on awakening from
a seven year dream…

©2002 Malcolm Smith

Abacus
 Artificial Gravitation
  Chronos
   Deep
    Flow
     Longing
      Love Life
       Musical Offering
        Nets
         Snow
          The Next Life
           The Palace of Secrets
            Turn Your Head Around

Abacus

One is desire, one wants something.

Two is action, doing, being.

Three is freedom or goddesses (the same thing).

Four is greed or excesses that fame brings.

Five is lustful carelessness, a shamed feeling.

Six is anger, sicknesses, insane, lurking.

Seven is heaven’s gate which opens, beckoning.

Eight is eaten, creating worlds anew, beginning.

Nine is beyond all concepts and demands, reckoning

Nothing is impossible, upon awakening.

20:00 27th August 1998 @ Michael’s Folly.

Artificial Gravitation

As disembodied souls, we fly
through digital canyons
cut deep into the algorithmic plateau,
whose mountainous perimeters spew forth
fountains of parameters from volcanic craters.

As time and the elements
decrypt the cooling coded magma
into wild new structures,
information passes from tree to tree:
a swaying whisper on the breeze.

Memetic pollen spreads through
self-organised fields crossed
by networks of troughs kept moist
by electrons in flow, powered
by the Sun’s benevolent light.

Song birds soar from electron clouds
to swoop on unwelcome parasites,
removing the threat of death, decay,
policing the territory, database sentries,
ever vigilant for viral intruders.

Someone must steer the ship,
steady the helm, hold fast
against the sirens’ call,
their own internal magnetism
levitating us above ground,

A positive force,
four decibels gain,
electronic potential
differences reign

Out here on the vast
wide silicon plains
where no man shall live,
though his mind remains,

Archived and focused
by laser-thin beams;
accessed and processed
and fed into streams

Of infinite tributaries
with quantum properties
to conjure up powers
of nature’s gravities.

Written on the evening of 23rd July 2000

Chronos

I am the knower of clouds;
they sit and watch my table, where
tales of dragons drag on endlessly into night.

I am the maker of storm,
the blower of trees, uprooter of victims,
casually wounding troops. I am without ally.

I am within the systems of men,
watching for chances. Slight knocks ripple
outwards to where pears grow in abundance.

I am that which no being does;
there is a sentience here with me,
collected from universal empathies never lost.

I am the thing you fear;
do not try to run - I live in your back,
helping myself to blood and fire.

I am those entities who roam;
we watch the lilting seas and rivers
only to find refuge in sedimentary rocks.

I am the skies beyond grasp;
nothing holds me like an anchor
for the firmament is but a map in my domain.

I am the edge of circular cliffs
whose precipices fall upwards to
a joy of unmeasurable dimensions.

I am waiting for the clock to strike twelve.
Without me it will not know where, so
I nudge it and tomorrow begins.

Composed in the last fifteen minutes of the first day of  September 1998 @ Michael’s Folly, hearing Harmonic Singing recordings ‘Octet’ and ‘Prana’.

Deep

In wintertime I met you at the edge
of water lapping sea-like on the beach:
a vast deep pool of power stored against
a man-made heap of sculpted boulder strength.

You touched my gaze with ripples flowing in
to paint a shimmering canvas where I stood
transfixed by smiles of beauty; deep within
me glowed your spirit like a tidal flood.

That moment seized me and my mind awoke
in perfect knowledge of the earth as whole,
before me then this liquid goddess spoke
a promise that would elevate my soul:

“When seeking strength and wisdom, think of me:
a dark, deep, calm, exuberant, inland sea.
My powers I bestow flow into thee
and lift your life toward the heavenly.”

Written in Nottingham, 9pm January 9th 1999, of deep powers found at Grafham Water three days ago.

Flow

Nature abhors a vacuum;
with gaseous fluidity
I seek you out unknowingly
under Her divine guidance.

Energy must flow -	Cold-hot creates warmth.
it will not lie inert -	High-low finds balance.
it animates matter	Near-far comes between.
and it mates with better energies	Happy-sad cheers up.
to make matters better,	Rich-poor gives wealth.
and friends out of enemies.	Boy-girl makes love…

Poles a				    …So that planets may turn
part, a	and seasons revolve,
charge	and poets shall learn
flows	of more mysteries to solve,

between us	so that birdsong may sing
rubbing	to the branches and trees,
auras,	to urge them to bring
buzzing	forth new flowers and leaves

heating	so that creatures be nourished
fires	and sheltered within,
friction	so that beauty may flourish
burning	to lift hearts of men,

turning	so that humans may learn
centres	to exist to evolve,
in like	while the planets they turn
vibration.	as electrons revolve.

Original ideas conceived 17:50 15th May 1998 at Kenwood House, Hampstead after Chilli beans & rice, to be composed later at   15:00 19th May 1998 in Lloyds Bank, Westcliff-on-Sea, after doing very little waiting for a server to load. Final verse finally arrived at 08:00 22nd May 1998, after four other attempts.

Longing

to sink into a warm bath
to look upon a certain smile
to practise and perfect a piece
to close a deal
to not worry about income or outcome
to open a mental door
to accept the best choices
to seal a friendship
to throw a fine party
to meet a beautiful person
to see children grow
to sing from cliff-tops
to heal troubles
to watch the clear night sky
to air one’s feelings
to greet the dawn
to teach wisdom
to envelop a loved one
to link minds
to create a masterpiece
to whistle in subways
to make people laugh
to feel calm euphoria
to radiate warmth
to be a free spirit
to spread happiness
to become intimate
to perceive signals
to notice coincidences
to link connections
to gather higher energies
to glimpse one’s own genius
to transcend expectations
to embrace challenge
to understand animals

to reach new levels
to tread softly
to eat when hungry
to discover one’s true diet
to balance one’s needs
to trust oneself
to follow one’s angels
to run naked in the woods
to startle friends with impromptu poems
to give presence
to meet with the gods of the mountains at the High Pass for the
			    festival of Lughnasad
to write serious music
to respect traditions
to chop wood
to know the unseen
to wait patiently
to walk though fields with you.

