Renunciation

Rejection, rejection
Always rejection
Is that all you have – renunciation?
And I did so adore you

However:

Did you experience it also?
Did you understand the faithful?
The intense, demonstrative
It's you that's disgraceful

And then remembrance:
The provocative contact
The manner of your embrace

Also:

Splutter, splutter
Forever your splutter
Is that all you possessed – verbiage?
And that forlorn inclination

Whatever:

Now trepidation, the anxiety of innocence
The concern for impression
Now doomed to oblivion

And then memory:
The incendiary connection
The rousing of your acceptance

Remember:

I renounce, renounce
I renounce you

Florescent Nocturnal

Such brightness I saw at midnight
The emergence of another
Looking back in envy
Pervading the breeze with desire

Your soft folds envelop me
Covering the sensation of your contact
Then the pure dreamlike instant
The moment of utter elation

Let me look upon your lovable significance
Let me delineate the sweet suggestion
Let me survey the expression
Conveying your meaning to my existence

The hour ends in dissolution
With an impression so enlivened
Something always of remembrance
Enveloped in your grace

Too soon you rise and
Slowly glide into absence
The aroma of joy still hovers
How I ache for you to persist

Let me look upon your angelic essence
Let me trace those sweet tremors
Let me watch the effervescence
Effuse your substance throughout my being

Eyes closed, remembering
I long for your recurrence
Opening my eyes in the darkness
Lonely inattention is what I acknowledge

Alone now at sunrise
The dead day all non-existence
Awaiting another night of apparitions
Only then can I experience your ambience

Let me await your angelic essence
Let me await those sweet tremors
Let me await the effervescence
That gushes around my very being

Ashamed

Are you ashamed
Of me? So,
Do I not live up to
Expectation?

I'm proud of you
So why
Are you
Mortified by me?

Your embarrassed
By me, so
Stop demanding
I follow.

Your humiliated
By me, therefore
Hack from my soul
What you will.

Depart forever, if
Your so
Ashamed
Of me?

St Oswald’s Church, Liverpool

Earlier this week I set off to have a look at St. Oswald's church in Old Swan. When you glared at the map it does not seem that far from Liverpool Lime Street station. In times past I would happily have walked this sort of distance – I often walked from Toxteth to Liverpool city centre. On this day I was exhausted long before I made it to St. Oswald Street. Along Edge Lane you could see the St. Oswald church tower beckoning in the distance and all to imperceptibly getting closer.

Normally I don't have much time for either church or religion, neither mean more to me than a vague curiosity value. So why this trip? Later this year I am starting an Open University module that consists of a rapid romp through the arts. One topic is the architect Augustus Pugin [ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pugin ] so it seemed a good idea to have at least a peek at one of his buildings; a peek all close up and personal. St. Oswald was built in 1840 and only the tower remains of Pugin's original. Here are a few photos I took on the day.

Overall I was a little disappointed by the church. With what I'd read about Pugin I was expecting some stand out architecture but what I saw was little different from hundreds of other such buildings. It was pleasant enough as architecture but little more; it must be enthusiasts that put all that effort into writing such books and like – only to disappoint the amateur like me. Still I'm glad I've seen it. The church was locked so I didn't get to see inside.

On leaving the small churchyard you could see the Victorian graves, the neatly cut hedges, you walked under the shade of a thriving tree; behind you was the empty locked church with its about to crumble façade; ahead was a small archway, adorned with moss, leading out onto the empty pavement; in the distance was the low hum of Edge Lane and the traffic making its way to or from Liverpool; just below this hum you could almost hear the chatter of a few local sitting outside a nearby pub. But there, across the road, dominating everything, was the aggressive utilitarianism of a Tesco superstore; it rammed its functionality and commercialism in your face. At this time of day a steady trickle of traffic meanders in and out and all the surrounding pavements and walkways are forced to conform to its monetary demands.

Was Catholicism, or indeed any church, any less demanding of uniformity? Probably not. But even a lifelong atheist like me cannot help feeling a little twinge of nostalgia.

I got the bus back into Liverpool – I was now minimising the amount or walking I needed to do – and onto an all-day-breakfast at a little café. Frankly this was the most enjoyable part of the day.

Can You Imagine?

Could I imagine you?
Striding, tempting
More than another’s
Vain enticement

Could I anticipate you?
With so zealous a fortitude
Greater than others could
Ever foresee

Should I envisage you?
So desperate as being
Unable to endure
Separation from you

Could I perceive you?
So despairing
As if to wither
Apart from you

Did I imagine you?
And the fearful
Ineptitude of these
These impossible lyrics

Could you also imagine?

Hinder Us Not

We need no assistance
We shall to set ourselves
Free

We refuse your help
And will educate ourselves in our
Endurance

We renounce your pretended support
And the hidden
Chains it brings

You can watch from afar
Festering in your own
Authoritarianism

Our struggle for freedom
Shows how we all can be free of your
Tyranny

Will You?

Please remain
Remain constant
Constant in us

Do delay
Delay awhile
While I compose myself

Detain yourself
Myself in admonishment
Of my misdeeds

Here loiter
Loiter and renew
Renew our feelings anew

Please linger
Linger with me
And I with you

Stillness in the Wilderness

A calm is every last dream of recollection
A calm surrounding my distant being
Nevermore making any noise
Nevermore uttering any tidings

Inhibition is my whole existence
Nevermore to be acknowledged
I exist in absolute inhibition
I am my infinite inhibition

Stillness is my disgruntled acceptance
Stillness perspires into my deepest psyche
Nevermore desiring any tidings
Nevermore accepting acknowledgement

This New Wine

The bottle pops open
The fresh aroma fills the air
The camaraderie fills our lungs

And that longed for union:
Do they gulp or do they retch?

What will be the response:
To this syrupy draught
To drink deeply
To imbibe with gusto
To swig it down
Or sip so sweetly?

The liquid spills into the glass
Wetting the sides
Sparkling in the dim light
And the most beautiful of fluids
Touches their glistening mouth

And that anticipated delight:
Do they gulp or do they retch?

The moment is almost upon us
To answer that deepest question
Of our unity, of our conjunction

And that quandary all must ask:
Do they gulp or do they retch?

The Dryness of Language

Still, derelict, non-existence, words
No words to tell you how
No words to feel

Silent, neglectful, inconsequential, words
No words to tell you what
No words to tell of the pain

Tacit, negligent, unimportant, words
No words to signify the failure
No words to express the hatred

Inaudible, remiss, immaterial, words
No words at all to convey the loss
Of what might have been
Of what should have been