the skull on the mantlepiece . . .

dark rooms
shattered, cobwebbed, window panes
and
a blood-red sky beyond
with the sun embedded 
like a lost pearl
in a lava sea.

claustrophobic mountains
screaming at the clouds,
"get away, get away"
and all around the souls of lovers
crucified like scarecrows 
on the withered branches 
of dead trees.

my world 
where the only truth 
is loneliness
the only warmth, the fever
of intoxicated
insomnia
and the only eyes
the detached eyeballs in the fishtank
floating
like sluggish spirits
among the weeds.

i ventured out
a couple of times before
i still do
occasionally
but each time return to find
the dracula teeth a little sharper
the head
a little more
like the skull on the mantlepiece
my friend's
ogling at life with a grin.

the time is drawing near
when you fill find another skull
on the mantlepiece
ogling
at life
with a grin.

will you then
dust the cobwebs
from the sockets of my eyes . . . . . ?

sunshine . . . .

i had closed the doors
of the chambers of my world
to sunshine, long ago
and the blood
had frozen in my veins.
but this morning
i sat with you in the sunshine
and watched together,
the glimmer of pine needles
in the nearby woods
an the glare of mountain snows
in the distance.
and gently
strangely
i felt it thaw -
my blood . . . .
and in the darkness of silence
i heard
a flickering
pulse.

the dinner . . .

she was very fond of fishing
this girl that i loved
so one day i bought a couple of fishing rods
hired a boat
and took her fishing in the lake.

it was a beautiful day
and i was so moved
by the water and the sky
and the distant shore, that
wrenching out my heart
i gave it to her.

she took it
smiled,
and said, "thanks"
then
dropped it into the tin
containing the bait.

when the worms were all finished
and no fish had been caught
she stuck my heart
to her hook
and threw the line, saying,
"this is better bait than
worms".

and sure enough
she caught a great big fish.

we returned.

she cooked the fish
and invited me to dinner.

i went
but unfortunately
i did not have the heart
to dine with her.

people . . . .

i watch them go by
in cars and on scooters.

people.

i have no need
of cars and scooters
for i
am not people.

i
am the chant of faceless lamas
in malodorous monasteries
the music
of smoke rising from
discarded cigarette butts
the howl of a haunted wolf
on a windblown night
the whisper
of an unseen waterfall
somewhere
in the hills, and at times
the fury of earthquakes
and tornadoes and tidal waves
all combined.

i can never be
people
i tried once
and the girl in my arms withered
and became
dust, in my embrace.

i picked up the remnants of her bones
and built a room
and hung her skull
on the doorframe.

people.
they pass me by.
they know the story of the skull
on my doorframe.
they read it in my eyes
and recoil.

i cannot blame them.

who would stand
in the path of a volcano ?

i was there . . . .

there are many visions 
within me
as i turn inwards and find
in all its awesome harmony
the universe
the seething oceans under a lightning ridden sky
and the unbelievable applause
that resounds from the corners of emptiness
eternal music, 
each galaxy playing a different tune
a different theme
as the first cell 'happens'
in a frozen moment 
of time.

i was there at that moment.

i see within me
in the forest valleys, animals
that would one day become man
learning their lessons of love
and hate
and the abstraction
of dreams.

i was there again
when animal man
put his finger to his breast
and eyes wide with the discovery of self, said,
"i"
and "am", and "me".

i was there when
he made us understand.
we fell on our knees, 
all of us,
even the toughest, roughest ones,
weeping with the joy and the challenge 
of "i".

all this i would sing to you now.
you who have forgotten the magic of being
and know only
the drudgery of survival.

you have shut your mind
to the memories within you.
i tried.
but cannot feign death
any more.



........................................................................... paul