An Experience.

That sensation that is
as good as god can be
within you, is you

is you

is you. Your quiet vision
of what is beyond the veils
of your busy mind - behind
you - is you, is you

is you.

To reach within, at peace
with eyes temporarily - averted
from the world in brief
meditation

untouchable sensations

spiritual highs

soaring significance, that
flies in the face of all of your logical
rules of comprehension.

An Experience.

Is it true - that there is more,
to everything you can see, than all
you can ever see? Of course it is.

And when you seek revelation
it will come to you, it is you, it is you

it is you.

We can drop all intention
to influence, expect - think about
respect, die with responsibility
and chase the flame

outside ourselves,

to a world of staggering wonders
beyond our boundaries - even
of imagination - to places that
break us of our known dimensions.

This is where science takes us.

Our world right now,
is where it has led us - so far
away from painful ignorance.
To truths - about us all.

You will not find all the
answers, by looking inward
anymore - unless they are
only for the leaving -

which would have you quiet
at peace and easing … would have
others agonising over false damnation,
rejected lessons at the last

and yearning for something
false and so tragically unachievable.

A betrayal of all our imaginations

is too often - an experience.

by Gareth Rosser

Only one word?

Those who worship,
sing, chant and bring out
passages from one book
as an answer to all

believe

life's questions
are that important, that
we seek it's truth and share -
tell of our beliefs

in a wretched world

we must take
and build our visions
of a path to paradise -
one way or another.

Atheist,

what does it matter?

- What does it matter?!

If we are without mission,
our human nature is immediately
licking at the mouth of depravity,
cursed with desperate agony

apparently

there is a silent, bubbling
judgement that turning a blind eye -
to simply get on with life, does no
justice to - until you stop

to think

when they 'knowingly' smile
at you and quietly turn their inner
gaze to prayer for your soul,
in fiery judgement

they honestly believe

you are going to their hell
or some brutal, eternal damnation,
some torturous, endless pain
- and fully deservedly

upon any lasting denial.

Yes, life's questions
are that important, that
we seek it's truth and share -
we tell of our findings,

offer new understandings

accept we may not always,
if ever, be unfailingly right -
in the light of test after test after test
in trial and in error

accurate, empirical
truth is as humanly, honestly -
close as we will ever get to our
ever achievable view, of eternity …

… so why is that less magical,
any less meaningful, less real
or any less spiritual - our human
spirit - reality - nature - bodies

and failures

drive us up for a moment
to look like no others we know of
around us, at our universe - to peer
down into it's true quantum nature

out into our lives and up
to chase away our place within
a flowing web of galaxy rivers
around spaces, dark energy

invisible places - dark matter

all that is out there
right now, uncaring if we look
or not - majesty beyond our reckoning -
beyond our insignificant, human

powers of perception

yet, we can look -
and learn - if we set our minds
to it and away from viral traps
of religious doctrine

that limit truth

always to

only one word.

by Gareth Rosser

Lucky, Lucky Eyes.

it has to be a strength
of impossible life
to smile in the face
of infinite darkness

an overwhelming dream
finds our minds at the end
of a chain unbroken by death
but should we suffer

to flower, seed and pass

to drag on our ideals
is to steal all passion from
the future - to believe we
have a place that is sacred

is a sour, still reflection
on the water that in time
will always fall - all the better
to see the smoke and believe

it is rising from a fire
that we will never contain
though we all get to touch it
and burn with it a while

enough is enough
that we scourn those
who step up and say
what it is

to believe or not
to believe in faith
that has us flounder
on wild shores

at the edge of infinity
over a bottomless belly
of dreadfull darkness
forever falls away

under our feet
is the freedom to fall now
or fly for a little while
in hope, in wonder

in reality

in our own presence
over eons of evolution
to read of it's ways
and learn of it's messages

to the future, though
our lucky, lucky eyes.

by Gareth Rosser

No room.

In realising
there is no room

for faith,

there is no sharp
blanket of easy belief -
anywhere between Mary
and an eternity of stars.

Marked out by a comet
of contrast, to us.

