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Poems

by Steve Gunther

His desire wakes him.

Desire, such a strange thing
hard to stop and admire
turn in the hand
it squirms
wants to leap out and
seek out its own destruction
it resists careful scientific examination
it wants only movement
and the quicker the better.

He is slightly bemused by this
part of his being that has its own intelligence
and its own blindness
slightly amused
slightly overawed
slightly afraid.

His desire wants to drive him
wants to take the reigns;
ancient images of horses,
spiritual allegories
warnings as to not letting them
have their heads
warnings to put discriminating judgement
in the drivers seat.

He can feel those horses
stamping their feet
raring to go
such energy
a powerhouse
wanting to move.

Too much philosophising
too much reflection
too much restraint
they grow restless
rebellious
want a good run.

Even as they are directed
on that road less travelled
their eyes roam
they are intensely distracted
their attention elsewhere
they want to break loose
charge down the soft mossy glen
gambol in the seasonal spring
absorbed only in
the excitement of the moment.

But what else is there
apart from this moment?
An internal debate loosens
the horseman's grip slightly
the horses pick up on the uncertainty
strain even more enthusiastically.

Who knows where he will end up:
shangri la,
or maybe in a ditch;
but wherever he is
the stars always twinkle
behind the firmament,
sometimes you can only see them at night.

For a minute I release myself
from probity
from responsibility
from pre-meditation
from sensibleness
and respectability

For a minute I release myself
from being in control
from directing my life
from careful steps

For a minute I abandon myself
to sheer surrender
to pure unalloyed joy
to melting, melting, melting

For a minute i release myself
into falling through space and time
into dark and unknown territory
into sheer and total exhilaration

For a minute I accept
total lavisciousness
total decadence
total raw earth

I grab the red ochre in my hands
smear it over my body
become part of the world of rhythm
the world of hypnotic rhythm
the beat of life
the beat of the heart
the beat of my drumming blood

For a minute
I am lost
I am totally lost
I am blissfully lost

For this minute
In this moment
Now

An aching heart
my friend says
means opening

Aha, room for something new
pain which feels almost-good

I long for something
I think I know
I think I don't know
something more
something to touch my soul
and sing a true note

But not too soon either
for the space must increase some yet
or else the new cannot fully emerge
longing so delicious

Longing and fulfilment
Ýact as if they are not
Ýidentical twins

My friend says
our teacups should always be empty
as soon as we think they're filled, spill them

Mine is spilled, the emptiness rattles
years, calls out
damn this creative void

Fantasies of supersaturated happiness
wonít leave
mundane or spiritual longing
the two dance together
and eye each other off in
jealous competition

The bird on the branch is slightly confused.

The heart is not.


 

Falling
down down down
to a place
too deep to return from
too far from my fear
too close to my core

Falling
down down down
free floating
panic alternates
with surrender
to this moment
to this pure pure pure
wordless world

Falling
down down down
despite myself
in spite of myself
caution itself let go
the safety catch
and there is nothing to do
but enjoy the fall

Falling
down down down
not to sin
nor to an irreconcilable place
of wrong
but to an irredeemable place
of perfection
of joy
of human redemption

Falling
down down down
into love
into the hypnotic spell
into the intoxicating scent
into total total total
exquisiteness

Falling
down down down
again and again
I let go a little more
each time
become helpless
in the face of
such sweetness
such valuing
such unalloyed delight

Falling
down down down
as into a profound sleep
as into a miraculous dream
as into all my dreams
as into all my longing
as into every hope
fulfilled

Falling
down down down
to a hidden treasure
revealed before
my astonished eyes
my eyes drink
my being drinks
I become that treasure

Falling
down down down
till I lose sense
of direction
till my tears meet
my smile
till I am joyfully
redolently
resplendently
lost.

And at that moment,
find myself.


 

A soft rain is falling
falling around me
my clothes are soaked
I don't care
the dampness on my face
feels good
feels good
come down rain
come down
touch my soul
run down my nose
down my chin
envelop me so that
I feel nothing but wetness
nothing but wetness
cold and warm and wet and
be my companion
my pores are thirsty
to breathe the mist
my body is water
my soul is water
my mind is at sea
obscured by sheets
of rain of rain
a fire burns in my
chest evaporating
the water cold
my skin is cold
my heart beating fast
like the hearth fire
fanned by a blast
from the open door
the door is open
and rain blows in
my house
threatening the fire
pooling on the floor
wrecking the carpet
I don't care
let it all get wet
open all the windows
let the rain in
let the rain in
let it soak the bed
let it get on the books
let it ruin the lounge
let the wind blow over
everything so neatly arranged
so neatly arranged
let it make a mess
and the fire sputters
and complains
but it won't go out
it just rages more valiantly
fanned by the wind
throwing itself around
in the hearth
no danger to the rain
and when the morning comes
and the mist is lifting
and its clear
the fire only a few coals
the house damp
then I walk outside
filled with the sweet morning air
then I walk outside
my heart wide open
my heart wide open
my heart wide open


 

