The Effortless Beat

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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

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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

Life File

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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

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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