Power-of-Language

He came to me a siren Singing songs from the sea, Harmonizing my name with longing And breathing melody: A memory in blue, Shades of purple deep. Singing songs of impassioned mourning, He stole all sense from me. And so I gave my body to the rocks Begging for his touch, But he evaded my ever grasping hands And left me in my blood. And so I lay amongst the birds As they clawed and pecked my eyes, Soaking in his songs Until that moment in which I died.

There is no language after him, Only long pauses and sharp intakes: Even silence cannot sound For he is all words and none - done and undone - And I can only pay him lip service.

He washes the dawn with powdered hues and pastel blushes, brushes of periwinkle, peony and soft emerald green. He paints lightly with all textures and colours, converting asphalt to palatable, soft, pale citrines. Ocular blue vision, he tastes of lavender and mint, like a daydream lightly seasoned with a touch of Spring. Pervading my senses with a rose clouded tint, he gently affects everything. But my love is lost in his sweet mellow hues, my affections drowned by firm, floral tides, and so all longing I therefore must subdue: I must turn away and avert my eyes. But in shielding myself from the warmth of his rays, I must scold an

the trouble is you haven't sat down and really cowered before that holiest of words you haven't really listened and i'm sure you haven't heard there's a balance in the seasons in the rhythms of this world in the ripples and vibrations but you wouldn't really notice how subtle is the curve there is a darkness coming that will surely be unfurled it starts within the heart there will be no taking cover like the spalted beech who's heart is full of rot what is right before you you carelessly forgot and in this present darkness your thought is surely caught be careful of your words or haven't you ever heard that in this losing light there is a h

She speaks in purple tides and raucous tongues, Spitting venom in jealous hues of algae green: At odds with a world that has disenchanted Her, This savage sidhe rules the sea. Waves of eternal youth ravage the shore, And Her voice is met with thunderous applause, But these rough, grey tides bear great forlorn, And seek to reclaim the love She lost. Niamh swells first in anguish, then in fury, Crashing down upon submersed lands, And although mesmerising, Her destructive beauty Emphasises the mortal, fragility of man. I watch Her fixated in terrified awe, Struck by the sheer sublimity of the sea, Before I plunge into the depths and into d

‘Nothing will come of nothing’. But surely that nothing must something be? No, away with thine untender tongue, Come back and please revise your speech! But I cannot heave my heart into my mouth, Nor command my tongue untruths to speak When I do not hide behind pretence. Honesty has been my only breech. Can you for certain make no use of nothing, When language cannot account for all? For it cannot contain the human passion, Nor claim access to the noumenal God. What then can we learn from silence? The void will always speak for itself. But when language absconds the nameless, Then we must read what is not said.

Mother  she said, Let me show you how I survived you  take me to the stars again. Do you remember plucking me  pearl-bright in your palms, my girl, my matryoshka doll From the sky, swaddling me in the night  my baby, I'll mould you to my design But did you dare forget  I'm sorry if you never wanted to ford rivers, ride dragons, pick wild strawberries How difficult, how restless even smothered children can be  and whisper to your candle, I don't know which of us is the light anymore but I'm homesick So mother,  I said, Let me loose. Gouge me from your belly and hold me up to the wind  I'll find my own way up, either way.

Personal Journal of Head Researcher J. Peters, PhD. – ACN (authority/clearance number) 2540 Overview: Expose 4 participants to hallucinogens in an attempt to “relax” their minds into a state of higher understanding. Goal: Revise the Golf-Ferm trans-dimensional path equation. The occasional disappearance of ships between Rings has prompted desire for “a more airtight (sic) set of numbers for our pilots.” Day One. Well, we got the go-ahead to start the project. I’m a little bit surprised, to be honest; the Chairwoman must have REALLY wanted ship loss mitigated, because even to myself, the idea of drugging a

I had a friend with eyes brighter than the mercury in his hands when he said,  I am  an environmentalist; and I’ll admit, I thought he was just  I am not               tired  like you who only claim that halogen bulbs can’t grow, but I’ll take this chip, this spoon, this biro I took from Art and I’ll split the sky. and the thing is, he did take his pen, and I watched him set the clouds ablaze  And the world said     oh

Eliot’s broken images these are not, Elitist structures are neither wrought By mine pen which lately toils Through earthly emotions than erudite forms.