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The Thunder

The Thunder

The Thunder: Perfect Mind (VI, 2)
(Inspired by verses from The Nag Hammadi library)


no sound left, balmy heights
(there’ll be a choir I s’pose… a miracle I’ll be guessing. And now the hands give room for the lift of one and all from the womb of those ladies we call mothers of such like universal chit chat)

my basket creaks cane, airy summer
(and they’ll make nifty compositions enough to split light and thoughts about giving up and calling it a day. See.. the way they touch even the graves of mum and dad)

settling – darts of sun pricks through half closed eyes
weary blink or run out, he’s bushed
he’s fried
(as a Christ I’m touched by deep voice vibes… they make me taste it so much/so close, the snot runs from my nose. Tears they give me too. Humming it profound)

and enough to sharpen the inward climb
warmth familiar, I’ll lift me glass anyway
(seeing the expanse of what this has to offer. I have finally halted all forms of waiting. Sky opens up total and blue. A bird draws a path across the soaky thick of it)

and stirring up the dust from the turds of mankind
(just enabling a fall back into arms of wasteless nothing, endless, and to be engulfed by this)

I’ll see myself being sent forth –
in the close-up, wedging closer until
focus dies… nothing less now
it’s come to be
(caught sight of those off to the side. Their eyes followed my last movement as if glued. And yet still they sang as if there was only this to do… until crumbs, the candle began to flicker)

The Thunder: Perfect Mind (my first bit)
VI 13, 1-21, 32

kicked into this, mighty force and hold back
you know I can’t. Resistance, a silly smile
as hand prints/presses knuckles deep
a shiver a waver a clamor and
out into it I am now born/borne
ahhh but thrown, all down my street
from ghosts of milkman and old ladies (Mrs. Jarman)
greeting permanent their own souls to
the morning – hello it’ll be, two quarts today
got my grandson visiting… steady as she goes
(here I’ve already taken it too far.. but for the sake of eternity, I have no choice. Bugger it, I feel more than a breeze touching me now. Face tingle… yes… the mighty rage of throaty cars and angry men fall away as clouds, clouds, clouds)

gee but from behind, between my slit eye squint
and calming nose breaths… I’ll be dazzled by the
shadow of it, shadow of it great light beyond
the Parkinson of her puny heart. A wafer
still coming the light I’ll choose to call it, forte forte
boundless beyond any idea of it. So much so so
and trees grip into all beyond too, roots desperate hold
in an attempt
to keep, just keep – leaves so sweet
providing alternatives – rocking me as a baby
sparkle, shimmer, silver, always
and it’ll be letting me go… just letting go
on a final turn my teacher caught me out
of the corner of his eye… just slightly, he let me go though
as the smell of his tobacco and recent morning crap
mixed and made me think of
our father. Home. Newspapers read and reread. Solid
(could be gone already thee may think… although, there’ll be no toning down of this. It’s all so harmonic already. See how it could shatter the shadow and the hardness of what he’d become. Could be gone… just could be gone)

all that be framed too as the mirror then
so I wait before thee and kneel at the base
of this flock. Squeezing juice, clenched hands
nails cutting deep into palms… for here I am found
within the guts of those who seek to find
and in a twirl we’ll be one on one –
eye to eye, looking into looking. Golden

The Thunder: Perfect Mind (my second bit)
VI 13, 1-21, 32

The violence of it

comforting riff raff, the striding can be heard
upwards, steps hacked into ice and snow…
winter to be reduced and never resorted to
as flocks they wait and just wait
surging forth the unison of their breath, smells
sweet and divine…. images though mesmerize
my foolish ways and pangs of swift footing
calculating, rebuking, punishing and yet
from within her womb

the surge just carries me on… as
promise you’ll never exile me from your sight
never cry hate with your voice
nor make hell from what you hear me say
and bastard mistress see me not as jumping
as fallen and empty… this gift I’ve known too well
as broken through the wall of you
I’ve come to attack… stab your back
and accept the killer of gods I’ll be

across the chest of this body – this box of blood and heart
taking more blessings of sound, invading the still, cool
afternoon world at war
and raising himself onto the left elbow, turning his head
toward the east and bending his right knee
pointing the index finger of his right hand
(depiction of flabbergasted cartoon character, not knowing which leg to stand on)
he will pronounce for the umpteenth time
I am the one who dreamt myself first
I am the world honored one

coming in on the early winds, echoes were my horses
I came as the fledgling and from there my place was carved
from this to that… as I invented the years
invented the end… invented warp factor… invented birth… invented…
and crikey dick turning back into the huddle and the raised eyebrows of his peers
tumbling into, tumbling out of…
sometimes with my eyes
all a flush
I kill things as if in a dream

The Thunder: Perfect Mind
VI 13, 1-21, 32

The love of it

because you’ve lost me, came the words
seated as we were, soft breeze like swallows swooping weightless
curtains her death vale, as I already knew the outcome
the sky now striped, blue on blue on blue
as chin rested in hands and we touched worlds, touched
as predators probe their prey with hunger and love
and I fell headlong into the angle at which she said this…
wife of the heavens, child of the earth
and a chopper was heard overhead (probably a search party)… and for a moment
we wondered why…
and then I had to acknowledge her words
as I was to lose her

or like that time way back when we followed the path
descending into the sand dunes… steep incline thick with green
and green. Even jungle I thought. Earthy tang the scrub and bark
and sun tilted as it followed willy nilly young, and high sound laugh
bubbled from us and rubbish of men from ages past
littered about our feet. Wedged and trapped under bushes and trees
until we stopped by the vehicle balanced uncanny see-saw
an alien space craft crashed rusted. An ancient cockpit. the cab of a truck
your metallic knock knock echoed into the dunes
and, anyone home, you shouted before disappearing into that
shell of rust red tombstone of something…  forever astray to us both
and the balance was lost
and the spacecraft resumed its journey down the incline
with you onboard rolling gyroscopic humming shriek
noise primal touching, our screaming united perfect horror

and when it all stopped at the foot of a solid pine
your blood was the first I saw
gash forehead wipe tear eyes wide and perhaps already there
you were on your way but still
I pumped the world up (last ditch effort)
and the birds about us came to life and the wind began to dry your wounds
as the first words you spoke since the violence
“I wish I could play the bagpipes, I’ve always wanted to play the bagpipes”, you said
as you smiled through your broken front teeth

Copyright © Graeme Perrin 2023