Life on the Other Side

I have been reading and thinking a lot lately about the unconscious, in metaphorical terms, described as being like the other side of the mirror; the person within us that acts, but unthinkingly, or with a mode of thought so different to our 'own' that we recognise, it feels barely like us, at all.

As I sit on my bed and glance out of my window at the world, painted white by the, somewhat still there, snow- a part of me got to thinking, while the body remained fixed.

Here's a poem I wrote a short while ago, no further context needed!

There is a world that flows around me,
made of people and place, wide as the sea-
they race and pace to a rhythm they've made
but I struggle, still, to connect or believe.

There is a beauty, herein, that much s true:
the symbol, the circle, as blue joins to blue
and the line of the horizon is falsely made;
as with all human veils, I try to see through.

And I wonder, sometimes, what life truly means
I contemplate all things, but still never see,
is there ever a point, or is all accident?
A life wide awake is a life spent in dreams.

Something about...

...Love. Or sex, if you want to see it so blandly- though I do believe the two are quite united, though, admittedly, (and certainly, for the best) not always.

It is national Poetry Day, after all- so tell someone you love, just that you do.

Stood on our knees

hard-pressed

one behind the other,

conjoined,

both inside and

out, by hands and lips

and mouth; somehow

feeling like a martyr,

I swear I almost could have said those words

but you held my tongue

and so they circled

through my head

like an endless refrain:

I love you… I love you… I love you…

In Lieu of the Weather

Here's an old something that I wrote a couple of years ago. If you're currently watching the rain, the swaying of the leaves, or the play of light- artificial or otherwise- and the glow throw shapes on the streets... Well, how could you be- you're looking at a screen.
This one's for you.

Rain fell in petulant drops

like a soft flurry of snow;

the leaves of trees,

in textured, patterned, veils

rippled like the waves

amidst the glimmering

dancing light that weaved through

all the while,

the jubilant moon

stood still.

Look who just got...

...Instagram!

Yeah, I'm usually against the techno trend, notwithstanding a few posts here and there... A blog, twitter...

So, if you're tired of words; here's some pictures to sate your appetite.

A link, directly:
www.instagram.com/jeremiahtayler/?hl=en

Heavy

Mental health issues exist as a thing that has rarely, until more recently, been considered as a substantially important issue, or else been regarded with its due levity, least of all in popular culture, or therefore been appreciated, for want of a better word, by the populace. Perhaps more and more, of late, it is openly discussed, as 'depression' becomes not only a commonly found phrase used among everyone of all ages; to describe even school children as much as doctors, dentists, service workers- woe, the fathomless depths of the artist...
   Jokes aside, it is an issue that has moved me to some length and is something I have 'entertained', as much as embraced, at times. It becomes a focus of my work, to some extent, and I believe there will be a time when societies, at large, will be capable of openly discussing all relevant and personable- even animal- issues with a peaceful and serious accord.

I suppose the idea is, we should learn to shrug off our old lives in favour of a new life- a new identity to befit a new way of thinking and living; one that includes a shared and divested sense of worth, for self and all alike.

Anyway- this piece, in particular was written, what seems now, a lifetime away- and one (anyone?) need not fear any implication of deed through word.

Peace.

X

I am oppressed by all of my
belongings; I am oppressed by my
thoughts and feelings. I think, often, of
relieving myself of my material burdens; of
shrugging off this life.

The Bear

In the time I've been away from my books, I have been playing around with paints, instead. Completing a small collection of annotated gauche paintings and poetry, I had also found time to work on this: the accompanying partner to my earlier abstract work, 'The Cat'. I give you...

Fabric of Love

Something old, today made new!

This fabric called love;
I make a rope of it,
I wring my hands, and I
mope from it,
and when, at last, it seems
that it just might end-
I step up to the noose
and fall right down again.