Empty Song

Tonight I can't write

The song which rests on my lips

Rings not in my heart

Snared

I remember how
Snared in silky long black hair
I dreamed I knew love

This Side of the Island

This side of the island
Waves wrap around the point
Clouds drape themselves in sunset
Somebody lights a joint
Wood crackles on the campfire
Laughter wakes the winter night
First chords struck on a guitar
We'll be here 'til first light

Shoreham, 2011

Displacement

Have you ever seen
The ocean in an egg shell
Then the yolk's on you

Wet Window

Through tired eyes and a window pane
I stood and watched the
Falling rain
Many a drop ran to its end
Finding a puddle with which
To blend
And lose its individuality
A victim of conformity

Others clung and held their shape
But they fell to a different fate
The Sun appeared
And boiled them dry
Is it better to conform
Or fry?

Frankston, 1981

London

Abu Dabi text
London still a day away
Memories abound
A hand rests on the covers
And awaits love's kiss goodbye

Sustenance

I will grow a herb garden

at my home.

A garden that decorates and enhances more

than the vista.

One that provides sustenance and flavor

to food and soul.

Replete with spice and herbs which waft aromatic

Mediterranean and exotic eastern scents

through the still, warm air

on summer evenings;

so that Shanghai, the Adriatic, Morocco

and dreams of Tuscany

are never far away.

This is the garden on which I will focus,

and through its careful tending

hope to attract back some of that which has been lost -

Produce to enliven hearty soups and stews in winter and

add zest to the salads and grills of summer;

consumed with gusto by

those I love be they family or friend or ...

I will strive to provide for all and nurture all

by sustaining this garden.

I will know this garden’s needs

and in knowing will understand

the needs of others

and confess to them

my needs in return.

The dog and I only, know what bones lie

Beneath this fertile soil.

Bones not for entombment but to be preserved

and claimed when the time is right.

Spirits of garden and field

roam with Sabina amongst,

Rosemary, Oregano and Basil.

Marjoram and Fennel exude mists of olfactory intoxication,

and I inhale – momentarily entranced,

but never sated.

For passion which has died cannot be resuscitated

by herb or spice or tired effort,

and this alone can never again

be enough.

2001

Rain

From the southern sky
Boulevards awash with tears
Cleaned by constant rain

Distance

First turn of the wheel
A road surrenders distance

Dream an undreamed dream

Offshore

Waves over the reef
Beyond the churning cauldron
Salt spray stings my face

Coffee

Goodbye to last night
On her early morning lips

The taste of coffee

Scattered

All my thoughts are scattered
Not that it really matters
Been so focused
Time stood still
Eyes on the prize
Hypnotized

All my seed is scattered
As if it ever mattered
Til the ground
Reap what is sown
A lilting tune
A harvest moon

Surrender to the warm wind
Surrender to the moment
Scattered

Olfactory Influences

Coco Chanel

Sometimes, alone in the deep of night

awakened by a presence in my heart;

seek as I might to reclaim the caress of sleep

memories, perhaps best forgotten

hold me in their keep...

I recall:

the touch of your eyes when first we had met;

the feel of a room you were in.

Frank Sinatra foretelling our lives, and

the Coco Chanel on your skin.

I remember:

honey-soft words you murmured to me;

the brush of soft skin on my thighs;

the taste of your sweetness; the touch of your hand;

the passion expressed by our cries.

There were:

gentle conversations filled with laughter and hope

as cigarettes glowed in the dark,

and hot afternoons, 'neath late Summer Sun

on a bench, by a tree in the park.

The Moon is a memory of sunlight,

the Autumn a memory of Spring,

and my lingering memory of a love that once lived -

The scent of Coco Chanel on your skin.

1988

Philosophocakes - Another small, sweet helping

Incessant As A Shrew

As faint as the sound of moonlight;

as soft as a snowflake's fall;

as painful as a heartbreak;

as incessant as a shrew -

We run in bewildered confusion,

never facing our adversary,

and hide in an abyss of reason from

the questions, the source and the key.

Dreams

Each day I see dreams

coated in a facade of concrete and glass;

rooted to the earth, their foundations in

the minds of men.

