Can You Feel the Mountain Bleeding

This is a poem by Joshua Crisp. He don’t like it so much, but I think it’s great. Have a look:

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Can you feel the mountain bleeding,

Weeping ice into the sea,

Tearing jagged flesh to float in chunks:

It’s broken, but it’s free.

Can you smell the oceans rising

Like a slowly marching horde,

That moonly grows in power

And hour by hour reclaims the land.

Can you hear the earth-skin cracking

From the hammers of the sun,

Its lips split and ripped from fracking

Til the oil reserves are done.

Can you hear the planet baking,

Or have you muffled out its screams,

Swaddled up in clouds we’re making

To fuel our pleasures and our dreams.

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Mountain

Hidden heart caves

Strung with stalactites

.

Sunless rivers

Where blind mushrooms

Frill and breed

.

Whispering walkways

Long enough

To lose a

Song

In…

Vernal

The change is tiny,
But it is enough
For the treacle sunlight to ooze into the room;
For the frost to slough off delicate bouncing petals
And for grey clouds to slip off the edge of the sky.

The shift is small
But it is enough
To realign the broken rattling parts
In our highly-strung guitar-hearts
And unwind a tune we thought we’d lost
To frost;

Yes, the difference seems no different,
But it is enough
To nudge our compass points,
Inch us onto new courses,
And find our soul-sails
Filled with Spring’s warm breath.

The Battle Hymn for T.I.E. Actors

Once more onto the bus, dear friends, once more!
And valiant bear your early morning dread:
In resting times, we felt not 6AM,
Could sleep til noon, knew showers, breakfast, friends –
But when the children’s shrieks blow in our ears,
Remember then you are a working actor:
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise poor costumes with conviction true;
Then lend your voice a bellowing aspect;
Let it ring through the chaos of the hall
Like a brass cannon, lest children o’erwhelm it;
Prepare as for a thousand interruptions,
Suggestions, questions, contradictions,
Where teachers rest and you take up the reins;
Now set your feet and stretch your hamstrings wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend and hum and siren
to limber up. On, on, you noblest Actors
Whose training comes hard won from drama schools!
Who dream’d not of Theatre in Education;
Who learned twelve parts; and morn till three have fought
And fall’n asleep among the props and costumes:
Dishonour not yourselves with feeble praise
Because you tread not boards in the West End;
You bring our country’s children their first theatre,
And teach them with your play. And you, good actors,
Whose limbs are sore and aching, show them there
The magic of performance; let none say
That T.I.E. is easy; for it is not;
Yet there is none of us so tired and worn,
That hath not noble lustre in our eyes
When we do stand before a packed school hall
Waiting for us to start. The play’s afoot:
Follow your blocking, and upon this charge
Cry “GOOD MORNING <INSERT YOUR SCHOOL NAME HERE>!”

A bridge to the stars

I love this poem. It’s about humanity, and progress, and loneliness, and at a time when billionaires are launching cars into space it seems more relevant than ever. Enjoy.

SellPen

We looked up at the stars one day,
Aeons ago, in simpler skies,
And dreamed of climbing milky stairs,
And finding heaven’s treasures there:
We’d plunder wonders and devise,
A game for us to play.

We fancied we wore Nature’s Crown
And though we were so very little
We strove so hard to rise above,
The grubby ground – we threw out love,
And didn’t let our broken-brittle
Human essence weigh us down.

And so we flew, so high, so grand
We fought us into different tribes,
And tore into a thousand parts
Our union-blood and common-hearts,
And build our nations great divides
Of property and stolen land.

And still we rupture and we fray
Our numbers swell, our cultures shrink
And more and more the sorrow grows,
The pain a tortured species knows,
We stuff the void with stuff and drink
A lonely toast to our decay.

Humanity’s no…

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Still Life

I shall stay

here

a Lady of Shalott

Pulling threads from my tapestry

instead of adding them.

I shall have less

I shall do less

I shall be less

Until I am only the sum of my thoughts

Translucent on the sunbeams

in the perfect quiet of this room.

I shall light candles

and meditate

and live on the dust that falls from my skin.

Barefoot on the carpet

I shall walk spring meadows

and the distant traffic

will be my sea shore.

I shall uncouple from human speech

I shall become the art within the frame

The upright stone in the sand garden

Poised just so

in this beam of sunlight

unbreathing

unmoving

marvelling.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

I really like Sellpen’s pantheon pieces. Check out his other Office Odyssey one too.

SellPen

It had taken a ton of negotiations with the other pantheons, but we finally had an Accord. There weren’t many of those made these days. They governed how we were allowed to interact with the mortal realms. The gifts we could bestow, the miracles we could perform, that sort of thing. It had been Krishna’s idea, and that helped. People liked her. A while back, Loki had tried to get us on board for a secret cabal of lizard-people who ruled the world. No-one had gone for that. He did it anyway, of course, because Loki was a prick. Nobody liked him. If he’d suggested a universal chronometry, someone would have punched him. But it was Krishna. And the idea made sense. Why not have everyone in the world – all the mortal folk on the same page with something. Some of us wanted peace on earth, and you had…

View original post 312 more words