In the eye explosions of Hubble
space telescope - pictures of an
ungraspable, utterly edgeless
and immensely scaling height

inflame our senses
while robbed of all perspective

we look into the eyes
of our universe like a baby
preprogrammed to recognise
the features of our parent's faces

we must shake
to our very core, and reject all
given lore - to allow a glimpse
at a more realistic truth

that probably has nothing to
do with us - to catastrophically
shatter all illusions, mindlessly smear
our delusions out of all direction

but up there

the wind of seeds, blows
in all directions, at once with none
and thunder passes across echoes
of life given chances

to see, unbelievable nature

without nurture

without us - realising.
There is no more room

for faith.

by Gareth Rosser

Drop.

At the exclusion of
any unwelcome edge

Within,

our most common ground rolls out
to an ugly, slippery curve.

Grey. Like an open ball-joint.
Exposed - amid broken, blood-drained
muscle. Cooked-in and torn out

of tendon-tight, tender folds.

An unintentionally burnished knife,
cuts unavoidably around a peer-pressure
blunted head. A bone bubbling, pitted, jagged,
overhanging blade - as a wall that
stops all new-minds rising.

Until a broken bone,
all sticks and stones. Thrown
pottery at the wheel of whirring
time, thumps change into
the ways of making.

Love learns,
to let go of the aching.
The pain enflames all fears of
taking chances with the broken
teeth of eating dreams of seeking
solace, in the listening of others.

Another, scream
to remain unseen - although
it is all that twists and turns,
works to earn our movements
motion - expression.

Drop.

by Gareth Rosser

Big Bang.

My son comes to me from school,
with small stones he picks up in the yard.
Usually pieces of flint, kicked in
from surrounding gardens

and given two, he will tap them together
to make a beautiful sound.

A semi-plastic, resonating sound.
From a material who's broken edges and curves
fit so comfortably into his hands - and my hands
as he hands it to me …

… like it means to be

something has made us - more human
and reality driven than any textbook
or I, could ever tell.

I wonder, where you
and I came from

looking back, through your eyes

in learning so eagerly. Perhaps we are bound so tightly with
the answers, we do not see them close behind us,

yet they open before us, in our children's ways.

I wonder
in your young eyes
how it would be
to see,

sun-rays

bursting out
from behind a cloud

without for one moment,
thinking past ~ it was God speaking ~

to genuinely see nothing but our home star's light,
descending - beautifully broken through an atmosphere
it bore, by universal physical laws - yet has not yet swept away
from our born home planet's surface, like it has others -
and that's why we're here to see it, as delicate life
crystallised on some current surface of space-time.

Big Bang

and our place upon it.

by Gareth Rosser

My God.

At the intimate
edge of mind
there is a spirit
of so much more,
than survival.

So obviously

of love, life and
giving truth to
all who seek -
our immortal soul
for a life to live.

In our ultimate
nature

there is more
than a chemical
soup - a harsh
catastrophy of
death over life

of

edge over edge
under knife-edge
of trials. A devil's
chaplain, advocating
a sour temptation
to shun revelation

in the face

of bitter hellfire
and foul relegation
to dwell in a sunless
hollow of fear, of
torment and sorrow

eternal.

Yet this is life
and we will live it
- as we see it -
survival of the fittest
does not give up

on our chances

of forgiveness
for every edge we
have not fallen on.
Our persistant life
tells us. As the latest

tantalising line

in it's more epic story
than ours alone - how
love has found life in our
universe, to crystalise
out of its darkness

as the light in our lives

as we see it.
Believe it to be -
no less than it is,
no mere initial shout
of manly pride

bearded on high

clouds of human hair
standing salute to
the wonder, but more
than all that thunder,
as we chase to the

roots of striking lightning

with science, in the
undeniable echoes of
physical truth, within truth,
within truth, within truth...

The world of most wonder,
is all that's around us

right here, right now.

It's full of stars.

by Gareth Rosser

Behind you.

A brutal reminder
of all that's behind you,
and none of it matters
when all of their echoes
are as wrong as you
could be, right now.

What is there
to listen, to all that
is given by echoes
of past lives, driven
home by seizures
of seeing.

For reason.

