And our lives are full of rivers.
North. Winter river. The Roding down to its last thoughts. The frozen reeds like spears in its heart. Stones hold the memory of summers gone.
Where were you born, R? I don't think I ever asked you. Under which uncontrollable star?
Stay a little longer!
I know you have other faces to see.
There is a clock in every room; each strikes a different hour. So it is, the guide of the time/ is broken up. Find centre.
Sit in the morning gloom, book in hand, soft pencil dormant; the cat has awakened as I stumble in the half-light. I am fearful of the cat. A Sicilian breakfast beckons but nothing can move me: here I am, unknown by own heart/I lay there in my shadows.
The moon is somewhere. The sun is somewhere. Earth has lost its proportions. This is like Space 1999. Out there, the seas, the night, the night in the sea. And a grain of rice lit by the moon.
The winds of the comet
are like a whirlwind.
The silent trail of a life.
~~
At the small oblong patch of gravely land they called "a beach" we set our towels down. Stepping into the sea. Is there anything more pathetic than a grown man standing in the sea, his jeans rolled up to his knees, trying to keep his balance against the sway of the world? Little r drops a unique shell and then scrambles desperately to find it. "It is gone, you have to let it go". She pauses to think and then looks again. Everything is in motion. The moon draws the shell to itself.
~~
I keep a picture of you with me. There is something dark/in this bright sun.
Do you know how to sing?
In a foreign land the snow falls. Introductions are made. But neither you or I will be here in this cosmos. But now, now...
Love, morning, stars.
Where are you?
Nothing happens. Marooned under this fog, waiting for it to break. Like months of rain that flood our time on earth.
Nothing moves.
The sun that seems now
only a stone glowing
A cloud.
Is this just a dream? Sun and stone and star and cloud all within? This dark love without love.
This last star, this ancient fish in the deeps. There is an ancientness to your walk. The old, mechanical heart whispers to itself a word that no-one knows. This song of one note and a million intonations.
Of all the souls I could have had I had this one. I look at myself coldly, like the moon. How did I ever come in this century?
~~~
Across the border they're burning the rice. Clouds and smoke enter our lives, burning our throats, constricting our lungs, stinging our eyes. There are no forests left anywhere in the world. I would speak as another person, hidden, as you are. I imagine what is lost. A coin left under a tree for safekeeping, London's underground streams.
The Roding slows and slows, inches its way forward. A discarded plastic bag, some leftover from a happier time, snags on one of the reeds and flutters like the flag of some unknown country. All our lives are full of rivers.
{Words by Joseph Ceravalo}
North. Winter river. The Roding down to its last thoughts. The frozen reeds like spears in its heart. Stones hold the memory of summers gone.
Where were you born, R? I don't think I ever asked you. Under which uncontrollable star?
Stay a little longer!
I know you have other faces to see.
There is a clock in every room; each strikes a different hour. So it is, the guide of the time/ is broken up. Find centre.
Sit in the morning gloom, book in hand, soft pencil dormant; the cat has awakened as I stumble in the half-light. I am fearful of the cat. A Sicilian breakfast beckons but nothing can move me: here I am, unknown by own heart/I lay there in my shadows.
The moon is somewhere. The sun is somewhere. Earth has lost its proportions. This is like Space 1999. Out there, the seas, the night, the night in the sea. And a grain of rice lit by the moon.
The winds of the comet
are like a whirlwind.
The silent trail of a life.
~~
At the small oblong patch of gravely land they called "a beach" we set our towels down. Stepping into the sea. Is there anything more pathetic than a grown man standing in the sea, his jeans rolled up to his knees, trying to keep his balance against the sway of the world? Little r drops a unique shell and then scrambles desperately to find it. "It is gone, you have to let it go". She pauses to think and then looks again. Everything is in motion. The moon draws the shell to itself.
~~
I keep a picture of you with me. There is something dark/in this bright sun.
Do you know how to sing?
In a foreign land the snow falls. Introductions are made. But neither you or I will be here in this cosmos. But now, now...
Love, morning, stars.
Where are you?
Nothing happens. Marooned under this fog, waiting for it to break. Like months of rain that flood our time on earth.
Nothing moves.
The sun that seems now
only a stone glowing
A cloud.
Is this just a dream? Sun and stone and star and cloud all within? This dark love without love.
This last star, this ancient fish in the deeps. There is an ancientness to your walk. The old, mechanical heart whispers to itself a word that no-one knows. This song of one note and a million intonations.
Of all the souls I could have had I had this one. I look at myself coldly, like the moon. How did I ever come in this century?
~~~
Across the border they're burning the rice. Clouds and smoke enter our lives, burning our throats, constricting our lungs, stinging our eyes. There are no forests left anywhere in the world. I would speak as another person, hidden, as you are. I imagine what is lost. A coin left under a tree for safekeeping, London's underground streams.
The Roding slows and slows, inches its way forward. A discarded plastic bag, some leftover from a happier time, snags on one of the reeds and flutters like the flag of some unknown country. All our lives are full of rivers.
{Words by Joseph Ceravalo}
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