I dream -

dreams coated in the lofty facade of imagination

and rendered with love and belief,

ever hardening into the concrete and glass

of reality.

Circa Early 1980’s

OF YOU

I walked to my front door
Gazed at the sky
And the ocean that churned
Between you and I
I looked out my back door
The dog pissed on a tree
I thought how good it is
To finally be free
Of you

Philosophocakes - Short and Sweet

The Flame

I have seen the flame burning white

in a place cool and green,

deep, deep inside, at the core,

the very centre of my being.

I have felt the power of inner calm,

and seen the desire of a child

melt in the flame to reveal

a man, and infinity

C. Lowe - 1988

When I Die

When I die, when my soul's set free

all that will remain of me

is the love I've given, the heart's I've known -

When my body's dead, my spirit flown.

The good of a man, the smile of his face

are the things his death cannot erase.

Capacity for loving, acts of giving

are what make a life worth living.

Seek reward in love returned -

the smile in the eyes of those who have learned

that you love them;

it is through them that you will live on.

C. Lowe - 1988

I LIKE IT

I like it

 On the beach with lots of blankets

So the sand stays off your nice bits

With a big old yellow Moon just smiling down

A luscious blonde and a big bottle

Chocks away and go full throttle

Then drink and laugh before another round

I like it

On the dining table

(as long as it is stable)

As the dishes from a great meal crash and fall

The cruet set goes flying

Amidst the heaving and the sighing

And the Peach Melbas end up smeared across the wall

I like it

When there’s crashing thunder

Lightning splits the clouds asunder

The rain beats on the roof like jungle drums

Tangled in the bed sheets

In the steamy summer wet heat

Sweating tight within each others’ arms

I like

Lots of B words

Like Brunette Blonde and Boobs

 Buttocks Bosoms and Backside’s OK too

Slinky Slit and Sideways

S words are not mentioned enough nowadays

Supple Scented Slippery and Screw

I like

The sensory confusion

And nibbling small protrusions

The touch of lace and silk under my hand

All the tense anticipation

And the quiet desperation

 Deciding when to retreat or take a stand

Some try to deny it

But I think everybody likes it

It’s the best fun lying down or standing up

They’ve not found a way to tax it

‘Cept for the sales tax on a mattress

There’s nothing like a good old fashioned .... !

Hastings, 2011

Note: For those of you with a sense of rhyme and meter I know the Peach Melbas could have been smeared elsewhere. I thought about it but decided it was a little crass - not to mention sticky.

CLINK, CLUNK, CLONK

Clink, clunk, clonk of bamboo chimes;

memories of summers fill my mind:

Curtains flutter a warm breath of air, stirs the pandanus,

ruffles her hair;

Diamond sunlight

scattered on the sea,

the scent of pollen fills the trees;

A blanket of stars thrown at the sky,

half a million fire flies.

A sense of stillness, a sleepy mind,

a sense of being, no sense of time.

A greater awareness of the things

otherwise not noticed 

clunk, clonk, clink. 

Hervey Bay, 1983

Cell of Glass

Bud to petal, stem to leaf,

ever quietly as a thief.

Taste this nectar, test those wings

whilst all around nature sings.

The cruelest fate, a Cell of Glass;

sight unobscured by stone or bars

and life's rich pageant just outside

stirs your heart and passes by...

Cage a creature born to fly,

watch its beauty fade, its spirit die.

An empty soul, a dried out husk;

in the scent of freedom place your trust.

So much is beauty, so much is light;

with a touch of pain falls the veil of night.

Sunlight touches dewy fields;

passion flairs, sorrow yields.

Rising mist obscuring sight,

rise above in lilting flight.

Strong Earth below, warm wind above -

each is vital, each is love.

1988

Empty Vessels

Empty vessels fill the rooms of my life;

blurred images printed from imperfect negatives.

And on you I pinned so many hopes;

you carried so much space

with which to fill empty vessels.

Empty vessels keep me company at night;

surrealist prints framed behind cracked, dusty glass.

And on me you pinned so many images;

seeing so much that was illusory.

