in a space inbetween our togetherness...

In

a space

inbetween
our togetherness,

I go in search
of
electric heat,
music making machine
& red sheets.

I notice a single yellow flower
braving the safety
& sanctuary of garden;
it boldly pokes itself through
fenced confines,

lifting its tiny head skyward
in search of winter warmth.

I try to take a photo,
but the memory in my phone
is full.

In a park (a little later)
I begin to shed digital memories.
I feel the sunlight tingling
on my forehead & skin.

I marvel at fallen red leaves
lying in wet grass,
they gently absorb the sunlight,
glowing...

I make my way to the mall,
thinking of her,
breathing & seeing the world
with the eyes of a photographer.

The sky burns a brigher blue
than normal,
it ignites yellow leaves on a tree.
Lightning glows in their veins,
as they dance
gently in the breeze.

On another fence

larger than the first,

a freshly painted heart

stains timber...

And on the other side of a busy road

(on a concrete wall)

Wendy & her siblings

take flight skyward...

She looks determined,

searching (once more)

for her

beloved Peter...

Across railway line,

tree branches stretch like witch fingers

toward

just out of reach

sky...

Until finally,

mission accomplished:

(an assortment of essential

winter-warding appliances

& bedclothes under arm)

I return to the spot

where I first noticed

lone yellow flower

and fence.

Bending down

in the fading light,

I take a photo

(to accompany an as yet unwritten poem)...

And I am

delighted

to discover

not one flower

lifting its head towards the last

dying light of dusk...

...but two.

I smile,

and think of her.



So much beauty
I have seen today
and long to share
with someone who understands.

Inside my head,
I quietly begin counting down
the days,
hours,
minutes
& seconds
until her imminent arrival.

I smile.

And as the sun, it sinks,
the thought of
her in my arms once more,
it warms me;
thinking of her smile again
makes my steps a little lighter;

I make my way
slowly
& deliberately
(alone, yet happy)
towards tram stop
and the long ride home.

In

a space

inbetween
our togetherness...

(c) Brent M Harpur, 2012.



“Your wide eyes are the only light I know from extinguished constellations.”
(Pablo Neruda)

25th June 2012

and should a mermaid
come to visit me
in the night...

should i be blessed
with her company
here in my bed...

i just want her to know
that she never
(ever)
has to apologise

for bringing with her
the ocean.


(c) Brent M Harpur, 2012.

"I've been waiting for so long..." ('Sail Away', Tom McRae.)

both born anew / a thousand other words for beautiful...

Imagine if you will two butterflies: Both have recently struggled, strained & fought from their separate chrysalises; they now lie, side by side, wings entwined, dripping, wet; waiting, together / alone, for the sun to dry their wings... The scene is set.

The world awaits...

I look at a photograph
of a delicate rose
covered in early morning dew,

it reminds me of you:

New eyes,
new body,
we are
both
born
anew.

Discovering
new worlds within worlds,

while outside
a yellow & full moon
sets a cold city ablaze...

Inside,
in the warm;
ferns unfurl,
we are
perfect,
we are
freshly born.

We begin again.

Beginning...

To feel again
& to see again.

Reinventing
smell, sound & taste.

Let us slowly,
ever so slowly
shed our skin,
our chrysalises,

remove the rawness & sensitivity
and
become more sensual,
more magical.

Two butterflies,
wings wrapped around each other,
twisted, sore

but not broken, not fragile.

Give it time, my love...
 Give me time.

We have only just begun.
It isn't even 11:11 yet.

We adore each other's bodies,
are reminded that we are both artists,
grown up children.

And through trust & fire
(we have long established by now)
that these eyes
we have been blessed / cursed with
don't see the way most do.

And these hearts,
they beat a little different too.
Oh, the delight
in finally meeting another
heart of the same design.

Let us reawaken our poets
and discover
new languages,
new dialects...

where words & worlds collide.

Just because one man
took away that one word
doesn't mean that we cannot
come up with

a thousand other words for beautiful.

Feel the senses in rapture,
heartbeats
beat beat beating in back,
in fingertips.
Goosebumps
in nape of neck & hair.

Can you feel it too, my dear?

Let us welcome
with reckless, fiery abandon
these new senses of...

Wonder.
Delight.
Adventure.

Our presence / our very essence,
tonight (of all nights)
it breathes life into each other.

And if pain,
it threatens to take away
your feminine spirit (again):

When we next meet,
let our combined hunger & lightning
once more nuture it,

help it to
slowly burn,
slowly return.

Give it time, my love...
  Give me time.
  Give us time.
  We are only beginning.

And let's not
let our separate pasts
seep into
our
futures together.

Nature continues on,
but while apart
our senses are still so, so vital

to our memory & spirit.

Until (once more)
we are together,

born anew,
re-igniting,
gently blowing on
each others wet & glistening wing,

each others flame.

When
you smile, I smile.

We both smile.

A connection
so rare,
so genuine,
so true.

Let us continue to unfurl,
naked, no longer alone, together;

Together at last!
Eyes barely open,
senses reborn...
And learn to trust
that we are not equals;

merely
(superbly, grandly)
a long overdue
gentle / strong
reflection of each other!!

