Britain

The weather in London has been surprisingly amazing, I'm even sunburnt. Not that it's hard for me to be sunburnt if i spend too much time out beneath Him.

Betrayed
I, in Dover went to see
the white chalk cliff, lapped by the aqua blue sea
that reaches out to France.
But I was let down.
At Dover the sea is pushed back from land by rocks and boats and man's cement.
I suppose if I walked
farther down along the cement road
it would have given way to towering white cliffs holding the sky away
from my head, shielding me from the Sun,
cooling their white feet in the salty waves of channel water.

But I was waylaid by a lost American and my heart took pity on him.
He didn't deserve these shores, these cliffs, this Sun
and I tried to send him on his way.

But he asked to take my hand and firmly pulled
me into a flint church,
a church built from the destruction of the chalk
and the destruction of my pagean gods.
The flint hid me from the Sun, and while he burns me,
he is my protector from men like this.
He bleaches the red from my hair and stains the white of my skin,
to save me from those who want to change me.
He helps me pass as one of them and not be bothered.
But this Lost one, did not heed the Sun,
because he cannot feel his power
and Sun was handing my safety
to the Moon that hour.

The Lost pulled me to the place he once found him self,
in front of that errant god’s pulpit and
declared his love and fate for me.
He prophesied I was the one he saw once in a dream,
walking along the shores on his Grandmere’s birth.
He can’t tease me thus.
I cried out to my protector,
tried to feel His warmth in the stone floor,
tried to feel life in the wood pews.
All was dead and I could scream to stop the whispered words.
My gods can’t find me here, they left even the materials that build this place up.

I can’t be anything more than a misty apparition of the Lost One’s dreams,
I can’t be real to him or lose myself.
The Moon, the more my saving grace,
bid the Lost One on his way, to return to his lost country.

When the Sun, my betrayer was once more in command of the sky,
I journeyed to the top of white cliffs,
to be closer to Him, to some how chide Him for his turn.
But all I found were shadowy hallways of trees frequented by deer,
the Roman’s lighthouse that I sought was covered
over with vines and let in no light
and the Sun refused to show is face,
and hid behind a veil of mist,
also hiding France from me,
yet he still enraged by shoulders and my cheeks,
speckling them with golden brown.

Before I went to Dover it rained in London, a good rain with lightning and thunder and huge drops of water, but not a drop was cold and the air was clean and clear. It was a warm night rain.

Sun Disease
The sun runs red streaks
across my nose and cheeks,
the heat,
a butterfly alighted on my face, red and warning,
blending with the red of my hair, the red of my eyes, the edges of my fingers.
The first drops of rain
fall on my forehead, on the butterfly, on my shoulders,
like the first infusion of western medicine dripping through my veins,
the rains
relieve heat and discolor the butterfly,
who eastern herbs could not allure away.
I could be young again, strip off my shirt,
I don’t need its protection from the sun
now and run,
my feet are not swollen from the heat, they can hold me
and I can run forever, naked, not afraid to show
my body’s new contortions, because they don’t hurt now,
run endlessly through the rain washed streets out away from the city
into the shade of trees and out more into the pouring rain.
Let it pour,
let it pour monthly, daily, hourly
pour from the sea, the clouds, the sky into my veins and quench the inferno burning in my bones, raging against its home.
Maybe then, beneath that endless sky of beautiful rain, maybe then I can rest,
lie myself down beneath the water,
to soak it up from beneath
and rest.
Rest from the endless pain of the heat and parched weakness,
that doesn’t give me strength to drink myself wet again.



Does it bother you i talk about myself in poetry? Can you tell which parts are true and which I've made up and which i'm cleverly consealed? Does it matter?