Winter 1998

Love Life

If life is a game of trying to find out the rules,
then love is agreeing on the rules you have found.

18:15 4.5.99

Musical Offering

To go dressed for sleep in shining clothes
into deep magic is my calling.

Castles await. Luxuriant, lonely towers.

	•		•		•

Last night I crept still further across the fog bathed battlefields;
the sentinels did not notice my soft tread.

I take off all the layers – pages of a book, still flying.

Antennae listen.

	•		•		•

We must arrange a diversion,
avert their eyes for a moment,
while the penny drops.

The citadel was not prepared for the results.
People were born,
awoken by slow-moving apples.

First part written at 22:07 25.1.99 hearing Alfred Schnittke, Sofia Gubaidulina & Edward Artemyiev by candlelight. Next section added before breakfast on the following dawn from 4:40 until 6:20 26.1.99. Last line inspired by mouse-driven decaying fruit 0:30 4.2.99.

Nets

Today all kinds of
magic is being
thrown about.

In this game
I am the ball;
kick me
into your net.

II

My compass is
lost on a sea
of confused signals.

Sinking,
I become fish;
trawl me
into your net.

III

Data bases in array
as timebombs tick
and virus spreads.

I be. Come in
formation;
download me
Inter (your) Net.

First net spoken aloud in bed unsleeping in darkness at 22:12 on 4.5.98.
Nets II and III caught the following night at 22:30.

Snow

In wintertime I met you on the hill;
we watched the flakes that trickled from the skies
and clothed the naked landscape now so still
with jewelled ermine robes, and tickled eyes.

You led the way to slopes of steep descent;
(I wondered at your sense of keeping calm).
The sled awaited passengers’ requests;
you wrapped long legs around embracing arms.

We flew at once along the powder snow,
your frilly collar ruffling in the breeze.
We held each other close and soon did know
the skill of sharing centred gravities.

With speed we plunged headlong into great drifts
and laughing, freezing cold, ran back inside,
(the cottage warmth worked wonders for our spirits)
and there unwrapped each other by the fire.

Written in Nottingham, 10pm January 9th 1999, inspired by angelic wintry image of Joanne Walpole.

The Next Life

In the next life
we met again;
following strange
transience of form,
we became Real -
our perfect selves
in bodies that
our minds had seen and
longed for since lost
days of childhood innocence.

Awakened in a vast dark room by
throngs of angels drifting by on
heady clouds of myrrh and sweet
ecstatic songs that filled the air,

we watched our eyes as tentative first
steps were made across the crowds of
Buddha bodies all, like us,
becoming one in divine love.

The energies now shone, above
a rainbow danced in heavenly space
as beams of lavender-flavoured light
did chance upon your radiant face.

I licked the glow of remembrance
with joyous tears of long lost friends
and soon embraced the fluorescence,
transcending fears, caressing hands.

Then clocks did chime a cosmic halt
to all of time, for at that moment
all and everything had reached its
apex - universal peace.

Composed at 9:09 on 27.4.98, @ Michael’s Folly, sitting by my sunny loft window hearing for the first time the stunning “Butterfly Dreams” by the angelic Flora Purim, also inspired by Fabrizia’s lavender.

The Palace of Secrets

In far mountains we built a temple for experimental behaviour.

We dwelled within rooms stretching from dawn to dusk.

You and I entrenched ourselves in our real selves;

A war began, each fighting to expose the other’s true nature.

In rooms of distant empathy, we lay in wait, trembling.

Forays were made into forbidden territories, cloaked in stealth and cover of darkness.

In no man’s land we watched each other, preening.

Patterns of time were eroded by freshwater currents gushing down stairwells.

Mysterious music calmed our fears with unheard sounds.

We painted the truth in vast murals.

Our dreams terrified us into new wisdom.

Awake, we held one another alone in tears.

Challenged paradigms uncovered vaults of creative genius.

We jousted with celery, eating only the purest of foods.

Cause and effect were monitored between us -

Knowing looks and gunfire glances exchanged emotions across corridors.

We laid siege on the past, as the future poured joyously through our veins
					into the present.

We held our breath for what would happen next.

Written in Nottingham, 11pm May 2nd 1999, recalling Dali &Gala at home in Port Lligat.

Turn Your Head Around

Turn your head –
a round, blue feeling
envelops us with
nascent calm.

Picturing a mental map,
I watch transport travel streets,
I spot trains along the lines,
I see ramblers walk down footpaths,
I hear voices talk down wires,
I feel power run through cables,
I taste water gushed through pipes,
I know data zips through fibres,
I smell sewage ooze through drains
	and sweet flowers smile down lanes.

Turning my head around,
I looked at the world again
and saw things
inside out:

blood rushing through veins,
food passing through tubes,
signals touching nerves,
thoughts making sense,
chi radiating in meridians,
ATP activating metabolism,
DNA replicating in chromosomes,
memes spreading like gossip
and love flowering like blossom.

Turn your head around.
See me smiling.

nascent a., in the act of being born, just beginning to be, not yet mature;
	      (Chem.) just being formed and therefore unusually reactive.

Composed unsleeping in darkness @ 0:33 25.4.99, completed next day @ 13:00 25.4.99.