Change

Hours lost their meaning to me

Time just moves like a blur or light and dark

This doesn’t mean that I don’t remember

the shoulds or the shouldn’t’s

no, they eat at my soul, my belly.

But

I suppose it’s just about keeping going

Self knowing, sometimes when possible

as long as the heart is beating

and one can listen to the sound of the rain

beating down roof and the windows

Then it seems like

everything is alright

 

There are pick me ups

then the inevitable falls

The less the better

although the sharing does count for something

you know

when it’s better

to be clean and warm and dry, it’s not real.

Resisting the waves,

noone ever really wins

we all wash up on the shore,

with our memories,

becoming the skeletons in our closets,

 

The taste of joy one day in our mouths

one day becomes blood

Yet we never really live like that,

Like the little things now would ever really leave,

Gods granted,

Not until we lose, that

is, only the emptiness speaks fully.

Just remember the day of our births

the blur of indifferent curiosity,

the way it was,

it changed.

 

And do we ever change

really

Questions in Spilled Words

 

Up,

This

Is the

Problem

To think of.

For anything

Worth the sweat

Of our brow or of the

Grinding teeth that keep

Us half asleep at night, wriggles,

Turns and unfinished murmurs off of

The edge of tongues on the ways we might fail.

When there is might in the certainty of nothingness,

Still, can anyone accept his own downfall in the moment now,

To venture out into the mysterious emptiness, the darkness, in depths.

Holding fast in fluidity, we can conquer the demons that keep us as prisoners in

Our own minds. The stale stories that we still tell ourselves, or have been told from birth hurt

As we break in the bones of conformity. And the fascial adhesions still keep us joined at the hip, bound to

Societies' expectations of what we maybe might achieve, and still we hold our emotions down in our stomachs and

Quiver at sights of flamboyant eccentricity. A call to arms became a call to body and mind and self altogether whatever the

Differences. New ages are contained in the disintegration of a moment before the wind changes, Changing - Nothing can hold us

Down.

 

-Ben

The Drum: Cycles #2

 

Many one things learned in life

Trying to live in harmony

Over and Over

The Learning

became Learning about Learning

Until I Learned that the only advice is for one Learning

Repetition, yes,

but Learning

 

A factor of proportions so large is only true of a one who never did,

I skipped it.

Now I get it.

Don’t I?

 

One and final timing

Bam

or

Tap

or

Ting

And life’s discovered

Like the beat of a drum

 

You can write down the lyrics

But they aren’t music

Until one hears it

 

and

 

Listening is the toughest one

The hardest skin on the horse skin drum

With the lightest tap

Easier to get wrapped up in songs

Harder to learn to how to Drum
when

Drumming a Beat

is for you to listen,

When you do listen

is for I to see

Connections between melodies

 

For time to be

As meaningful as it can be

The rythm

Sometimes

Has as to run out.

 

 

– Ben

Things, Eyes, and their Brows: Cycles #1

What a wonderful world.

Bright fields and

Sunlight glazing

The grass and yellow flowers

Like supernovas

Splattered in a nebula.

 

Kids that will

One day turn to

Adults, their parents

Beating the drum,

Under and Over

 

The cycle is the weed and the apple tree.

 

Think

The line of the world

Of time going

Lineward

Into
Where?

 

Travelling anywhere,

Surfing a nervous curve back into itself,

because, because, because

What-ever

Else?

 

As a child I would hold onto

Ideas of heaven and the bestest places

Licking Icecream

With no bottom

Of the Icecream

Or the Cone.

 

Then the Blue Dolphin Swam

Mum and I

Meeting Monty,

Bestest of Friends,

We jumped to the stars on a trampoline

Battling Evil, the night away

 

Then the Morning comes,

Obviously

Ripping me from former worlds

The morning

Same as before

I, different

Others left behind or something…

The world is now greyer than before

Creation deleted and guarded

by others

 

These are the cycles

that keep us us.

 

Many wondering faces,

Smiling Sadness,

from grey into black

into red through to yellow

into green floors and brown trees

Then tables and chairs

and the glare of the top lights.

The Colours always continue

To find us holding our brows like shields

And wonder.

 

We seek the art of the beholder

and his eye

or her eye

or whatever it is

We see now, these

Eyes.

Beholders

and the like.

 

Things, Eyes, and their Brows.

 

Everything is Everything

and I’m letting go now.

 

-Ben

Bounding Over A Flower Field

Oh Dear,

Bounding over a field

You could be us

But we are metal

Pedalling tracks, we mostly forget you

 

Oh Dear ,

Warm Cold Freedom

You seem so fluid, jolly, with purpose

I hope you don’t find a line or carcass

Want to keep you in your paradise

 

Oh Dear,

do I want to be you?

Tell me something that you have thought of

more than footsteps from concrete fortress’

 

Oh Dear…

Oh Dear…

I won’t forget you

No longing, you wanted to jump the highest

Feel the air and other spires

The highest grass wasn’t tall enough

You found the sky and fields within it

 

There were never any lies

Nor ears for them

Eyes for the sky

She put her heart on the ground

To listen for the direction

 

The little ones cuddle the floor

The corpse

No others need to know it

They are tired of lying still

and being lied to.

They knew that Mummy found the sky and weren’t below it

bright eyes glew among the grassbush

A city of petals glimmered among the kingdom

Green, Yellow and Red,

beyond Grey

The destination

 

Oh Dears,

Practice the the ways of

up and down and over

They invented forward on a backward day

 

Oh Dears,

Stonger every day,

Put the flowers away,

The grass is getting smaller,

Trees are moving into order
Taller

Taller

 

Oh Dears,

Branches now beneath their haunches

When the grey came

Yellow gave Red the Green and launched it.

They made it down and put it up,

and bright eyes glew among the treetops.

 

Grey,

Up high,

So suddenly it looked off colour

when left to find it’s own way

down, from the peaks

down from the peaks

down from the Monkey Puzzle tree.

 

Oh Dears, Oh Dears,

Over the Grey Country they marched,

Green, Yellow, and Red

“When Grey was backward we went forward”

-Ben