orden der Nacht) (1996)

The Universal Tide


The universal tide: jacked on the cross
tainted down to the tow: forgotten seat dread
Everything I said was captured and fed
at the dust down
at the dusk: hold and go
As the airport got tight
and the blue/gray mutilated stratus sky was out of sight
I should’ve sown what I saw in a less than plain view
forming a white view board from which this can grow
from where the crows lowly glide;
are they looking for a home?
or are they out-reaped and looking low?
For a chill second I can beat;
the ships like broken bread
malted dread to level all those distorted hollow sounds

I wanted to delve and I wanted to feel
Of all the reeling
as it sapped all and everything
out the back mind ground to level dust
On a devil-cut mirror stretched to rage
In my cage I can’t be the fullest entity in another dimension
I need that place where the grip is soft
I need to be there where a coin toss determines nothing
The rotations last for as long as one can forsake
crystal glints of mirages more fleeting than rainbows
As gravity classifies and resists
all underwater sub-machine gun fires: a storm in a shot glass
this transpires to nullify all lost to random heavens
Low grade leanings; creased and worn
from a battle long forgotten
For victories returned to crust micro living
broken reeds: posed feel
no halos or smoking guns
grabbed tight, fast and blown

The dice repeats; one rinse and an algorithmic key
hoping for some secret chord beyond the promised land
Don’t go. Never. No
All fires flipped to the charred thunder
all lovers dipped into pools reserved for the afterlife
awakened callings; more bangs, less whimpers
the shown degree to what they say
put aside and boxed for another day
The seeds lost count and I am losing my sleep
Too hard to take the heat
with the fear level breaking the needle on the dial
as rocks turn to magma and the magma now an engulfing cloud
with no destination only suffocation
until I wake up and a new blue day awaits

Mothballed liver found fault
on the creases in his face
as he slanted to a crooked place
the gaze mutated to a duller shade of pink
and the stagnant wine retreated in an alchemic blink
a nation torn down
an abandoned and unedifying sink to leave no trace
let us all pray

No lines crossed
All spots and sparks; around an arc
marked full and hard
like the tyrant string pullers of fragile lights
soon brushed off crumb by crumb
to bring lanes to the next beams
I see the cheers
I keep walking
not letting go of the veil
all else is of no control
splinters in another wave


By Nicholas Peart

Published on May 2nd 2020

(c)All Rights Reserved

Image: Caravaggio – The Incredulity of Saint Thomas

Kings Out Of The Smallest Ants


A thought for which I fought

in marble blood-stained lands

A bridge united all these forgotten fragments

Once dead in stagnant Earth liquid;

the white light blinds our eyes

and makes kings out of the smallest ants


by Nicholas Peart

Written: 22nd January 2014

(c)All Rights Reserved 


The Secret Plain


Folded complex
a bitter rot

nothing smooth detected
no sugar coat
only you
and all your human core
at the fore

as days turn to clockless horizons
where unknown freedom reigns supreme
no nostalgia needed
in this eternal loving vacuum


by Nicholas Peart

Written: 29th October 2018

(c)All Rights Reserved

The Effortless Beat


A faded glow pricks the plankton
most agitated from decades dishevelled
at the micro level too close to the picture
then yes it is a rut not softening the blow
where I am never protected from what I want
and where silent subtle beauty is forever elusive
and joy only permeates once the controls are discarded
then the muted band of life breaks free

Moments are the sacred secret chords
like temporary cloud formations
they ring in a key
before the new pitch saves the day
and old spheres make way for other tones
in all their elegance, discord and limitations
a splattered banquet with no way of knowing
questions and answers are mere confusion

The astral warp is also a puppet
we will never see who pulls the strings
if you search you will not be in rhythm
to the harmony beyond your self imposed prison
the leaves on the trees don’t inquire
they only be; not chasing the next best thing
and when they see those restless rainbow seekers
they laugh so hard the ground beneath them smiles


By Nicholas Peart

Written 27th October 2018

(c)All Rights Reserved


Image: Arcaion

The Light Inside Of Us


Ash fog brown
on a marathon to quartz
a slow and steady eternity
to the heart of the sun
but then what’s next?

Turned around
now I can see
revved mind energy or splendid fudge?
the process is all I can trust

Crushing it through corridors
passed out next to brief candles
there is no golden period
just the experience of life
or is it the randomness of life?

Ask the dust
ask the wind
ask the most primordial fragments of stardust
in the deepest vacuum of space and time

Even with the most advanced AI
and the entire dimensions and secrets of life
tapped and exhausted
a new landslide of questions
a brand new fire-bird
more insatiable than the last
breaks through
a more expansive longing forms
like blind love with no breaks
the captain thrown overboard and quartered
in the heat of the one-track revolution

Back to a ringed space worse than the other
undisciplined wonder knocked down too many
now Mediocrestan is what I crave
coming from a soul who lost his mind

This life…
its all a scattered game
a futile quest to control
if that’s what you want
let go

Then death…
the greatest leveller
death gives life the parity life cannot give
with all matter in union
all matter in peace
a cause for celebration
not for grief


By Nicholas Peart

Written: 26th -27th October 2018

(c)All Rights Reserved


Image: Felix Mittermeier

All Strong In A Silent Plain


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