Pluto

They demoted Pluto.
He’s no longer a planet.
The Universe has dwarfed him by its colossal expanding size
The edge ran too far away and Pluto can’t see it anymore so he’s not a planet.
Like those who’s eyes rebel and don’t let the looker see beyond themselves, shutting the looker into their own atmosphere and denying them the access to horizon.
Just as Pluto was locked beneath the surface of the earth,
Locked into the mines of silver and gold, never bringing them into sun’s illumination himself
Slowly digging himself deeper and deeper away from the sun
Pluto’s death became him, he became death, keeper of the underworld
Thief of rebirth and causer of winter.
Pluto
Your distance from us caused your death, you brought it on yourself
Creep closer, let the sun warm your skin to your icy core
But demotions are final
You will always be lesser and not welcome in Olympus
But the hearts of men don’t forget death,
they carry your memory in the same chamber as new found lovers and try to appease them both with the same fruit, forcing them to stay
But you can’t be the lover, you are too inconsistent, too varied, too close to your own reflection which revolves around you
You’re locked in a separate corner of the heart’s chamber, a separate mine, a separate class
I don’t shed a tear, your movement never drew my interest, your change doesn’t prickle my sighted eyes
I see my horizon and I chase it as it runs
You lost sight of your’s a long time ago and everyone has noticed
So they demoted you
They announced it publicly, without warning. Did you get for notice? Did they tell you first?
I’m sure the message would have reached you the same as mine, but you are oceans and seas of stars away and your eyesight isn’t very good.
Not that it matters when you knew, know, they won’t let you fight, but I know you wouldn’t try
You like your vast cave of dark spotted by specks of silver. Do they shine that far from the sun? Can you at least hear them twinkle?
Did you hear the stars’ hearts break when they heard the news, or is everything so frozen they stopped making stars out there?
This could be good for Pluto.
Build up his size, he’ll be a huge dwarf, his ego, reputation will grow enormous. But I can’t be jealous of demotion.

And the age old question is asked again: Should I kiss boys in my classes?

I think its probably a bad idea, always.
Girls are ok though.

My life is completely intangible, all the good parts don’t really exist in the same touchable world that I walk around and spend the day living in, but I deeply wish I could some how break through everything that I know as tangible and physically experience everything I think about. Maybe it would be a little like smelling sounds and hearing colors. The word “the” is black and “and” is red and grass sounds like string quartets wrapping separate melodies around each other in prefect unison.

London

I’ve traveled across a continent and an ocean and returned to the isle I want my soul to have been born in. Right now I feel at peace. The warm Britannic sun of summer caresses my back. I want the origin of this peace to be from inhaling air purified by the trees of the Celts, air that polishes the stones of Avebury and Stonehenge and the stone circle of Sleeping Beauty on the isle of Lewis. But the truth? I’m well rested, well hydrated happy because of modern curiosities – I went to King’s Cross Station today, for tourist adventures. King’s Cross is where the portal to Harry Potter’s platform 9 ¾ is. I wanted a picture of the wall. However, I got much more. They were actually shooting the next Harry Potter film, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I just about fainted. The Hogwartz Express was in the station, the signs for platform 9 ¾ were up on the walls and the platform was covered in big wooden trunks. It was like a dream. Then I saw all the actors, Ron, Hermione, the Twins, Ginny and lastly Harry. I just about screamed. I also saw a bunch of stand ins and I think the real Mrs. Weasley. I think I saw a few other actors who are new to #5 as they are members of the Order of the Phoenix. There was a girl with purple hair, so I think that was Tonks and then another older man, but I’m not sure who he was, part of me hopes he was Gary Oldman, but I don’t think Sirius is in that scene as a human. I think I also saw Chris Columbus, who directed the first 2 and is producing the rest of them. I really wanted to see JK Rowling, but she needs to be at home finishing the 7th book.
I’ve never thought of the sun in Britain being warm or the skies clear. I see long roving meadows of long deep green grass, dotted with sheep. The skies a shimmering gray streked with rain in the distance, but its so close you can taste the rain in your mouth and watch the dew form on each blade of grass under your feet and you know you’re on land, in the middle of a field, but you feel like you are surrounded by water closer then the sea shores, that the water presses against your skin, but you can breathe deeper and freer than ever before. The colors swim all around you, the trees and the grass and the sky seep together until the sky turns green and you know in your shoulders and palms and your toes that Ireland is only on the other side of the water, but the place you really want to get isn’t a place you can travel by boat or even through the wall of the train station. But that place is through that green field with sheep turned into sea and sky and if you could just fall into all of it before the rain hits your face and reminds you of the tangible world you live in, you could fall into the place you want to be, the place beyond fear and cold and lonliness surrounded by people that place of endless summer afternoons and the sound of water on shores, rolling softly across rocks that don’t bit and clouds that only soften the blue of the sky. The world where sleeping and waking are almost the same and if you want the answer its only on the other hill, but you don’t need to know why, why is implicit in the color green and gray and that’s enough to stop you from asking.