Don't you know I'm just another empty vessel?

Empty vessels clutter my stairs and hall;

one way alleys never lead anywhere.

And on us they pinned so many dreams,

demanding that we fit their scheme,

and remain forever empty vessels.

1988

The Hunger

I deliberated a long time about putting this one up.  It's personal, revealing and I was right on the rev limiter when I wrote it.

I'd watched the David Bowie/Catherine Deneuvre stylish vampire pic of the same name and that's the title's Genesis.  I've always been a Stevie Nicks fan and what started out as a poem about her and her lyrics found itself intertwined with a steamy relationship I was having at the time.  Hmm, unusual that.

I'm still not sure what it's about and the meaning seems to have shifted over the years.  What I thought then seems to be revealing itself as something completely different.  The way I call it now it's about the hunger for youth and passion, how if uncontrolled it devours your future.  The "subtle thread between what is known and what is said" relates to hiding our motivations (particularly in relationship) behind pretty, calculated words. 

I'm not entirely convinced this is a good idea but I really like this poem and it's been buried in a box for years.

THE HUNGER

She calls me back to the gypsy life

yet I know she's as much in chains as I;

Chains of gold, chains of lace, just an image, just a face.

And still I see her through my heart;

the futile moves as she plays her part,

the loneliness of her road

are things I feel, are things I know

Could she hear her heart, confront her fear

the chains would break ... disappear.  

My head is full of the taste of you

rolled round my mouth like a fleshy fruit;

my constant thirst cannot be quenched,

this gnawing hunger never spent.

Your body scent, her sultry eyes,

the lotus flower, the butterfly.

Fleeting thoughts, sensual dreams,

fill her voice ... a primal scream.

Reality a subtle thread between what is known and what is said.

Make a pillow of my chest

lay in my arms and take your rest, close your eyes,

breathing slow, dreaming in the afterglow ...

Know the thirst that's never quenched,

though the fire is doused, the bedsheets drenched;

the hunger, never satisfied

'til hearts are stilled, and life has died.  

She calls me back to the gypsy life

yet she's no more free than you or I;

bound in leather behind bars of sand

manacled at foot and hand.

But she hypnotizes with her song

I've listened to so hard and long;

 building dreams for you and I

to make our own, to bring to life.

Dressed in clothes of mist and thread

she's caught inside her hunger's web.

  

Reality a subtle thread between what is known and what is said.

The Road

In moments of stillness

I dream of the road -     

Mountain curves, dry creek beds,     

campfire stories often told.     

A sleeping bag, a one-man tent,     

the endless turning of two wheels;     

scrape the pegs, throttle down,      

know how freedom feels.       

Leather jacket gypsies,     

too loud in roadside bars.     

Meditation with a mug of port     

beneath a night of sapphire stars.     

The pungent smell of chain oil;     

the throb of a "V" twin     

swallowing the whiteline     

as the dawn air cuts your skin.               

Life is a black ribbon;     

the horizon marks the tide,     

no end, no beginning     

upon which Glory rides.     

The hermit and the footloose,     

the bonded and the free     

cruise the endless highway     

for a taste of liberty.

The Earth revolves beneath us;

dream and reality collide.

The road is life.  Life is the road.

Transending space and time.

The Sun reclaims the darkness;

the sea blends with the sky;

the exhaust pumps out an anthem;

the human spirit flies.

© Chris Lowe - 1983

(revised 1999)

Near Death Experience - not quite

Below is another Shift in Action post I put up a few years ago. Many people have shown an interest in this one and I decided to publish it alone.  The experience dates from about 1980 and is related exactly as it occurred:

I was sharing a house with two other single men around my own age (27 at the time)and was in excellent health. I had decided to have an early night and went to bed. Prior to going to sleep I was reading Ouspensky's "New Model of the Universe" (the chapter on the 4th dimension). I was alone in my room apart from my German Shepherd dog which slept at the foot of my bed. I hadn't been asleep very long when I was awakened by a chill running up and down my spine. It was extremely cold and felt as if I was being blasted with liquid nitrogen or similar. I had the feeling that there was a "presence" in the room and I was terrified. I lay flat on my back, not daring to move and listening to the dog breathing in her sleep at the foot of the bed. I could not bring myself to look around the room but remember sensing the presence of 2 nuns in traditional black habits.