Chase out the demons,
the fairies, the feelings
and replace them
with seeing - the stars

now believe them

a burning in space
away back in time - cast
in physical law echoes
of chances, dances
barren and active

romantic

and plastic.

Metal sinks to float
magma and surface
tensions eject lessons

do we take them as
a god, to ourselves

as only those before us
could dreamed it

or see it - for ourselves - anew
with fresh insight, unafraid
that forever is always a challenge

to all that's behind you.

by Gareth Rosser

Look up.

On impulse,
there's a negating crush.

A blanket rule
of silenced tools
at the end of every day

okay

so, breath
and believe

in dreams
a ring of fortune
told you

achieve
a scream of tortured
soul's due

words

to tell
to ring a bell

in some taller tower.

Look up.

by Gareth Rosser

In Reality.

In silent superiority,
they haunt the world.

Even our glorious spring,
cross hatched with their
extended memes.

Those who speak
up among themselves,
stride out into a world
of chaotic conformity

just because

acceptance of all
famed authority is
arched over with 'respect'.

Shake apart and break those
metaphoric, love raping

shapes - of any meaning,

crying out to crumble in sand-
stone temporality.

Make our own legs,
un - buttressed, gravity footed
to our delicately savage -
evolving, tumbling world

rolling, and deflecting
across deadly heavens

shake with ecstasy,
at the grass

we know

… is green.

There is no other side,
to turn to, when the greatest
show passes us by -

on Earth here and now,
is where we die,

without a word to it - lovingly
attentive to it's lonely majesty

among the star stuff

of it's, and our, beginnings.

End less we are heavenly
bound for ever intertwined

in reality.

by Gareth Rosser

A dream again.

You know who you are,
when you can't walk out the door.

When life spins and lunges
at you, you know who you are.

Crank up the action and build
a distraction, somehow -

you'll know who you are
when the world starts to tumble,
an archway, crashing about
broken arms - wildly pushing
at the pillars.

Deliver the message,
the knowledge, evolving

who you really are.

Revolting medicine,
madness, rejection, a forced
injection of reason, derision
to all avenues of outwardly
marching your ideals ..

torn from fine veils
of deceit, layered with
brash lashings of
self indulgence,

falling at your feet.

He loves you.

Walk over your own
incomprehension of defeat,
and lay down with those
who are fallen, broken,
backed around you.

Embrace him and lift him,
by allowing his gentle heart to lift
the heavy spirits that harbour
their cold-as-stone arms
around quicksand shores,

rushing off into the crashing
horses of the sea at night.

A word back to the world;
you are leaving.

The interlocking rings,
drawn across your heart of darkness
the arrow of love points down to where
everything always started from.

Step up afresh with new
colour in your shared flames,

a dream again.

by Gareth Rosser

Fly Kite

Willing on the wind
to lift and reveal itself above
rolling turbulence that dances
down upon our area of earth

wrought through heavy blocks
fragile upon a railing world
of wailing rhythms, set sequences
of cause and consequence

a line cast, faintly hauling a heart
higher - a forgotten desire, to be
wholly tugged upon, drawn up
and out into spirals

limited only by angles, seeing
the world from another place,
emotion with another face, this time
and the last … where next?

it's a boundary between nothing
and nobody, air is where the mind
sets free from set ceilings to unbound
feelings… to dreaming.

There is a magic in the colour
set sail upon the other cover of a finely
written line up arching through holding
forces, a hug up on the air around us.

All a loss, when up on the whirl of wind
should we flounder, to fall fast and sharp
upon our answer or broken by a question
all a lesson, learning curve to lessen.

Contact, with a world up there
ahead of us, regardless of our actions
to tame or name it …

fly kite.

by Gareth Rosser

Elation

A break down
a shatter cry of exasperation
at the edge of elation.

An awkward doorway
unfitting, twisted, heavily painted
yet securely embracing a single
dimension springboard.

After watching, waiting,
taking a break from the excellence
of reality - to see fleeting memories,
projected enemies, berated
places of all elements within

worn outwardly, upon a certain
freedom of expression, granted
flicker fast gyrations, by light.

