Freedom

This philosophical prose-poem is part of a series I wrote after a brush with cancer eleven years ago, something that not only focuses the mind but sends many patients on a path to discover answers about life and the purpose of life, I remember wondering what the point of it all was? Who am I really? What have I been put here for? What happens now? What is death like? What is sleeping about? What should I do? Of course I tried to be positive too and never stopped working at that. I did everything I could to help my body and mind. On my journey I realised that we are all the sum total of our experiences, and ever will be, and that there is a higher consciousnous of life that we can lead, one of awareness of life itself. I realised that every person is given a gift. My poetry is often complex, containing many layers and signposts, but words are much like tapestries and embroideries, each stitch, each part renders the whole, and sometimes after looking at the detail we see how it all works when we actually stand back and take it all in holistically. If one accepts impermanance as part of this great gift of life, then what matters is not how long we live, but the quality of life we lead. This very much relates to the title of my poem. Thanks for listening. I may post the others in the series where I explored the concept of immortality. Meanwhile thanks for listening to this one.
To listen just click on the orange link below. Best. Neil

http://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F34891429&show_artwork=true

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Separation

This poem is about the difficult subject of dementia. The poem refers to a couple who are together from childhood into old age and first I wrote the poem then later I explored tonal pictures via my midi keyboard until I felt I had found a complimentary melody that echoed the imagery of the poem. I think it’s interesting to combine words with sound and music. Perhaps music is also about putting across subjects in a certain light, just as words do. We all develop our own imagery listening to music alone, but when it is given a more narrow focus via words too then it plays a slightly different element in the combination, supportive I believe, contributing to the overall tone of the creator’s intention, a point that isn’t lost on film makers and advertisers of course. Anyway, here’s to you in your own creativity and I hope this rather poignant piece is similar to an interaction with a form of music-gallery. Just click on the orange link to hear the poem. Thanks for listening. Best wishes. Neil

http://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F34729116&show_artwork=true

Separation…a poem about dementia

We hear the notes
repeated. Repeated,
as the blind piano tuner
merges his world with ours.
We marvel, two children
in a school hall
not knowing our song has begun.

Now sixty years on
I clasp your hand.
You don’t know me anymore
and I try to give you back our children’s names,
repeated. Repeated,
like a blind piano tuner
searching for an echo
to a familiar note.

My Darkling Kiss

This poem was originally written about a painting that featured a woman holding a syringe. It seemed logical to place it as a performance piece into the scene of electronica, reflecting the club scene’s darker elements. In the tone of it I tried to put across musically (my own composition) the insistence of addiction and the seediness of the world of drug addiction.  Please click on the orange link to hear it and thank you for listening.

http://soundcloud.com/soloneili/my-darkling-kiss

Best. Neil

………………………………..

My Darkling Kiss

Dealer dealer where art thou?
Give me thy needle pray,
within the life you give to me
I’ll die again today.

Bloody thing that I behold
and clutch unto my bosom,
a viper’s syringe
a single fang
my life in microcosm.

Into my vein I drive your succour
‘aagh my sweet,’ the bliss.
Never has a human touch
surpassed this darkling kiss.

In my arms and dear I hold you
with lifeless eyes I cry.
Let mortal man as one behold you,
my shame, this vein and I.

Some hours of respite dearly bought
I need not climb the wall.
Through glassy eyes I gaze upon you,
beyond perdition’s pall.

………………………………………………