Give it time, my love...
  Give me time.
  Give us time.
  We are only beginning.
 
The world awaits...

The world begins...


(c) Brent M Harpur, 2012.

"In movement is blessing." ('Woolgathering', Patti Smith.)

poetic response / you already were fire...

thank you for
reminding me

(from afar)

that: "I was a quiet flame

needing someone (or something)
to simply breathe on it."

I read
and re-read the words you wrote:

"You already were fire."

all I really know
(after forty three long / short years)

is that there are many
different kinds
of darkness
in this world...

Please don't leave me either,
should this
borrowed cornea

fail me (again).

It is true,
I cannot see you very well
from a distance

but I feel
your every presence
& your very essence,

in
everything I do,
everything I see
and
everywhere I go.

Thank you

for setting
my world on fire!!
(c) Brent M Harpur, 2012.

"Love is friendship set on fire!!" (Bruce Lee)

-For my only (distant) Muse.

erotic dream #1 / I can still taste raspberries...

This is not a poem. It is a dream I just had...

"You're sitting in front of me. You smile. I smile. You put your hand roughly on the back of my neck. You kiss me hard, our lips & tongues so wet, sweet, fevered, alive!! You taste of raspberries, your hair smells faintly of vanilla... I awake with a start! Turned on, so hard, so filled with lightning. A dream so vivid, so real. In the darkness I reach out for your face on the pillow, but you're not here. I am alone, so alive, but so alone. I long for your fire!! And in my mouth, on my tongue, I can still taste raspberries..."

Brent M Harpur, 14/6/2012, 18:56pm.

best job in the best city in the entire universe / human...

(i)

This morning,
I find it so hard to rise...

Sometimes,
Winter's teeth snap & snarl
outside cozy warm bedcovers,
& the temporary sanctuary
of shower
seems so distant
& out of reach.

Showered, dressed,
I brave & brace myself
for the cold & unknown outside my front door.

But this morning,
the rising sun has
disappeared.
There is no sky &
birdsong is mysteriously absent.

The city is draped in
heavy grey fog.
Street lights,
thick like cataracts
do not light my way.

The cool morning air
is pierced by an eerie silence.
There are only shadows and smudges
where once lay
familiar landmarks, trees & buildings.

Standing alone
in the murky grey swell,
my misty breath seems to
add to the surrounding chill,

and it threatens to swallow me up whole.
I shiver.

Suddenly, in the shroud
a noise breaks the silence...

Two huge, mournful
(yet hopeful) yellow eyes
break though the milky blindness,
familiar tram sounds
fill my cold ears.

I leap on board
& am at once filled with the warmth
of body heat,
bustle, mindless chatter
& human company.

I slowly feel the grey lift,
smiling a wide smile
under my scarf...

Secrety armed in the solitary
feeling of knowing that
I am on my way
to the best job
in the best city
in the entire Universe...


(ii)

Seven short hours have passed.
I sit at a cafe table,
surrounded by the bustle & noise
of a Queen's Birthday Monday.

In front of me
lies a giant piece of sticky date pudding
& a coffee...

I eat slowly, deliberately,
with a relish earnt from
entertaining & drawing for
so many,
numerous
complete strangers.

Memories waft back through the fatigue...

A balding man, and his love for fishing.
No money, but a promise to
buy me a coffee next time he sees me.
The joy in his eyes as he leaves,
clutching his cartoon portrait prize
is payment enough.

Two young brothers from Brisbane,
in matching black cheesecutter hats,
both also wanting to be
immortalised in cartoon as fishermen.

One removes his hat to reveal
lots of curly hair, very similar to my own.
He tells me he grows it like that
to keep him warm,
when he comes to Melbourne
for Winter holidays...
I chuckle loudly.

Another two brothers,
one leaves an AFL legend,
the other a Jedi Master,
brandishing bright blue lightsabre.

Sometimes it feels I have
spent my entire life (or at least thirty six years of it)
drawing characters from the Star Wars universe.

A young Italian girl captured in ink
as a Piano Star.

Three sisters, a netball player,
tennis player...
And the youngest, all of four years old,
declaring to myself and her mother, boldly:
"When I grow up I want to be
a rockstar & an artist!!"

Two more brothers from Ballarat,
one another aspiring artist,
who likes painting stripes.
He proudly tells me his secret technique
of using masking tape.
His brother is more motivated
by two wheeled machinery,
an aspiring motorbike rider.

A man in impressive Father Christmas-like beard,
in Melbourne for the weekend
from Adelaide,
to celebrate his mother's 70th birthday.
She gives me a handful of gold coins,
hard earned reward for
forever capturing in ink her grown son
as the 'Patron Saint of Fine Pale Ale'.

Three more cartoons
for the children of the cafe owner.
A star fighter, AFL player and gymnast.

So many more I've forgotten,
including forty (or more)
random cartoons & quotes of animals
to help entice customers into the cafe...

I am exhausted
(despite ever flowing free coffee
and the good cheer of cafe staff).

I eat my warm
sticky date pudding
slowly, deliberately.
I savour the sweet caramel sauce
and melting cream.