A crashing cushion of night
softly shadows the edge into
eternity, to follow

clawing inside hollow tree trunks,
rasping at the roots of branches,
eating at the soft underside of bark,
biting at animals, crawling

we are revolting, flailing works
of our own imagination, when we
separate ourselves from creature.

An unending agony, is to see
against all intrusive odds - of words,
of works, of state and church

a carol, hymn - i wish my heart

would sing.

To see apart from all that's given
a delicate part in the layers of the strange

veils reign,

journeys that crave to remain,
never the same.

Eternity is an endless knife edge
a path across it, shot through blood,
into our life course, DNA.

by Gareth Rosser

Fundamentalism

Is it a fundamental notion,
that life can be, without a god.

Is it to cry up at the sky,
of our intent to dwell

into eternity

then to draw savage blades down
through forever scream shattered air,

toppling towers.

Is it a fundamental notion, that our
children should grow up unbroken, by god

looking on and saying nothing
doing less than hell would have you

remain a father, figure

stretching all that's wrong, to the rite -
passing on a world of fright,

a path forever falling - taken.

Is it.

It is only

the fundamental notion that life can be

(without a god) Atheism unnecessary.

It calls us only to stop ourselves
all ways and to ask endlessly.

Searching questions.

Inside our expanding limits, knowledge
over uncertainty is all that rules

allowing our wings to take flight
from an organised jumble of ideas

refined by time,

new minds.

It is a fundamental notion, that our
children should grow up unbroken, by god.

by Gareth Rosser

A grey mist

When faith wanes,
that the world is there.
When life threatens
to slip away within.

There is a crack
upon the ground, should
you ever fall - a split in
the fine veil of skin between
head, bone and brain.

We know these things
as facts, yet increasingly distant
seems reality, when we dare
not scream out, about life -
in our dreams.

It is a thundering, foul weather -
a cloud that reaching up, may
display it's dark underbelly,
boiling with rage and killing
the horizon.

There is no going back then,
across the bay. So we stumble,
run a little, work at it and whirl -
away an hour, an hour more.

Confronting the cloud -
is to see through it. To allow it
over and roll right under with
the understanding that life
is you standing, firm in it's
fold.

We were all given breath
by death's dark hold, over
the chances of every creature
that bore before, our genetic
imperative… to go on.

Our way, is life expressed
across eons of death - a dark canvas,
with an intensity of brightness that
shakes on eternity with such harsh
contrast, as to simply be.

A diamond sharp, swung blade,
blazing down through grey mists

a part of it - to break through
beyond undreaming, into life

for the living.

by Gareth Rosser

Storms of change

I know what in time
will come to hurt,
is strength and purpose
gone before their worth.

Alone.

In realising this
at heart, it all feels pointless -
the beating out of pathways
through many networked veins.

A cowardly face, retained
and trained to bravely fade away.

Remains.

Casting back our value
is such a fleeting memorial -
to pay for more, escape.

Esc.

Simply to chase down, around
and drown in our own escapism,
our entertainment prison?

Division, comes when we take chances
to find out where our own romance is.

Neglect the lines we have been given
and draw the rails up and out across
the sky, with freedom, with feeling

rushed without direction. Flush
with raw reflection and falling out
of all of fashion, all reaction …

it's just a tragic crash of wasted cash.

Storms will come.

Worlds will fall, remould and form
the warmth of blankets rolled around us.

A burning double helix of infinite intention
ploughs on through and past us, without us
and all devoutness to any cause or friction -
a mere warp among the hefty weft of time.

When we break the machine,
we call a child to our fallen shuttle
we plead with obvious fears
and deafening dangers

to hear our endless anger.

Reminder.

To change our lives all ways, for the better
of all ways and options open to us.

by Gareth Rosser

Skeptical

I believe in magic,
but know it now -

with no fewer sparkles
and heady delight

- as reality.

All delusion of intention
in the stars, is as nothing

compared

to what they really are.

We are built of one.
Our own atoms a part of it,
orbiting it, destined to
an ultimate end in it

and beyond it.

What we make of it -

as impossibly it's
only ever witness

- is wonder.

Fear and thunder
draw a thief to our beliefs
in understanding, shaken

and taken by night.

Waking up.

A realisation
a dawning upon us,
a constant, endless yawning
of knowledge, ever unspanned
by any bridge within our time.

