REDUCETOCLEAR
Introduction
Reduce to Clear
Journey into the Realm of Words where descriptions pirouette into tales to flourish and fade, pressed like personal renderings into our supernatural accounts.
Immersed in writing when I was far too young, where the ultimate beginnings lay waiting in a giant blank pad. That fat, empty page demanded astonishing ideas, like a wizards efforts to discover secret lost conjurings, where thoughts aimlessly wander, the pen poised to enscribe fine astral cracks and with confidence and clarity diminish the common worldly noise, whispers, silence, reduce to clear.
This internal space transcends digital existence; it beckons to delve into the boundless expanse and the catalytic keys we inspire in each other. Hung on these virtual walls tapestries of poetic reveries, enthralling moments, and mesmerizing characters, meticulously woven with fastidious intent. The pursuit of perfection as unique as the timbre that places mere common blocks of lego. Some have the placement so perfect as to create a masterpiece. Is it practice, a gift, a talent awakened?
The Flow of Poetry and Prose embarks upon landscapes, where emotions cascade like a Winters fresh thaw into brand new stanzas to feel, ponder, and dream. Immerse yourself in the elaborate narratives of novels, where characters leap from the pages and adventures beckon at every bend.
Whether you seek to immerse in the art of transcription or to embark on a path of inspiration, I invite you to follow my lead.....
Graham King
myth
And I have stood where no fool should
where giants suspend the roof of the world
the cliffs that are measured in days
these sheer stone fells,
under great black she-ghosts
that amass in fronts of alien wars…
and I humbled by this her brutal space
and her oriental sisters of fierce sunrise
flung bruised upon injured frowns of thought
cruel as I lean too these old winds of Thor
who passed with his legions a century before…
and yet have I harboured so brave
on the piers of mighty Orion…
stiff insects of barnacled keels
as I sailed and understood the Aztec elite
or poached the whale bone, or stole the teak
smelt the moss greens and salt while I sleep…
or dreamed I the Sage in a summers night defeat
or imagined the size of Cleopatra’s fleets
harvesting, drying out the harbour net creaks
out in the winds that sang and leaked
and long peaceful soaks in sangria fields
and gunfire clouds sent to rile wilder feats
the herds of innocence they dragged fast asleep
silently screaming down to the Earths inner deep
And I have stumbled upon Dante’s demon
His desperate vagabond hounds
vicious with ratchet ribs,
superstitious and terribly proud
his mangy back and pyramid squalor
detours and hazards in freeways abound
the sculpture of royalty, odd and confusing
No substance from ignorance to rule other men
on a skeletal fire that escapes
of a birdcage ledge high above them
so high in the sky above these modern day roars
and her toxic, crippling, bad breath
The idea of civilised, which is their powerful lie
The higher ground they demand,
Just to sit in defeat and squander the lives
The softly, softly who own their dominion’s
Makes such murderous demands
On a whim between what’s left and what’s right
And lies in wait for slaughter,
and so it has been by those,
the few with psychopathic hands
…the same hands that feed me
In this world of such splendid whims
in stadium malls, art filled to sell standards
lavish with passion kiss
pop conversations and orders so gallant
brooding with the ungrateful of bliss
and headlands that brace only nothing
that suck to death our middle class feats
…and define the ordinary man.
headlands
Somewhere beyond…
a headland is crushed by the gigantic
that others call them endless days
where ghosts roam like ancient winds
searching out victim and praise
like prayers that are held until paid
somewhere into beyond…
these headlands wear bearings
and winds have such little weight
where storms are herded wild as beasts
and the dreams of men stay where they lay
somewhere beyond…
the headland persistent, foolish and dazed
tiny fingers of leaks, tease like a craze
searching for imminent endings
while memories fragment the useless and lost
in our headlands to wander till the end of days
where they fish with their hurricane lamps
and monsters salt winds, batters the cliffs
where war-tides tear landings adrift
here at the end of a century lost
the deadly no-man’s are fed with loss
the wreckage of good men laid unto death
while to the many who wait to be found
wander vacant and ruined
at home in their dread
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reduce to clear
