Miles Rothwell

An oblique sadness rules the world.

Impose will at your peril and turn

yourself inside out to release demons.

Happiness is born from suffering.

In silence is the hush of comfort.

Don't believe in what you dream.

 

 

 

Mother and Daughter look after Father.

Young suitor visits to entertain the old man.

With slight-of-hand tricks turns

apples and milk into strawberries.

He smells of olives from working

in the family grove nearby.

Mother and Daughter do all the caring

and put up with all the drudgery.

Bodily functions are appalling, and the young man

waltzes in at all times of the day and night.

The Father only responds to the young man

without knowing who he is.

 

 

 

 

Countryside, very cold, medieval architecture.

Village pastiches; rolling hills, winding roads and stone walls.

 

He is a writer from the city used to being well known.

She is a lady from his past. They get trapped overnight,

taking a dead man back to a childhood farm.

Lock body in the car, while snowing outside.

 

In a pub watching a movie about four guys

who covered up the murder of a young girl.

Rumours abound, was she a witch?

Did one of the men interfere with her.

 

The car is in a deserted shed, the house for sale.

Who will uncover the plot of a young mother who went mad,

setting fire to her house.

She rescued one child but left the other,

then fled the scene never to be seen again.

 

Young people staying in the guest house.

A man buys a stone chair wrapped in a chain.

He walks to the pub where they are watching the movie.

He thinks the girl looks like Isobel.

He loved her without hesitation.

Isobel loved him too but it was all too late.

 

The black veil leaves faces behind,

and hides at night holding a light.

 

 

I’ve looked at you from afar.

It’s been hard to watch your pain

and I’ve tried to be myself,

but you stopped me in my tracks.

 

It came as no surprise

to see where you got to.

The girl who went too far;

you sure had a ball,

but do you think of those

you left behind?

 

If I could have held you

and told you not to worry,

but it was so long ago.

 

The silence must be hard.

You took so much and left

so little.

 

I have your picture and the songs

will live forever,

but the pain still grows.

 

 

 

…falling feathers at hand

on the sea of relaxation.

Coupled are our thoughts,

extending all our realities.

Watchful swans of indulgence

unleash their inner strength.

Lucid creatures run from the dark,

and before long everyone will hear

the bells of my martyrdom ringing loud…

 

 

 

 

 

On light is sight heart is life one is me open

I am one colour blue red white experience.

Life is long life is now yes breath is hope.

Hope is here, Sun tomorrow is bright larger than today clear,

mind is peace, peace is there if you want it.

Love, I am here, fruits of laughter.

                     

 

 

 

 

Changing attitudes now at rest.          

Broken spirits living in aging shells

telling the world that certainty is near.

A responsible attitude towards the dead.

 

Lost sands in the desert of resistance.

A worshipped idol calling his mice,

deciding our future with decaying hands.

A plagued world of diseased minds.

 

A tireless worker I was in my dreams,

helping humanity along its path.

Now a recluse in my own insanity,

I frown at well doers and their lessons.

 

Gurus with ambition want

appreciation and obedience.

The inbred oppression turns my stomach.

My helplessness in a world of contradictions.

 

Aware that I can’t survive much longer

gives me strength in approach and execution.

Hold onto your hats, put out the cat

I’m not allowed out too often, so when I am,

cut the deck and pick your card.

 

You’ve heard the sound, when the pain

of the mind can take no more.

It’s then that I arrive.             

 

Change your ways or perish in ice.

The brain loses fluid when the screws are turned.

Save the fuel when the end is in sight.

I’m blind and deaf to your concerns.

Moisten my bones with the warmth of your fear.

 

As I’m the one that thinks with clarity,

pay what’s owing and drop to your knees.

Contempt for innocence behind a hollow mask,

keeps me focused on the task at hand.

 

The urgency of living in quiet solitude

hands me the platter of beheaded grace,

and the tricks of my trade are shallow and severe.

 

 

 

Bric-a-brac fairytale dreams,

looking skyward arresting the angels.

I’ll be well once I’ve had my medicine.

 

An aspirin to relieve those cosmic blues.

More gumbo on toast, delta hogwash slush.

Send me a preacher with a hard on under his robe.

 

Lining up to be saved, applauding on command.

Wonder what the bitch will wear today?

Has she lost weight?

Oh no, it’s home shopping and diet shakes again.

 

 

 

The stillness of my silence

creeping over the night.

Resting on my Zen cushion,

finding truth amongst the mist.

 

Beginning; reborn once again.

Looking at the present with light.

Living without the freeze of youth and doubt,

escaping past modes with anger and flight.

 

The drum of the bell summoning hearts

containing its puzzle against the self.

A koan of reluctance

remembered for patience.

Strength in one’s posture

while all around is…

 

 

 

 

 

Ostrich eggs all brightly coloured,

the smell of birth lingers on:

First breath of life breaks the still.

A birth on desert plain.

 

Whispering animals amazed at dawn,

The water hole flickers with eyes of caution.

A new sound scares the thrush,

Hungry ears prick for movement.

A mistake so fatal; of broken stick.

Jump – grab – teeth – blood – DEATH.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Diamond cuts to the brain.

Relief will come after the pain.

Refugees plunder the dead city.

Animals once men now eat their own.

 

Children scream as the first to be eaten,

starving themselves on hope and faith.

The concrete amongst the glass and blood,

consuming the sun that once grew flowers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dark feast of mountain and sky.

Breeze off the grass, gorging on sun scented forests.

Screaming virtues and lost passions; exploring new games.

Smoke entwined restfulness.

Forgotten beaches lost in dreams.

Bright stars drowning in fear.

A crazed anger flirts with danger.

