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

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

Breath

“Breathe fair these breaths, for these are your last breaths of true life.

For you are of ripeness unknown to you young. Never again will air pass through your lungs so full, so bright.

And the cold stone and slap of feet. The breeze and the rumpus warmth carried on the song of the trees.

This is all so clear now. In time it shall fade, all shall fade. The the crisp rocks will blur. And the water will muffle, and the breath deep in your lungs will cease to be, becoming shallow and thin.

The youth, wasted on the young, who are scarce to look back and know of their riches.”

-Ben

Master’s Trip

The Donkey carries his master on his back. With purposeful strides he makes his way down the tree streaked road. Prints from former caravans smoothen the path, and the Donkey traces them with the pride of a Son with his Father.

The master was on his way to a very important opportunity of his. He was going to be promoted to the head of the hood charity: An organisation that helped the poor and those in need by supplying them with food, and company on tough nights.

This is taking too long, the Master thought. I need to get there before sundown or I will miss the meeting.

He stuck his left hand in his supply bag, pulled out a loaf of bread. With his right,  he proffered it to the Donkey, dangling it in front of his nose.

The Donkey ate it, and felt ripples of energy pass through his body. The Donkey knew he would need more to really get his belly filled, but he enjoyed his bread and carried on down the path.

For miles they walked onward into the afternoon, walking over hills, and through the fields and forests. Occasionally they took breaks to rest and sit for minutes of bliss in the bask of the sun and the velvet grass.

Yet The Master was not contented. The Donkey has been well behaved, yes, but this was not fast enough. We will not make the goal of sunset, he thought.

He grabbed an apple from his sack and proffered it. The Donkey ate it from his hand.

The Donkey again was going to need more to really fill him. But munching on the apple, he felt even better, stronger, and could walk further than ever. The donkey enjoyed his apple.

In exchange, his Master demanded him to walk further in-between breaks.

This is a fair game, The Master thought. I gave him more food, and therefore he has more energy. I expect him to try his best.

A muffin for The Donkey. Or maybe two… He proffered 3 muffins in succession, and The Donkey bit into the buttery goodness delightfully.

The Donkey continued onward, over a bridge, and down under the shade of the trees, slowly digesting these balls of tastiness.  He felt great.

Although he did notice that he could not walk as quickly as he could yesterday.

The Master noticed too. He was now becoming agitated. There was no more time for rests. It was important that they sped up. I’ll give the mule more incentive, he thought.

A Pie… 2 Pies! He proffered them. The Donkey hesitated, then ate.

Now it will speed up, The Master thought. I expect that it will do it’s job and take me to take me where I need be.

The Donkey sweated, feeling heavier with every step. He no longer felt good. He felt tired, and could not walk as fast as he used to. Angered, The Master breathed heavily.

He gave the Donkey more.

This should do it, he thought. A cake for the Donkey: He proffered it as before. the Donkey, not feeling good, trusted his master, ate the cake.

After a mile of lumbering and gasping, the Donkey fell. He had been exhausted and was too large to walk. He did not understand why his master had given him the food, and why he felt so bad for eating it. He thought and wished that he had never eaten any of his masters food. He passed out.

The Master got off of the donkey, and walked off down the road and into the distance without him.

A few hours later, he clopped back down the road with another Donkey. Other caravans took the route, and upon finding one, negotiated a price.

The Donkey had awoken two hours beforehand, and the hope of his Master coming back had dimmed from a glow to a flicker.

Maybe I was too quick to judge Master, the Donkey thought, he has come back to save me.

The Master removed The Donkey’s clothes, his equipment, his saddle, and the boxes of food that The Donkey had carried on his back, strapping it all onto the new Donkey.

The Master hopped onto New Donkey and rode off into the sunset.

-Ben