Nov 012014
 

 

Whitehorse        ACHILLES’ DESIRE

 

autumn lithum

 

in my vision

 

statutes of light

precisely grind nerve endings

into straight razors

gliding across eyes

electrifying life

 

 

brazen

 

slashed open

yellow topaz gems coagulate

on the surface

exquisite sorrow flickering

in the wake of the wound

can you feel just how deep it goes

 

 

when words no longer metabolize

when disembogue voices pour

into arms of a denatured spirit

when envisioned prophecies of gold

are laid to rest on barren tongues

 

 

and then miraculous repose slips away

still still silently the eyes

forever lay awake

aware painfully

the voices no longer reverberate

and I wonder

just where it was I went

 

 

as neurotransmitters scan the sound

swept up and away sadly caught

in timeless pursuit of wind and it’s tale

how endless is this game

of coaxing and desire

to catch and to be caught

to whom shall the prize be given

 

 

voices falling on deafness

 

with the question asked

she falls into sight

ancient is she envisioned

clutching a mongrel child

futilely suckling scar tissue

to late to late

one eye mourns

the other glimmers with resolve

 

 

placing the child on stone cold

amidst a thicket of roses wild

bending hip

bowing out of respect

she addresses the blooms

one by one

grey blue is her hand

raising a chalice to their crowns

 

 

gently did she blow

each rose from the stem it clung

leaving the petals and scent untouched

and very much still attached

to colour

thorn

and spine

 

 

the throne disposed

a kingdom dispatched

this cup of her’s overflowing

with milk of rose

she nourished the child back

on the vestiges of immortal sun

 

 

in my vision

statutes of light

precisely grind nerve endings

into straight razors

gliding across eyes

electrifying life

 

 

reaching out

grabbing the captain

by the throat

my hands become anvils to enunciate

“is thy nomen mysticum Los”

this terror screams

 

 

but my voice falls on deafness

 

 

still

the eye forever twitches

along the trail

that leads away from what ills

and I wonder

just where it was I went

a hundred thousand years

ago or so

 

 

Tragically Hip   S C A R E D

 

*Note: Los was a mythological character from the writings and art of William Blake. Los represented inspiration and the imagination.

.           .           .

* This is farewell. The end of words here. The end of Hudson Howl. No he is not dead, just tucked away; out of sight and out of mind.  And no he will not be commenting on your posts , but for better or worst I will be.

How long?  Some time next year would be the goal. To return with new voice and direction the plan.  Shtufffs will remain for the time being, with the odd photograph and or image.   The main site which has been completely neglected will be torched. From the ashes, something new will be shaped and formed, that is the ambitious plan subject to prevailing conditions.

Maybe I will watch some television and read all those digital books sitting in drive.

At the bottom this post, I leave out the door with a song. Give it a listen to the end, he winks and grins. Energy and resolve comes from the damnedest places.

I will be around, watching and reading your offerings and shtufffs.

Salut

Calvin

Pennywise   STAND BY ME

The Devil may care, but Elvira could give a tinkers’ dam as long we stand together.

the Devil may care Elvira could care less

 

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