Wednesday, 25 March 2009

You Who?

God is an unspeakable explosion.
A moment that cannot die.
God is that instant of freedom
The space between music
Like the infinity of John Coltrane
Or the succinct beauty of a Pollock painting,
The roaring depth and the voiceless noise
That separates heartbeats.

Is a choice.
A movement
The elegance of melody
The taste of brevity
A fresh kiss
For every new minute.

Is the mother and the son
The giving birth
And the being born
The pulse at the heart
Of a city
The sound that holds
Together a mountain.

God is living your life.
A peace outside meaning
Acting from the hip
Trusting the compass
Of your sex
Trusting the space
Between you and your senses.

God doesn’t give a fuck about ego
Or the eightfold whatevers
Or the ten holy boredoms.
God is now. A constant split second.
God…is a decision.

Do you get it?

Tuesday, 10 March 2009

Another Side of Andy McKinlay

A stoic softness
Fresh playful lightning
In your eyes.
You tiptoe streets
Like an absorbed child
Excited by the dangers
Of noise, laughter and girls.

Rooms of books
A history of visions
Dirty smokestacked past
And a life of jagged rhythms,
Mind wrapped around
Beauty’s hidden curves
And the sky’s shapeless puzzles

‘British women are fucked up’
No sense in chasing warmth
Where there are only icicles
No sense in combing back
Your weaknesses to impress
All those loose naked shadows.

Lonely old struggle
Keep the ghosts tied up
Keep the monstrous wind
From your face
True warriors know true gentleness
A muscle that cannot be strengthened
Only shaped in the lengths of darkness.

Tell Me You Love Me

Tell me you love me.
I don’t need you its fine.
You reinvented beauty.
I wished upon that star too.
What do you want, an apology?
It takes great strength to cry.
It’s a reason, not an excuse.

I am sexy.
I am sexy.
I am sexy.

Same old, same old.
My mind like stretched strings.
My heart like a boiled fish.
My footsteps are artless.
I’m bored of my own ambition.
Meaning is old fashioned.
God is self-indulgent.
Beauty is always alone.
Don’t get caught up in it.
You can’t swallow all of perfection.
I don’t play games.
Seriously, I’m smarter than you.
It’s how you use it that counts.
I come across blunt but that’s your problem.
I hate the word genius, it’s overused.
All men are assholes.
The Lord helps those who help themselves.
I tell it how it is.
Tell me you love me.
I saw the face of a tiger in my dream.
No one gives a fuck mate.
I love you.

Look at the state of that.
A lot of chancers in this city.
All these pinned back faces.
It’s difficult, everything changes.

Saturday, 7 March 2009


I say love is all there is.
You say fuck off.
I say peace be with you.
You say gimme a break.
I say ‘morning beautiful.’
You say leave me alone.

I could say anything
And you wouldn’t listen.
You would argue with a smile
If you had to.
Give up late night dances
with your thoughts.
Breath in life that knows no death.
Inhale and taste truth.

You are a crisp diamond.
The light of surprises refracted.
Close your eyes to the dark
Relax, be ready for morning’s kiss.
Watch the clouds collapse into colours
And listen for the stars’ last prayers.

And watch yourself.
Watch your heart rise and move
In its dawning rhythm
Breaking from old ideas
And its confusing myths.
Watch wisdom push and pull
In the lungs of life.
Watch all of it.

Missing You Blues

No holding hands today.
Just the empty wet surface of the Bridges,
The grumble and splash of the traffic,
The thick grey hiding sunlight,
Infinity trapped behind a blanket.

Just Kerouac, bookshops,
A caffeine rush, a slight panic,
A brief aimless inspiration.
Water. Dishes and detox tea,
Small drops of guilt, nuggets of hope,
The wholesome taste of aniseed and fennel.
My unfinished room, an unfinished heart,
The mind in a strobe-flash like a television

Just Love, like a giant question.
Like a child waiting to be tested.
Just bits of a work of art,
Simple painted thoughts,
Scruffy ideas in a sketchbook.
Awakenings, fleeting
Like song-sequences.

Outside the trees
Are slow and graceful,
Deep and gentle like water,
Musical - in total flux.
There is no sadness
In the face of autumn,
Just a soft rustle of joy,
An acceptance.
Steamed rice.
Christmas fog.
No yoga

Takuan says

Steady to tiger.

Wet her ears
Don’t meet her
With her own fire.

Takuan says,

It’s useless to
Contest the rain.
It takes strength

Let yourself
be soaked


You are a genius.
Your heart is a secret chapel,
A place where powerful echoes hide.

At night,
There is a soft heat
Buried behind your eyes,
As you sleep, curled up
Like a baby lion.

Under a quiet light,
Your skin is like satin sands,
Your unmapped curves
Are bathed in the voices of the stars.