A tumbling, rolling
explosion over all of time

our experience of now
so tightly limited to the past

we see our own sun
as it was eight minutes ago

we see some of our own actions
only six seconds after our brain
decides them

we are clouded within our
own constructs - so trust, have faith
in no-one … remaining forever sceptical
of even ourselves, is where the
magic tells us

it lies.

by Gareth Rosser

Known unknown

Unvanquished mine
of vapid mimes. A song,
a sign, a hymn, a rhyme.

I take a sword, to cobwebbed
arches - ageing, empty corners.

Fine veils, dry rain,
dust settles the same.

A raucous, rolling stone
kicked, scuffed and crumbled
comes crushing past ashes
cast crassly outside all of fashion.

Where are they now, our
ancestors tales - joined with the,
one with the - encompassing light.

Take a chance to extinguish.

Cold, harsh and heartless - the blinding
truth cuts, grazes, chews at our feet.

Penetrating fear, broken head - dreads
whirling and falling, to lay mortally wounded,
bleeding all of life out into the ground.

Revolting, senses whirling -
utter - absolute darkness, under our
own archways, leading into unwelcome
and welcome embraces alike

but a workhorse of worlds colliding
can, appreciated in essence as dawn of
all time - be an explosion to elegance,
fine chance and romance.

Reaching a bright seam, I reach in

… and scream!

by Gareth Rosser

Clarity Goes

An ending,
an arrow unbending.

In drawing back, then
on energy, armed.

Flight release.

Taken by air.

A sudden, ploughing halt
had to come.

Rapid deceleration, buckling
and raging against lost direction.

A grip of substance, hit.

A shout of pain, a burst of spit.

Anguish, echoing anguish
about all of this, removal.

All energy, a beginning
who's bow will hoist a new petard,

a new direction,

when clarity comes.

by Gareth Rosser

My Mind

Mind you my mind,
I am of the one I am.

Behind projected skies,
lies. Eternal life.

Wandering out into
a forever forgiving fire,
I desire

understanding, yet
reminding, re-fooling underlies.

Cast a carrot, out into
dark folds between space.

Place remains. Chant out names
deranged of time, reactions.

A shadow, cast across us
every waking while, we wallow in the light.

A fright, of fancy robbed,
an only chance, drawn out right past us.

Disaster - reminds her.

Black pastures, relentless life -
surges around us - right through us.

Mind you.

by Gareth Rosser

Is this all there is?

An empty arch,
a silent truth
unknown answers
to unasked questions

No reaction

A heightened sense in plain
rejection of the notions
outside all devotions

revolution ...

Angle grinder hurt
a universe of shattered dreams
scatter casting flaming stars
burning ashes, broken

torn apart

cut pieces, slivers folding into
the unseen, uncleaned
wretched creviced cracks

in our reality.

A violent arching, aching,
burning, rupturing organ disturbed
by boiling blood thrown over
the halls of knowing

revolting

clawing, gnawing - gutter grasping
chewing, trying … fighting

delighting

in it's demise, in it's entirety being,
edged towards the edge of vulgarity
and falling in, enveloped within,
holding tightly - burning brightly,
but without fire or light or any retreat
from the clamp-down of laws,
governing who and what is yours …

pulsing, purple - pounding ripples

within, descending into a whirlpool
of ignorance, cherished indifference
victoriously withdrawn from the world
of worlds beyond our making

love.

by Gareth Rosser

Life Lover

Loving the solitude,
loving the clarity, the vision
the stark reality of a world unbound
by any sense of purity, but creating it constantly
by tooth and by claw.

Save me from your fears.

Remove your foul of reality - a goldfish
alone in a perfectly clear bowl, in a world
of nothing but endless white.

I take no delight in your blindness.

Open your eyes, and see the world's wonders,
then wonder again at the "How?" and the "Why?", knowing
that what little you may ever know will never be enough
to encompass it all, everything that is, the wonder.

You're calling "Y", when you have the answers,
preprepared, engrained and instilled - that's a lie.

Nobody knows, and we all are equally qualified
to make our own blind judgements, or those based on
instinct, gut feeling, intuition or reason - even feelings
for freedom to be and drift and dream.