My garden is overgrown
mostly weeds
mostly nutgrass,
that tenacious survivor
the pushy blade
that takes over everything else
my garden is overgrown
a few straggling vegetables
drowned in a sea of weeds
and some leftover tomato plants
which hardly show much fruit
my garden is overgrown
a few herbs to be picked
keep on going
keep me coming back
my feelings of sadness
at the failure of my efforts
against the forces of nature
a tragedy for me
means nothing at all emotionally
to the balance of growing things
out there in my garden
my garden is overgrown
my life is in disarray
failure means letting the weeds take over
but weeds are my own judgement
its just air and sunlight and water
doing its thing, just like
its always done
no longer have I the illusion
of control
my garden is overgrown
its raining and the weeds
are just multiplying
and I watch
sadly, resignedly
its good sometimes
to let go of what has been
important.

 

 

Awakening
to my self
I finish climbing
this endless ladder
ends
I sit atop and
admire the view
its taken a lifetime
to catch my breath
suddenly I know
about who I am
and what went wrong
I can trace the fault lines
in the valley
the history of pain
laid out like
burnt out stumps
and the way the
lovers keep missing
each other
now the whole scene
is revealed in one sweep of the eye
where I am is no longer
clouded in mist
the vista takes my breath away
with fear
my heart pounds with excitement
I am completely free
in this moment
and alone
the curse and
blessing of
being human
I draw breath and
embrace my fate


 

Knife
like through butter
my melting
heart
like blood dripping
on the floor
my sadness
leaks out
dropping into
emptiness
void of dreams
darkness comforts me
deep cold waters
clutch ancient memories
go down
plumb the depths
while rises slowly
imperceptibly
a readiness
a quiescent flame
ready to light
the stars


 

Jail visit

Visitors to the prisoners,
prospective tourists to another planet
gradually fill the waiting room.

Each face has its own untold story
lives intertwined with the accused
caught in the same net
even though freedom
apparently belongs to these ones
on the outside

You can tell the crims, the ex-cons,
those who have done their time.
Its not just the tatts
or the hairstyle
its something about them
the aura of the adventurer who returns
to tell the tale
of experiences and suffering
that ordinary folk can only imagine
or read about;
they have an aura of knowing
of power
of fearlessness because they have faced
and been swallowed
and they are still breathing;
and they have an aura of sadness
deeply hidden
the irredeemable memories
of the brutality
of a system that dispenses everything
except blind justice
and extracts everything
except the repentance that releases.

And the wives and girlfriends
you can tell them too
stressed beyond their capacity
some overweight
some underweight
the weight is in their hearts
theyíre doing time as well;
they bring a corner of sunshine
of warmth
of glimpses of intimacy
lost
of sex just out of reach
in their skimpy outfits
of responsibility eschewed
in their clinging babies
and their wild sad children.

And the mothers and fathers
dressed in ordinary conservative tones
looking sombre
the prodigal son
blood stronger than
anger or sadness;
and you can tell the new parents of crims
by their discomfort in this setting
their quiet, humbled, awkward, respectability;
and you can tell the world-weary parents of
sons who have been here before
or been here a long time
they have the look of those
who know and have endured suffering
and who have not been crushed
and who have been crushed many times.

And you can tell the mates
the ones who werenít caught
the ones who might yet be
sorry for their mate
and relieved its him not me
and slightly admiring
and slightly fearful
and ready to joke
and wink
and slightly in awe
of one who has taken the initiation
and proved his manhood.

And they are all waiting
emotions barely acknowledged
strain at the chest
questions of philosophy barely formulated
strain to be answered
but no one comes forward
to catch the tears
and no one volunteers
to explain why.


 

Jack Spratt reigns
the hero of all america
while the new antichrist
is fat
is sodium
is cholesterol
the holy imprimatur
placed on neatly packaged foods
signifies:
this item is blessed
No fat
No sodium
No cholesterol
the magic words that differentiate
safe from unsafe
good from evil
Spratt from his fat ugly wife
for fat is very ugly
harshly apparent in
the shadow of America which
eats away the woman-soul
and is visible everywhere
even where fat is invisible
it is noticed
like an apparition
and everywhere they
are afraid
and they listen to
the holy edicts of the
magazines and ads
they are listening to everyone
but their own selves
but their own bodies
they eagerly await instructions
they eagerly discuss
ounces of fat
this ideology that extracts
pounds of flesh
uncaring whether
the spirit within
lives or dies
and dietary pleasure
is an oxymoron
because pain equals no gain
sensual delight
is measured out mathematically
sin is secularised
calibrated by calories
and thinner is holier
no wonder the shadow of anorexia
no wonder the shadow of bulimia
no wonder this most obese country
on the planet where
substance is traded for
lack of substance
and the crowd in panic
runs for the exits which
promise physical perfection
forever and ever
give us this day
our daily fat free
low sodium
no cholesterol
bread
amen

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Take me to Northern Rivers Gestalt Institute
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Contact me at: chief@gestalt.org.au
url:. http://www.gestalt.org.au/Poems.html

Page last updated: 5/1/03