A muse

 How funny it is.

That a revolution can be started in the mind of another just by the presence you carry.
You can brilliantly and un-admittingly cast a seed with your laughter.
The pulsing shifting of energy around this oneness, a world, a universe, that we conceive and nail down into the ideas of life and death, melt away, dissolves into pureness as they meet your gaze.
The aspiring chase for linguistic accuracy is abandoned with haste just to get vocal exclamation moving as it stumbles to tumble out of my mouth, confused and dazed, afraid it might not get another chance to see the light of day.

Mixed hedonistic craziness comes abating and evolving,
a creature with magical brain chemicals in the driving seat surging out of orifices shared by all,
makes love amidst the gently mocking fairies,
hanging on the air as we exclaim our futile efforts to convince one another of our ideas, of love, politics and some, confused hate.
It is in this moment you realise the necessary pointlessness in trying to create.


True spirits, let loose on the world.
A beauty that gallops forth, pushing to share love before it overwhelms.
Unenveloping from your aura safe and strong.
It punches as it lands to rest on mine.
A punch that you can not help but smile at, like the innocence of a baby as they reach out for your attention.
A punch that dazzles, the angelic light streaming, binding all.
A magic, almost indescribable in any situation, only, that when any situation needs explaining, one look in the eyes that you inhabit is enough to settle all.
Calm the turbulence and sooth gently back into the realisation that every moment is perfect.
Even one that is spent in the gaping hole of a love long flown, can be calming just by the lingering smell of your beauty.

I know not what words to use, if ever I was to be foolish enough to try and sum up these feelings in a vocal expression of the long far away utterances when all energy and power of the word was forgotten on some cold, cyber winds.
I have long professed never to have missed, because to miss is to declare a longing for another moments happiness.
And it is not for being whole that I decry, but the wholeness that I am is elevated by an entrenched creative energy, the universe, flowing through you.
An energy that then reaches out of your soul, fingertips of love yearning to caress, I draw nearer and nearer. Falling, almost as if into a trap, and then suddenly, a slap.
Humbled by the eternal beauty that you posses.
Is there a word for that?



Thank you for being my gateway to this world, any time I feel like dabbling, I lay back, think of you and gently release myself to the magical adventures I will find.
Everything works, you slot in, impeccable like a glove to a hand that holds the soil from which we all began.

Dawn Dew

The Nature Of Reality

This is a spoken word that I performed at a commune pop up poetry night.
The subject was on "The Nature Of Reality"



Reality: an accumulation of energies flowering all around, embracing, ying and yanging.

World oh world, reeling around my head, fondling my consciousness, you have no care if I am alive or dead.
I want to sculpt with sound vibrations in the bewitching combination that can take you to define a perspective of reality that I may light upon, before diving off for another one.
I choose to see love through life shaped eyes.
Chase it down, the endless plight to decorate until the stars shine from your eyes, for to write of reality, anything will glide.

Just ease into this turbulent time, puddles of consciousness waiting to shine.
To overflow from the mindscape we inhabit, lapping at the shores of our contemplation.
Manically laughing at absolutes until it is resolute how much we care.
Breaking down barriers of everything we know, to question the seeds of which we sow.

We each are a wave circling on this giant round-a-bout of time.
The actions that others produce are there standing destitute on the fringes of the mind.
We conjure up a map to elect how the ripple of change they create will flow with our own.

Past present future all meet once a week inside your head for a cup of tea and slowly work themselves into a fever swirling with growing force and delight to compete for your mind.
To show you, you mean nothing and everything at all, without you there would be something other than nothing, and other pools of consciousness would be left un-stirred by the uniqueness of your touch.

So let your reality flow with mine as we try to decipher this crazy life.
Allow me to stroke your consciousness with the soft kiss of mine.
Let the vessels that we are communicate and intertwine to release endless plains on which to create.
The world is a canvass and we are the paint.
So please lets not do anything other than titillate as we draw the path of our souls in the the sand, in the air, across the waves.

I feel creation galloping full pelt through me, screaming to rise outwards and captivate others in.
My body is a tool for the great creation god, a metaphysical pool from whence we all begot.
Every being is a need to create, every escaped thought aweaving through space.
Crafted by experiences, me and you are no different, in fact I am just your mirror.

I want to stain emotions into your ear, feel the soft gurgling of the fear.
I want to transfer emotions on the warm cloak of speech.
Every word must be accurately placed for speech to thrive, every syllable a whisper of the soul.
Such a delicate art, and we flog it, we abuse it day by day, all just for hay.
So this is life, reality and everything the brutal constructs of self expression.
We must express ourselves to the world to be happy, and let joy unfurl.

(I feel I should mention at this point in the performance a friend started to pour tahina over me)

And now I wish to describe to you this, to stroke emotions over you, much like this tahina is pouring over me like glue.
Feel the soft compressed energy of thousands of years of evolution to produce this perfect sesame seed.
Feel the warm embrace, slipping over your body, much like the warm saliva of billions craving tahina.
Waste was a big part of my reality, I come from a love of scavenging, roaming, diving through bins. I skimed upon energy in the most superficial of whims.
I decided we could be the ones to choose to waste, but as the saying goes; nothing is lost, but nothing remains.
So I'm combating this view trying to release my souls ego-centric hues.
So this is reality for me, a swirling pool of tahina and oh so much tea.

We can make a dance of reality, just by sticking an unusual spanner in the works of sanity to set sparks of beauty flowing.