No, to your limitations and eternal commandments.

No, to your threats of endless pain and damnation.

No, to your presumption that there is only need and anguish.

Yes, to loving life as it is … wonder full,
eternal to us in it's darkest reaches, fleeting in it's brightest
flashes of crazy fancies - delightful and powerful

frightening and unforgiving

our narrow vision, time scale and sense crushed by immensity.

Life Lover, long life.

by Gareth Rosser

In response to the posters in some shops around town at the moment, portraying us as a goldfish in a bowl, lost for the answers to life's questions.

Complete and rather insulting nonsense, I say ... here shown complete with how I see their answer.

by Gareth Rosser

Pray

We had a lovely gentle chat today,
about being unknowingly led to pray.

"You have to put your hands together,
hold them up like this. Say thank you,
to ..a mystified look.. for the food we eat."

My son is only four, he does not properly know
how to say the word 'God' or 'Lord' let alone know
what it means - why ever should he know?

I say to him as he shows to me,
it is just a thing you do in school,
a quiet time. A time to join in,

      … but to think for yourself.

Take that time, as I used to in school
to quietly think for myself.

Quietly, calmly - every day.

It tastes insidious. Positively poisonous -

To the loving of all of life …

I tell him about all the dinosaurs, animals, the sharks,
fossils and his poster of the "Tree of Life" topped

by a man … Charles Darwin.

Are we, two-ways, drawing a child's keen attention
across a forever riven world? So it is and so it is, all ways
given to all - ways of knowing, thinking, deeply feeling

revealing. There is no choice, in truth,
rejoicing, praising, singing …

"Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Praise 'er Claude!
   Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Praise 'er Claude!
      Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Praise 'er Claude!
         Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Praise 'er Claude!"

"Claude?" I ask, but he does not know …
… he trusts, as he trusts "Bob the Builder" to be
innocent, educating, exuberant and funny, only words.

He does not know.

I explain that 'some people' look up to a someone -
a kind of person or man … a "god" - up in the sky.
A man who made everything, who looks down on us
and everything - and who looks after all things.

I tell him his Baba does not agree, or believe in this man,
that he does not need to worry or take it too seriously,

there is no big plan or anyone looking over,
no laws or orders from anywhere other than ourselves.

So, just take that nice quiet time

to think to yourself,

find out,

and think for yourself.

by Gareth Rosser

Ours alone

The nature of time,
blind to tomorrow, in
anything but the mind.

Eternity is behind us.

Holding our place here
is one long, sharply darkening and decaying arm -
life desolving easily within our emotional depth,
yet fired up into our vibrant living souls
through legions of fallen bodies

before us

torn material, cracks in the earth
a shoot of life among the monsters
of death, dragging down with a force
so shockwave hungry, that it burns

with wetness, worming its way
chewing and churning inside and urging,
by evolving, us.

The workhorse of worlds, revolving -
for nothing can stop now - eternity turning
the timepeice of mine, onto my wrist

and I am learning

the earlier, it leads me to drink
at the fire and brimstone edge
of a torn up world - of whirling dread,

only I can see it now, from here
as fresh, blood red, raw and evolving

the only promise for another life,

our own.

by Gareth Rosser

Beyond us.

Quantum Physics, fostering two steps,
away from the blind of the blur of the mind.

A particle, article, wave while apart across
spaces and places in time outside mine, a joining
adjoining, work without worlds of a whirling fabric,

of space and of time unshared, but rapid
rhythms of distances blistering to the listening.

Outside quenches the inside, whirlpool dropping
words torn into mysteries meaning less than the oceans
abounding to the call crushing negativity, with positivity

beyond the event horizons of everyones reckoning,
lessoning the yearning for more of the sharp edging, towards more,
of the truth - that ruthless pursuit - breakless, reckless, wayward
and more than worthy of a whole world's financial salute.

The beautiful truth of what we are made of,

beyond us.

by Gareth Rosser

Limit

Encased within, several
intersecting lines of tension

limit me

to an arc of movement
emotionally ballpointed;
scraping at the paper while

in

reaching out

across the surfaces of times
I would rather rejoice, but
stab forcefully folds together

one crumpled ball of defeat.