Suddenly my mother's voice (she was alive at the time) came to me but I heard it through a hole in the back of my head rather than through my ears. Mum had always claimed experiences of astral projection but she was prone to exaggeration and I took it all "with a grain of salt". Her voice kept saying, 'It's only me I want you to come flying with me'. Her voice relaxed me and I responded non-verbally telling her I loved her and trusted her. I felt my body begin to lift, floating horizontally toward the ceiling of the room; (this was my first but not my only experience of astral projection). I was becoming more relaxed and confidant and felt I was about to "let go and take off" when another voice came to me, a man's voice which said, 'She's going for good'.

My whole consciousness immediately moved. I experienced an instant and comprehensive memory of my entire life and was then standing in a garden, dressed in a red robe adorned with black salamanders and reading a book on a stone rostrum. The book told me the purpose of my life and listed all the tasks I had to accomplish. The entity I was then said, "I can't go, there's too much to do" and I immediately returned to my body where I slept fitfully until awoken by one of my housemates coming home.

Upon awakening I felt compelled to go to my parents home some 10 kilometres away. My mother was ordinarily an incredibly light sleeper and my father the opposite. I eventually awoke my father by banging on the bedroom window. Dad let me in and I went into the bedroom. Mum was still sound asleep and laying flat on her back. For some reason I instinctively touched her lightly on the centre of her forehead. She awoke instantly.

Mum had no recollection of anything outlined here. She had never enjoyed good health and continued not to do so. She passed in 1998 (18 years later).

For many years I never thought of this incident as an NDE but rather as a mystical experience. It does however have many elements common to an NDE and I now wonder if that is what it was. I do know that what happened was not a dream but something I actually experienced. I accept that my psyche may have dressed up certain elements (eg: the salamander robe and the book on the rostrum) to make them comprehensible, but I do know that my consciousness shifted to an astral state and then to something beyond that which was all knowing and universal. I have never formed an opinion one way or the other as to whether Mum may have passed that night had I not felt compelled to go to her. When I think back to what was written in the book, my mind immediately goes back to a painting I began when I was at school but never finished of a dingo (Australian native dog) standing on a cliff looking out into the desert.

I would appreciate any thoughts on this experience; it contains so many elements common to an NDE its nature perplexes me.

IANDS ANALYSIS

I sent this account of my experience after posting it, to the International Association for Near Death Studies Inc. and yesterday received their analysis as included below:

"About 25% of the people who submit their experiences to our archives say they were in good health at the time of their “near-death” experience. We have come to call the experiences that fit the criteria of an NDE in every other aspect except being near death “near-death-like experiences” or NDLEs. NDEs andNDLES both belong to the same family of mystical or “spiritually transformative experiences” or STEs. There are many known cases of empathic experiences in which a healthy person accompanies a dying loved one into that mystical realm or dimension, if you will. In your case, it appears to be enough to have been told that your mother was “going for good” to trigger an empathic NDLE from your astral or out-of-body state. (People who have said they’ve experienced both astral projections and out-of-body experiences say they are different in terms of their dream like qualities – an out-of-body experience seems to be much more vivid – actually more “real than real” than an astral projection).

NDErs or NDLErs often say that one gets the experience in the way we need it most in order to learn the importance of unconditional love and/or knowledge.NDEs and NDLES often contain literal or real metaphors or symbols to convey that message. A dramatic example is a woman who found herself quite literally walled in. Each brick was a literal representation of a person she had mistreated in her life. One could reasonably speculate that we often see a light at the end of the tunnel, because that is such a meaningful and hopeful metaphor in our culture. Tunnels have not been reported in NDEs in other cultures. You might ask yourself if there is more meaning you can derive from the red robe, black salamanders and stone rostrum and what they might have represented to you at the time of your experience. That appears to be very significant."

If you've had a similar experience which you need help demystifying I have found IANDS to be an excellent resource.