Only You

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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

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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

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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

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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

 

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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

Loops of Drilled Cave Blood

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Sold upside fritter down-town
Hold him to blame
Don’t smash his capsicum brain
Like a motor blown to levels beyond fantasy
Small tests deviated from whole grounds
Gone and can’t be gotten
And know they pin the head of knowledge
Heavy foliage and hard alkaline pools
To drool and be baseless
Air and nothing
Spawned beyond space and time
No area
No clock
Only “is”
No words
Only pictures
Heads smashed
But the vision crisp
Floating in perfect rich equilibrium
That’ll be the day

 

 

Poem by Nicholas Peart

Image by DeviantArt

©All rights reserved