Les Mots sans Images

a space inviting 

Pastel clouds tonight, faint and in the distance. 
The air is cool. Unusual. 
I've spent most of this week indoors, growing furiously, hypogeal. 
Stepping outside into the gloaming, the Magicicadae have given way to the katydid chorus. 
I like this cooler weather. 
Somehow the pressure I have been feeling (which has not been external, really) 
is lessened with this dryer air and cooler day. 
It's as if the pressure inside me has been given room to expand, out 
into the ether. Homeostasis once more, temporarily, achieved. 
Looking out across the coming days, now decompressed, 
I see a subtle, vast potential, a space inviting emergent features. 
I feel the possibility of continuing the journey home, 
into my body, into myself. 

Monday, 17 August 2020

This is the fifth poem in Les Mots sans Images, a series of original poems.

I post a new poem every waning quarter moon.

Within 

Sculpting in a chaotic corner 
the parts that don't belong, must go 

Free the work, the prisoner within. 

As I chisel out the excess 
the not-sculpture bits of stone 

Like chains they fall away 

I step back for a farther look 
At form, slowly emerging 

Where does it come from? 

Monday, 27 July 2020 

This is the fourth poem in Les Mots sans Images, a series of original poems.

I post a new poem every waning quarter moon.

Here, After 

How to leave this place? 
Where to go? 

A place that is nowhere - 
What can be done... 

When I am in this place 
Where am I? 

Where have I been? 
Inside? 

Out. 

The time will come to leave: 
And when it is gone - 

What is this place? With no time 
This 

Nowhere 

Not frozen 
Or thawed 
But tingling 

I can feel. 

Thursday, 23 July 2020 

This is the third poem in Les Mots sans Images, a series of original poems.

I post a new poem every waning quarter moon.

You can listen to a rendition of the poem within an audio landscape below:

In the Zone 

Outside the city
 
Beyond the outskirts 

A place no one goes who is not pursued 

Gas masks and suspicion accompany those who do not belong
Pushing past perspective
 
Far beyond all known referents
 
Outside of time, 
Shot through with space 

My home
Away from shores of thought
 
Past breakers of tradition
 
A boat made of stillness
 
Here I can rest 

Wednesday, 22 July 2020 

This is the second poem in Les Mots sans Images, a series of original poems.

I post a new poem every waning quarter moon.

You can listen to a rendition of the poem within an audio landscape below:

I have published many photograph and poem pairings online; this series, Les Mots sans Images marks a return to posting poems on their own.

I will post a poem in this series every waning quarter moon.

Enantiodromia

Stuck, I turn still 
Like 
In a skid 
I turn the wheel 
In the wrong 
Direction 
And 

Hope... 
It feels wrong; 
It works well 

Poised, I feel fear 
Now 
the danger 
is in 
Believing 
There is danger. 

When fixity 
Becomes flow 
And each no turns 
Relentlessly into a new yes 
And each step is like a whole flight 
Of stairs and climbing them 
I'm flying and instead 
Of growing weary 
I am feeling reinvigorated 
by the work and 
I know this is what I was born to do 
and I know this is what I have always wanted 
And every day is better than the last 
and now 
I have traction, 
motion, and momentum... 

Purpose. 
It feels right; 
It plays well. 

Monday, 20 July 2020