I am tired, but happy
knowing full well
that I have earnt that fatigue;

I smile a large beaming smile
behind my cake fork,
knowing all too well

I have
the best job
in the best city
in the entire Universe...


(iii)

I am home, alone.
I sit at my computer,
and chat to a woman I have met
in another city.

She, like me, is an artist,
a very good one
and a magician of words.

For a few minutes,
she makes me forget my exhaustion.
She makes me feel safe, warm
and not so alone.

She tells me not to idolise her,
that she is very human
and may disappoint me.

I take note not to
spoil her so much,
but to do what I can
to care for her,
even from this persistent
& annoying distance.

We are briefly warmed
by the trust we have
in each other,

close & far.

She has gone now,
to take shelter from Winter
in her drawing...

I have had enough of drawing today.

I miss her.
I want to be able to hold her
and tell her I care for her
that her brother's an idiot...

...and do something (anything)
just to make her smile
& hear her laugh,
call me a dag.

What is the point of all this,
I ask myself grumpily
in the silence...

What's the use of
having
the best job
in the best city
in the entire Universe...?

...when the best girl
(I have ever met)
lives in another city?!!

Getting ready for bed,
I quietly hope she does
not idolise me, either.

That she knows that
this fellow butterfly
is also very human
and may disappoint her.

I feel a slight shadow
of cold, grey melancholic fog
tapping at my shoulder.

It threatens to swallow me up whole.
I shiver.

But as I turn off the light
and get into bed,
this human
feels a little less alone
in the Universe...

...Knowing
that someone cares.

(c) Brent M Harpur, 2012.

"Take shelter in each other." (Irish Blessing)

just wanted you to know...

I just
wanted you to know
that you can

plug your i-pod
into my stereo

anytime you want.

(c) Brent M Harpur, 2012.

passing storm...

these
are not tears
in my eyes,

just a passing storm.

and
the sun
will shine again.


(c) Brent M Harpur, 2012.

"I have deep faith that the principle of the Universe will be beautiful & simple."

(Albert Einstein)

- For E



in the twinkling of an eye (2)...

 

 

Photos (c) Brent M Harpur, 2012.

in the twinkling of an eye...

(1)
In the twinkling of an eye /
borrowed corneas
(like stars) may die.

(2)
In the dark or sighted now
he'll always find /
The perfect portrait memory
of her body, spirit, mind.

(3)
He dreams again of her
cool hands, warm lips & mouth /
Wild anticipation,
As they slowly ventured south...

(4)
She awakened his new-born body
in a way he'd never known /
Skin tremors, sparks & shudders,
embers stoked & blown.

(5)
Her touch & beauty remain inside,
fragments again made whole /
Unscathed, anew, her blazing comet trail
tattooed across his very soul.

(6)
And should she bless him once more
with her kiss, her breath, her name /
His hairless body would surely (completely)
burst into spark & naked flame!

(7)
He longs for her mind, smile & fingers,
her unique fiery blaze & return /
Because no other lover ever discovered
his private world, made him quiver & burn!!

(8)
As his world begins to set, he slows,
skin lines & spine curves, he grows much older /
Still in memory, distance & time he thinks of her
and his embered body smoulders.

Still in memory, distance & time he thinks of her
and his embered body smoulders...

(c) Brent M Harpur, 2012.

"If you do not breath through writing, if you do not cry out in writing,
or sing in writing, then don't write; because our culture has no use for it."
(Anais Nin)

watersign/starfire (the world begins)...

I cannot take your pain away,
just as you
cannot swallow my blindness.
Night surely
follows day, but I
no longer
fear the darkness.

I've still got some teethmarks,
third degree burns
and some scars...

But could you (would you)
let me decipher
the ancient
secret language
of the stars...?

Can you still feel
my breath, my lips, my tongue
on your lower back, on your waist?

Smell, taste and touch,
they overwhelm me
but in a good way.

and I would much rather be overwhelmed,
 than underwhelmed.

These tangled fingers & lips:
Such a sweet & stolen eclipse!!

I want to move amongst the cosmic fire
I see burning in your constellation eyes.
And I swear if I came inside your
celestrial swell
I would fill you with molten stars!!

They would leak from your every pore
fiery tears from your sacred core...

May you shudder like a supernova
taking its last dying breath;
a hissing between the teeth

like some ancient star-song.

I long to taste you,
hold the warmness of cold/warm
moon against my skin.

These are only words...

These are only words
but if they were
my fingers
I'd put them inside you;
Tenderly touch & stroke
your love-drenched heart;
feel it shudder & burn
under my fingertips!

This is the forbidden (yet sacred)
fire of a star-angel Goddess:

Now, again,
if I were to look at the photo
(that you have gifted to me),

since that first kiss...

I would see wisps of smoke
escaping your lips,
your mouth,
your nose.

"I want you so much..."

The world begins.

I cannot take your pain away,
just as you
cannot swallow my blindness.
night surely
follows day, but I
no longer
fear the darkness.

(c) Brent M Harpur, 2012.

"Echoes fade & memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes."
(Linda Goodman)