Saturday, 31 March 2012

a halfway house twixt hope n heaven

'you have been measured and found wanting'
these are the words we all dread
word of a dissatisfied wife
and intolerant employer
a judgemental God
a selfish exacting parent
a gardener chucking out weeds
ourselves with a neurosis of disappointment
appointments and tape measures that will not reach
working out of tune
i tried to draw up an elevation of a wall
and wanted an inch in tenths only to find the rulers like to use the older metronome of  4 4 rhythm

i have been found wanting by a wife
i have been found wanting by a college
i have found others wanting that is after all what all writing of this kind is


wanting my own way

an expression to cut us down to size
castrate frustrate fail us all

forgiveness Jesus the friend who says they are crucifying me next
they are saying to God as they did when i offered them manna
as they did when they wanted to eat of my vast immeasurableness in Eden
when they took out their snake of tape measure their square rules their scales and doubting the
associative joyful morphous expansiveness of the gift and chose a little piece and ate its dissapointinjg shallowness
when they said am i bovered
yet they are the teachers not the vicky pollards

so forgiveness then is the unmeasuring the satisfying the readjustment of this selfishness
i will give them back this lovely thing of simply being
i will forgive them and with the holy spirit i will chuck the metronome and the decimalpointlessness
into the potters feel with the bag of gold and pass judas a big lump of clay and love him better i will repent of my unkindness and i will myself breath hope into the halfway house to help the family not to shiver in discontment and have a man fit his wife her breast bring him joy and let the children know they have loving parents and there will be a stone soup universality instead of a stuck and stayed itself betrayed no don't bother to get the elders ready to measure my prophecy for i am the voice of my father and yours i am the child that rather than lead you will move in the mix from volume to text from scribble to flow from impulse to seed from blossom to bee to mountain to me the elders are a nice group of children who are reluctant to call themselves either prefects nor perfect neither disciples nor inner core spokes of a we'll doind wheelies and reallyies and reels of threaded possibles but unable to thread the hole less bebbles of other fellowships that have closed sotne hearts so they get rounded by the tide but become unfasteanable buttons shall they be flattened to play tiddly winks to fire each other into hot tar treacel to make n=bonfire night treacle tofffe or parkin cake

oh black is the new white starry starry holy night all forgiven

where is the pay dirt that is julias measure of the scrolling morning pages suddenly that warm buttery burnt smell of morning toast of hot milk on puffed wheat why are somedays to have a different flavour i would have loved her metronome if she were not cutting my willy off with it would have loved her soft mothering mum ness if i were not being scissors by her 4 4 scale when i found decimals and elastic paper mackhe chords of mixed measure that had not differeentiated twixt softness and gracefull hammer ons and the smouldering fragrant possibilies of diving neath the water instead of unwinding endless lenghts of same
yet now i harvest more slowly the tunes i am left with i give myself more kindly to the untimedness of her gift and forgive her i h=jsut wanted 'spapce; her way of appealing to me once oh the heartless devils we all are

 a poor friend beleieving i am in a bad place does not want to be on the edge of my metronome as all the names i mention now are new to jim we are out of time
but still inside a whole range of musical possibilities oh steve i am sorry life has filled me with an ocean of remorse dissapointment and hurts that i do not want nor need to share forgivenes and the unmeasured fall of our shoes with hope of sharing leonard cohen in london and perhaps scribbling on a nother instrument enough of the harmonica unless there is also a guitar in  hand or i could just lsyen to your deep bless make them ultra in their mariness and torquise in their oceanic ness and may the black in theoir indigo make the moon sit out in 2d joy like matisse papercut ckleanliness amen

and let some kind custodion serve us both up with gods friut in a crumble of care with warm vanilla egg custrard
packages with wood engraving fro leverhulmes' shop gallery farm amp homes of bauhaus klee kandisny synaesthesai 60s pop gro[phoics

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