Outside World

Spirits in the air

That whip up a frenzy

Mad trees

With limbs flailing about

River waters

Gushing, pushing

Craving the flood

Looking up

To tall buildings

Built from its banks

And a sun

That stares

on and on

Nothing is ever without its gaze

Wherever I move

It follows

Wherever I hide

It peers in

It informs others of my whereabouts

Nothing escapes it

And all this, lies outside my flat

Painting with my Soul

A burst of indistinguishable colours

Beam up from my chest

Indescribable, and new

Replacing the old, and decrepit

Ripping and burning

Void and space

Greedily hunting down the source

To become the new light

To enable me

To paint all I see

With my own colours

From my own palette

Stokes Croft

God breakdances on the cold, hard, church floors

The worshippers clap

And the priests exclaim

Kicking, spinning, and alive

Two sets of footprints

Left in the sand

Stretching on and on

Fading from view

The gentle waves

Filling in with their paintbrushes

Painting over everything they touch

With shells, seaweed and life

A billion eyes watch from their TVs

Experiencing life behind a screen

I sip my cider and sigh:

“Life is only as hard as I make it.

It’s actually quite easy, I only have to breathe.”

The Helmsman

The cold bites into my flesh

The rain gives rise to complaint

My soul, the helmsman of a ship

Falling and rising above the many waves of thoughts

Some high and spiteful

Spitting froth, stinging my eyes

Some low and deceitful

Lulling me to the reefs

Yet still I hold onto the wheel

Guiding the ship so that it does not sink

Centre of the Earth

I ran into the forest. The wind plays with the trees, tickling the leaves into falling. My feet squelch into the soft, wet mud as I run. In and out my foot goes, breathing into the earth. I can see the tree roots lingering just above the surface, probing.

I begin to dig. I’m digging until I get to China.

The deeper the hole is the more the roots groan out to the open air, missing the comfort and solace of the dense, compact earth, the damp coolness of the soil. The wind finds itself bouncing off all corners of this hole, looking for new friends to play with. The roots groan and retreat further back to other parts of the soil. I dig deeper and deeper until I reach the inner core of the earth.

There he is.

He sits on a plain, wooden stool staring into the centre. A looking glass of pure magma.

“You’re finally here”. He doesn’t bother to swivel around. He knows who I am.

“I’m trying to get to China”.

“You’re about half way there”.

“Oh? I suppose this is the centre of the earth”.

“Would you care to sit?” Another wooden stool materialises out of thin air beside him. He didn’t need to wait to hear my response. I sit beside the careworn old man.

“Look at this my son, before you continue your journey”.

I stared intently into the looking glass. Images began to appear. Simultaneously the past, present and future are all played out at once before me. The whole world and multiple others. People of many races and many species busy in their minds, in their lives. In under a minute I was exhausted, as if years had been torn off me.

“Have you had enough?”

“Yes, sir”.

“Be on your way, know that I am always looking out for you, son. Always” He said without looking at me. I felt it his hand on my shoulder.

I continued the dig. As I emerged the wind was nowhere to be found. The trees were quiet. I walked out of the forest in search of people.

Music Everywhere

The falling of raindrops

Causes the piano notes to play

When I’m outside in the forests

And it’s raining

It’s the most beautiful sound

You could ever imagine