Though she slipped from this life
like time through your fingers
never to be held again,
there is a star in the sky
that aches to fall,
to shelter you from the closing day.
Hold on to these thoughts,
take as long as you need,
keep only those that made you smile
and to the four winds
set all others free.
© D. Archer. March 2015
Here are some more crimes against photography I committed whilst on a recent wander.
Once again I strongly urge you to stay away, its a terrible place, all that natural light, beautiful inspiring wildlife, scenery and lung cleansing fresh air. I can’t think of anything worse. You wouldn’t like it honestly.
Landscape © Deity of your choosing, photographs © D. Archer. February 2015
Fun with sharp objects on a Sunday.
Actually that’s a lie, I cut this a few days ago and then printed it and then forgot to upload it. Metaphors for my life abound.
This time I managed only 4 copies before I got a decent print which is vast improvement on my latest effort and no actual blood was spilled in the making of this image which again is a vast improvement on my latest effort.
Im sure there’s a poem about a bleeding heart brewing but my natural procrastinating tendencies prevent me from doing two pieces of artistic endeavour in one day. Maybe Winter 2016.
Less to follow.
Blood © D.Archer. March 2015
From the wrong side of the slow burned bridge,
at the edge of the rook black wood,
where giant thoughts used to dwell
she makes no plans for tomorrow
as she picks flowers for her daily grave.
The house, quiet as a failing marriage
stands alone in a bleached, peeling memory
under water coloured clouds.
She weeps for the summers passing,
the shortest of shadows
and the length of his kiss.
© D. Archer. March 2015.
I’m not OK Cupid.
Days like today make me realise that it is perfectly OK not to be OK. Celebrate our differences and accept our idiosyncrasies my arse. Nobody wants a relationship with someone who lists their quirks as “bestiality and defrauding the tax office on a massive scale”.
My personal profile reads, “I am short, fat, 46, shit with money and prone to bouts of depression”, a brief but accurate description of myself. Needless to say this has not endeared me to the masses nor brought me fame and adoration from all corners of the globe.
I have tried, (insert preferred deity) I have tried but the fact of the matter remains the same, my life is exasperatingly dull. I wake, I work, I over eat carbohydrates and I sleep. My life is a veritable catalogue of things not to do with your time on this rock. I have travelled very little, my refrigerator is unadorned with exotic magnets that have have place and emotions woven into them (apparently the energy efficiency sticker does not count and is a poor substitute for the vista from above Mach Picchu). There are no anecdotal photographs dotted around my living room depicting past lives or close friends in riotous holiday poses captured on yellow edged paper. I don’t, I just don’t.
I am a difficult person, I can be stand offish, aloof and even just plain ignorant but when you’re in, you’re in; I am loyal like a dog, an unconditional lover because you are a friend, a family member, a pet or a cactus.
I hope this days brings a connection for someone, somewhere. Personally I am looking forward to February 27th which is “International Tidy your Sock Drawer Day”, can’t wait to see how many cards I get. For me it’s time to move, mentally and physically and try to love like a verb.
Oh and in case you are wondering, I don’t have a profile on OK cupid did you not read the above?
© D. Archer. February 2015
Slip into my night once more,
let me hold you in my dreams,
let me lose myself
in the depth of your love
not in the pain
of when you leave.
© D. Archer. February 2015
Love lies in the roughest sea,
in the smallest hours,
in a one oared boat,
not in the anonymous promises
of those that lure in calm waters
as sirens circle in the undertow;
soon the unwinding begins
the rope that proffers salvation
forms a seductive silk noose around your neck
and be it by category or allegory
the search for your lungs in another
will only one day leave you
out of breath.
© D. Archer. January 2013. Tweaked in February 2015.
As new disciples gather
in idyllic adoration
to marvel at the neck of the virgin swan,
be mindful of those that bring nothing to the table
but want everything in return;
be careful who next petitions your heart,
sail through their paper-thin veiled verbs
and as you search
remember the last mast
you bound your colours to
was broken beyond
even you to nurse.
© D. Archer. September 2012. Tweaked February 2015
Twice I have held the world in my arms,
in November and late July,
before the carousel slowed,
before the photographs fell silent.
It’s not the presence
but the void,
it’s not the new
but the old I watch
hand tied and dumb
through a window ajar
but not enough to grasp.
We walked a fine line
between memory and lies
when nothing was wrong
everything was hidden
just beneath the surface
tension and tears lingered;
all memories now,
smaller than the space between rain,
made colder by an arm’s length.
© D. Archer. January 2015
Beneath the summer sun
slowed by the madness of time
the sound in my arteries
foams in my throat;
I swallow hard and steal a thought of you
far from this sewer
that swells daily with aborted lives
measured in meaningless yards
we wait and we write
we write and we wait
days spent in a little more dirt reached;
foreign tongues cut short from talking heads
abandoned black against autumn’s bite;
lovers and sons
blown into the arms of their Sunday God
who holds them forever, eternally young.