A blind rage against society.

Blaming folly for its predictability.

Passion of black man against his enemy.

Giving his life shortcomings.

Refusing to kneel in front of altars.

White bread rules for a game,

that promises rewards for investors.

Black pride ; distinction forgotten.

 

 

 

Life and death,

two parts equal.

Only together

Are we complete.

 

 

 

Bright as crystal flowers

the sun rose over steel and brick.

The shadows gasped their final breath

as the guards of night retreated.

                            

The bird of morning hovered near.

It’s early call distant yet clear.

The dense gaze of night was gone

and my sight of day reborn.

 

The clouds of ages since past,

once withheld knowledge of lands so strong,

now keep their secrets for the sky;

leaving me nothing to do but die.

 

Tracing the clouds of the past.

A jewelled back dragon,

reflecting its light over the shore

chases young terrors over the rocks.

 

Apparent noise in a tunnel.

Back against the wall; shadowed thoughts

retaining much anger; final breath.

Severed wills on the backs of camels.

 

Scorching blisters cushion their fall.

Blind in temptation; trek less lives.

Orange over white, scaling the walls.

Their liquorice hair denies stability.

 

Amongst their hopes, life is brief.

Streets of crystal glass

reflect the shine of the masses.

A fragile existence amongst the hills;

tribes converge on the plateau.

 

Tired limbs slowly uncoiling

from the night’s slumber.

The brain hatching out of

its circular dormant state,

now having to resort to

step by step fascination

with cause and effect.

 

 

 

 

 

Without death life is meaningless,

with no life death does not exist.

People confuse the issue by separation,

acceptance of both will lead to understanding

 

Prophets on clouds above

preach their beliefs through the rain.

On sofas at night we sit waiting for the event of the year.

A garbage can outside, a cat nearby alone.

 

Floods of mice in the kitchen,

confused by their own smell.

Life in the suburbs; numb to the spine.

Now and forever.

 

 

 

 

 

Street directory visions in the minds of youth,

distorted energies leading us to ruin.

We should be regaining the balance

instead of fighting for dirt and water.

 

Controlling the flight of a bird in space

while losing oxygen down here on earth.

Looking ahead for certainty and hope,

only to find anguish and despair.

 

I believed in the anti-christ

as I hoped he would appear.

In my dreams I’ve lost my mind,

only hope that I can breathe when I awake.

 

Old reclining structures in barren grey lanes:

Young ideas wrapped in cold recipes.

Lasers are new on the street

my baby still cries trying to sleep.

 

Burning cultures with fuel from Mars,

catching the ashes in a blue glass jar.

Memories of systems that once worked so well,

now seem frosty as they’re harder to sell.

 

 

Daily Blazes once said to Paddy McGee;

“I hope that portrait is going well.”    

Paddy looked down at his sturgeon boots.

“Not so complete,” he said looking at his tired feet.

Hot cement underfoot, his crumpled handkerchief

not far from his nose. He cleared his throat,

phlegm knotted and raw.

“It’s not a Rembrandt, of that I’m sure.”

To which Daily replied, “Well why would it be?

Anyway, Dali’s my man, all scary and clean.”

“Yet Monet walked a ray of light,

and Cezanne’s fruit were a sheer delight.”

“Klee, Miro and Leger played tricks,

but give me Kandinsky or the lavender Whitely.”

“An Artists life for me, if it could have been,

all that suffering and fright.

If only I’d studied or toured Provence.”

 

 

 

or at never towards the sun

lettering at will inwards at yourself

sitting at wall and blowing a trumpet.

 

Never at Saturday belonging on Mars

psyching your day for easter water

filling the crisis with colours of old

 

Exploding a fragment now it is

forever ice cream in a yellow

vacuums are nice and temperature

 

Rising a volume of seventy mountain

training a week to eat like coat

yesterday unanswered within the beat

 

Never unveiling the door in a secret

saying your likes as if sweet

putting on bikes under the house

 

In the plight with your nice

asking about stalking at night

confused at night below altitude.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Open the door and let the smoke out.

Controlling the journey ; feeling for warmth.

Taste the air as the room expands.                  

Crawling through the smoke of

an incomplete asian dungeon.

Height in strength creates unusual situations, 

tall and straight in an expensive car.

New perspectives come and go.

Drinking the wine that our god’s have left.

In the end when it all comes down     

diamonds on wrists are feeling for warmth.

Love and laughter turn the wheels around.                 

The stench of acid in our guts.

Primary thought in all motivation,     

controlling the journey ; controlled living.

Seeking old truths with fellowship rules         

controlling the journey ; salted prawns.

While breaking down every country.

Controlled personalities ; masks on beds,

cramped people with hollow walls.     

Controlling all options ; no extremes left.

Controlling the journey ; smiling with ease.

Controlling your laughter ; controlling mistakes

Controlling all our journeys…

 

 

 

 

 

I’m just a surfie chick rockin down the highway

Listening to sweet jane in my fried out kombi.

Broken hearts are for assholes and

I aint worried about tomorrow

as I just got through today.

 

Taking it to the limit has always been my status quo, but I ain’t ready to surrender.

Took a chance on setting the record straight,

smoke and mirrors careful not to reveal who I am.

 

Is she that different to me, aren’t we looking for the same thing, a little peace and happiness.

It’s hard to break the pattern, to disturb what must be done, but time is running out and while I’ve got two legs I need to walk to the rainbow before the light fades for us all.

 

You can either try to hide and run for cover, or take a fistful and dive into it head long.

At the end of the day i’m just a rock n roll animal looking for another stage.

 

I wish I had a mind to think of things that don’t matter

It’s a trap with a never ending descent