Author Archive for lee barnes

07
Aug
17

It’s A Tiled Life For Me

IMG_8440

Going back to the mud of our first love
Dirty and messy and messy and dirty
Somethings never change and sometimes all things change
Nothing mattered as long as I was with you
Feet floating off the ground
Forgotten the need to land
Displaced memories reconnected like glass from sand
Heart transfused with secrets known only for two
Mind restructured for a future view
Rising and delighting as the will became a dream
Like innocence reborn
Like freedom a base level
Matter torn and dimensions relocated in undisturbed streams
The higher the journey the smaller the road

It’s a tiled life for me
Pieces joined and pieces broken like gazing down a tunnel shaded by the covered lies and opening truths just looking to follow but also to lead my little pieces joined and little pieces broken into a whole, it is just that…
Are our souls completely complete?
Do our souls have a perfect shape incomplete?
It’s a tiled life for me

The lower the journey the bigger the road
Matter mended and dimensions reordered in discovered streams
Like freedom on a mountain
Like maturity reawakened
Falling and enchanting as a dream becomes the will
Mind restructured for a future view
Heart transfused with secrets known only for two
Displaced memories reconnected like glass from sand
Remembering the need to land
Feet firmly touching the ground
Nothing matters as long as I am with you
Sometimes all things change and somethings never change
Dirty and messy and messy and dirty
Going back to the mud of our first love.

Advertisements
07
Jun
17

The Line is (no longer) Drawn

9451238694_3d9f04889a_o

Just a cross in a box
Just two short lines
Define a position and load a small rock
Onto the carriage of time.
Just a cross in a box
Just a line in the sand
Demands my soul to listen
‘Fortune favours the…’
Hearing the whisper of remand
‘numquam prohibere somniare…’

There is something in the air
Caught my eye, turned my gaze
A child’s frame, a mother saves, a man changes
And yet
Yet the poor, the broken, the outer circle community, the dreamers, the faders, the unborn look to people in a little box signing a cross,
Just two short lines.

What way will your pencil turn grey?
What disturbed view will come into weighted focus?

Just a cross in a box
Just two short lines
Define a position and load a small rock
Onto the carriage of time.

‘numquam prohibere somniare…’

20
May
17

Gaudeō Tree


She rattled his cage like the claw of guilt stripping the soul

Censored and mutated their journey into a cylinder of meshed memories

Lines were drawn
Swords at dawn

For a moment she discovered the great breath -_

a sign of a path revealed
a magic on the tracks too weary to hide
a kiss to a moonlight audience
a ride to somewhere new _-

It turns out rejoicing begins and ends with a decision
Intentionality of realignment’s leaf floating in a bowl of love

[break it down]

okay so this is where we go just refueled with the tools to show you the value and systems the need to challenge wordly admissions where identity and re-creating reality flow symbiotically like you grabbed the finger but caught the hand and smashed the head but discovered new land and new horizons as you exhale the great breath to begin again _-

He ran him like a circle around a zero
He had days that broke the heart and carried people too far
The traveller was always a step too far down the tracks
and the stars melted in the abyss of his heart

For a moment he discovered the great breath -_

All the stuff
I mean all the stuff became a single line
You could walk it, hang on it, bounce on it and, even, see its future
And it ended, his future ended at the Gaudeō Tree

The story ends with the tale of people describing their love as a unified breath of pulchritudinous…

07
Feb
17

Stone 5


You open like a slanted door hinged with age

Hung tall and pulled deep

Anchored in earth 

ready, prepared, sweetly waiting

Even a Sage cannot hide behind a thin tree.

I chose to eat the snow to reveal the ground

My mouth 

stolen from its birth 

and my knuckles 

fractured from emptying the earth.

You may strip me of me

You may erase layers of history

You may reduce me to a skeletal tent for all to see

And yet

Once more

I will enter your Lent.

Once more.

19
Sep
16

A Domesticated Jesus

img_0062

I have your lead.

Are you ready for your walk?

Come, follow me.

The lesser light has took control as a worm surrenders herself to the Kingfisher

When we smell gas we are drawn to the cooker

The frame in our apparatus has become all that we see

When the bear no longer reigns in the forest, animals are set free

The knee bends awkwardly at the sight emerging when we looked

When we wrapped you in a Primark narrative but told the story in mime

The time we lost our hearts and purchased religious lavender to remove the smell.

I have your lead.

Are you ready for your walk?

Come, follow me.

The wild child that cried at the loss of songs to the gift of life

Like when people share the peace with war in their eyes

The wild child’s insignia melted as a project for power

Like when we stood, hands open, underneath your towers

The wild child squeezing the grit out of soil

Like choosing a life that sees.

I have your lead.

Are you ready for your walk?

Come, follow me.

13
Sep
16

(New Bluestare p-o-e-m) This is your moment

img_3107

 

So many shapes absorbed by their own shape

Everything about you and yours and you would not notice the ‘other’ you if it sat on your stretched 3d printed image of you

Yawn.

(A pissing ant still leaves a mark of something)

___

Wrecked and drifted, abuse in the echoes of surrender, from those with nothing left to give

8*^/ was the only code you left for us to decipher as if we gave a

Lift to a stranger and discovered who we really are.

With my veins I am reaching for the light

Stretched beyond the shadow of shapes made by you

Blistering the smooth pattern of our complexity

As if your anti-love proves that you love too.

Wrecked and drifted, abuse in the echoes of surrender, from those with nothing left to give

8^*/ was the only code you left for us to decipher as if we gave a

Life to a stranger and discovered who we really are.

Who we really are

 

 

12
Sep
16

Rekindle :_-

dsc_0703

Cerebral dance catches the beat but misses the mood

With hood covering defect of silenced play

As if children ever ask to be allowed to smile.

Bangs on the wall enter the room

As healing comes for those who stay

And arms lifted eventually tire after a while.

So, here are the keys ready for you

No barrier between longing and breathing

Just a little shift of view

To see the dance and

Rekindle romance in the Why? of what we do.

:-:

 




Subscribe to my feed Subscribe to Bluestare