Edging towards the flower.

A taste so violently sweet
of pen and of ink, of purpose
reworked and worthy of notice.

Of intention to chase
reward for the sake of reward

in that new face, I throw
the forgotten lines
of chances

untaken.

by Gareth Rosser

Narrow wheels

cast a net across the sands
of times we have not seen
for the freedom of our minds
to rest and rhyme with fallen leaves

a world revolving
keeps on turning with narrow wheels upon the ground
while the heavy hands of man are blurring skies, burning lives
faintly swerving, but are we so deserving,
of all the cargo we can carry?

so hastily the narrow lines are swept up
around the wide wheels of our machines - that

drive us too, that supply our food

so are we all to blame for chasing down
the rain and seasons, demanding more and more for less

and now

the buckling of narrow wheels around the
grinding cause of our global catastrophy to come
causes nothing less than a full reaction

a brutal shock of screaming brakes and broken paint

a loss of everything sacred, of all direction

of all beauty and face, style, substance and grace.

our cause is chased down
to the freshly scratched earth,
ground in oil - tasting of the end.

nobody can make amends or bend the facts,
but knowing that it goes on does not stop
you dying, crying, heart stolen by a stupid world

wildly ignorant of the causes

rewards without feeling for the freedom
to wander and whirl through the air, fresh and unfocused
upon anything but the minimal journey without impact
and getting there to a place where

dreams lay unbroken by the engine.

so a poignant, powerful vision
is all that is left, that life
snatched so cruelly
might return a regret for our own neglect

of the more natural,

minimal way.

by Gareth Rosser

A sinister silence.

Without one single word given me,
I cannot justify putting any more into print.

My time is spent here, now mourning among the thin
lines of my own making. Lost of any cause
or relief from an awful truth. One step removed,
one step back - jumping might do it,

it just might - but hold out

for the hand, to the man, with a call back to safety
don't be so hasty to judge this all fallen

flat

a glaring white sheet of fabric

a vast expanse of unimagined potential, casting no shadow

folding over corners in nobody's mind.

Forget it.

An abrupt black glob of oily ink, reflecting blue, tasting
naked of news but raking in memories of the

crunched up ends of chewed pens

nothing can make amends now

nothing can return the feeling of safety in numbers

of letters

of lines

or words, reworked and fine ... all mine - I and we all
are safe here, among our own chosen channels

be off among the worlds that do not abuse us,
away from those that do

and it will be quiet at the end of our day, a fueled silence
fallen over the sharp folds of life - smoothing, calmly,
softly, silently - seeping around our sores - isolating

us.

by Gareth Rosser

Nothing.

Nothing, as it comes to me
is buckling under fire from me,
the higher I climb, treading over
broken stretches of imagination.

A violent stance here, all

alone.

Clasping the rifle of words,
guttering the ream or so, for knowing
the chance of being heard is blowing,

... in the take-away wind.

A hollow, rigid rhyming spell,
a dropping knell. A reminder of losses
I honestly must have known I would be baiting here,
and now I stop to openly stare.

Down the sights of our empty streets,
worn like a sick-bag. Thrown amid crumpled
cans and broken glass, paper, plastic, cardboard
food cartons - crawling, falling, spitting, rolling.

Calling out their attitude

a rotten, core gargle of rat-food and it's poison.
For no other reason, than it grasps outward when it gives,
at values drawn down to somewhere sweet and chased,

made so base with nasty haste.

I stand here, shaken by romance
while clasped tightly by my inaction - a lack of ability,
a common sterility - to boldly make the momentum pass
all inertially bound, undriven eyes - and yet

.... why would I want to call them over?

I do not. I will and must not faulter from my own falling.
For we are all free and calling out our attitude.

What is wrong with them?

by Gareth Rosser

The Welsh Flag in town today

A dragon cast initial arm of iron,
stops anvil dead, the shattered blade of reason
before spitting it's jagged, sharp tongue
back at the notion of moving forward.

A glorious green, bathing in red
on white - for the fight, for the delight
of never changing colours among colours
or the politics of it.

by Gareth Rosser