POETRY

JL Nash - continental drifting

[jl-nash]

[jl-nash]

THE WRAP 

Couldn’t wait to see new synapse links

Evidenced in behaviours desired

They never showed up

I gave up waiting

©JL NASH 2015

[jl-nash]

PILLAR OF SALT

 Veterans are decommissioned weapons

Who haven’t been told to switch off on leaving

I understood in a conversation with books

When I expressed love for man who seemed to pretend

Ghosts never appeared and dreams were always forgotten

  I really don’t think he did remember his dreams

But there were ghosts which raised the corners of sheets

To reveal boots and shoes of men and women

Children used to play and life was experienced in black and white

Colour is too difficult a concept when you’re colour blind

  I think green is like light blue, well my version anyway

Apparently it’s a good job I’m not wanting to be a pilot

Although steam boats need navigators even on rivers

Here is an ox bow lake I am caught in never seeing

How I got there, in here, this wiradjuri, this billabong

This resacas on the outside of the main stream of water

  Now it is me on the outside of a decommissioned weapon

Who has switched off, created sculptures from experience

Who has offered a map encrusted with diamonds instead of

Punctuation which is perfect. Gemstones fall from his lips

When he kisses the skin covering my heart

  My voice is still, anticipating a heart heavy full of stones

Like a girl of 16 at 46 my breath quickens, my pulse races  

The initial contact of my body against his even after 11 years

Makes me sweat, makes me weak with desire

Leaves me afraid to lose such evidence of a lack of condition

  So I place rules to control the lack of control I feel

But they are a waste of time. I am a rule breaker

By nature I sweat the salts on my skin threatening

To crystallize my fear extends beyond the illusion of Gomorrah

Turning into a pillar of salt I should have looked forward

  I should have spoken up

  ©JL NASH 2015

[jl-nash]

From The Chimeric Codices

When I cracked open your skull t'was because I wanted to see if you were human inside if you were like me its confusing and I forget my manners sometimes could be reminded that another way works

Do you still love me though you taste the stuff of my dreams not yours to decide if you were like me its confronting and I offer my hand a gesture shrouding a darker intention you already know

You are responsible for my genesis As is your brother each a little Prospero playing with wind if you were like me you'd have the fire and sun to hold and control now manage the rights of my rage and your rejection.

[jl-nash]

THIS IS A LOVE SONG

Picked up my own set of armour some years ago Thought it would fit forever It’s begun to slip off Recently Piece by piece And today I felt the icy blast of The north wind out of place In this boiling paradise But it hit my chest And once where my breast plate hung Exposed my heart beneath the Ribcage thank god I have a ribcage Although I think I saw you with one of My ribs beneath your arm as you said Goodbye yesterday

You said goodbye yesterday and i Realise my armour has been too Heavy for weeks now And all the blood i rinse from the Floor is my own And the splinters of wood which My feet keep standing in are from the Arrows sticking out of me

You are so busted - the cock feathers- they are yours

pic

[jl-nash]

Soon the marker will announce remembrance of late after lunch, delivery. Saddened by my lost year. Missing the contents of London, Paris, New York. Payment: an understanding of fog, mist and patience.

[jl-nash]

Le Sacre du Printemps

As I type, I realise the eyes of my fingernails are white and probably a little too short to be elegant  but the need to feel more through my fingertips has become of increasing importance.

This little village is so quiet that I can hear the wind blowing across the Coral Sea. It rises between the apartments and occupies the main road from the beach, around the corner, to my house.

The dog sighs heavy that I am still awake, but faithful and never far from me, she is snuggled, one eye open, into the corner of the Chesterfield.

The gentle pressure of life’s hand once again, holds my face and tilts my head backwards to feel the stretch of my throat. I’m ready to swallow whatever tiny fancies the morning will offer when I rise later on today.

I’m thinking of all the beautiful creations you have brought out of yourself and beneath my lower ribs; there is a space where I keep your heart so that I can still feed on its beating, a rhythm in time with the processes of my own breathing.

Time travel is more fluid when the clocks fall forward. I’m waiting for the moment I catch a whim of the universe and ride out over the waves, cheating.

My breath, stale from late hours and early coffee is salted and sanitised in the ocean’s breeze. My eyes, strained and spiked from drawing out the fantasies of Stravinsky beg for horizontal reprise.

No longer giving up but I am giving in.

pic:Lausanne Ballet

[jl-nash]

Fishes & Flesh Found a baby in the Coral Sea Bloated, bruised, flesh flayed From the feeding of fishes Other sea creatures having left Their mark duplicitously Instead of an animal rescue story Compassion overflowing Breakfast had been served Found two bones pointing Out from the beach origins Unknown whose baby I lifted Out of the water dog jumping Called the relevant services But incense is hard to light The choir booked at the community hall So in a shallow grave Dug by the dog And me wondering instead of weeping Laying tiny broken shells As battlements The grey sky Touched a tiny castle In time colluded with the waves To take it back to sea again.

[jl-nash]

A Room, Some Money

a dog, a husband, a mother, a brother, ghosts;  to list becomes obligations because existence cannot be denied  Egos need to be stroked. Not mine Miss the drugs, and yet the semi colon proves yet another set of failures.  Covering up each morning the sad reality of remainders.  Too much information... Lucky I'm not dying slowly. I guess...  Although to be alive, I am, we all are. My body jolts and moves as I fill it with prescriptive solutions.  My mind melts into ink when I fill it with images Let me present the reality of despair.  I was trained into.  I was reinforced under.  I now own.  I own the shape of despair and it looks like a monster,  It looks like a friend, it looks like a father.  I have no fathers.   They were just illusions; friendship is usually conditional. Ultimately, the only thing I recognize is the shape of monsters  Who break into homes as you sleep Who provide pictures of violence as if they were flowers in vase Who smell of copper slag and a mixture of linseed oil and paints. Instead I gather handprints, cut around them, keeping the fabric  Like totems they hang over musical instruments I've afforded them shamanistic rights In the hallway, outside the bedroom door. © JL Nash, 2015

[jl-nash]

I'd like to remember this night As the time when my mother  Thought she had swallowed her lower plate While taking a nap in the pm The ensuing panic of possible hooks  Bowel obstructions and the scrabble Left me to calmly do as I had learned Find it 👤 But beneath the waning moon The sky was crying I could unusually hear the ocean roar Two streets from my feet The dog stared out of the doorway And I answered questions Stripping down the values and thoughts I've been holding  👤 As I placed each self imposed  Rule upon paper Committed through ink My view of the open sliced Flesh I had ripped into I wished it was my tongue I had swallowed and begged The rain to wash me © JL Nash, 2015

[jl-nash]

Felt like 11 bars of a Philip Glass composition or a cameo in a Peter Greenaway film. Wasn't either on further inspection. Just me

[jl-nash]

[jl-nash]

[jl-nash]

[jl-nash]

[jl-nash]

[jl-nash]

Soon the marker will announce remembrance of late after lunch, delivery. Saddened by my lost year. Missing the contents of London, Paris, New York. Payment: an understanding of fog, mist and patience.