UK Poet, Philosopher & Artist Ivor Griffiths' Official Website

A new poem by Ivor Griffiths; 21st May 2014

May 21st, 2014
Juxtaposed Carnal Conjugation – Natural Bliss:

Sub-tropical, antediluvian pastoral paradise;

Eden, dazzling whiteness, sublime beauty, perfection,
                         softly accepts the diamond.

She said:

"Control me, mould me, shape me,
bind me, scratch me, hold me;
just for you I’ll be there, now two,
just for you; only me, now two,
just for you; only you. Now two.
Only two."

Minds enclosed, conjoined.
Danced, magically as one, flying,
above the enchanted glade. Kissed: a love-miracle immediate.

Loving.

Twilight, mist descended, pink petals reddened,
opened; they possess, they embrace, surrounded with sound;
darkness rises, yellow moonlight encircled them
looking through his eyes, intertwining her mind
deep inside, together as one, rising
entwined, coiled — immaculate. Unbreakable.

Explosion.

Red star supernova, collapse of gravity,
breaking through, we stop time, twist time,
fluttering; expanding waves – quivering,
biting, scratching; spirals colliding,
stardust auroras a sparkling glow growing:
red, orange, yellow, blinding white
hot, lasting forever; one heart together.
One love, one soul, one moment.

Only one.


|| Poet UK || Current Affairs Comment ||

New Poem

May 20th, 2014

The Next X

When love moved me
it changed black stone:

psychometric psychosomatic

placebo effect,
synonym, like magic.
Thereafter,
a spice infused mentat sees a blur in
periphery, fizzing by half closed eye, magnified
precisely, high definition of a noun scape, like a parasitic
paradigm, latches upon the concept of a quark, a string theory
mistake, a pattern shift to a parallax view, quantum mistake, relativity error;
Schrodinger’s cat and photons know, they do.
Know they do when you’re looking. Bends it does, when it thinks we’re not.
Magic is true – it is

energy of two galaxies colliding;
They look so beautiful>>>>
joined tonight, glad I know you now,
two stars combining — spangling brighter night—
in a cool blue light — slide inside your mind
moving in your love-gaze, love me, touch and hold me,
it feels so good to me, loving and owning.

Nobody knows me,
Nobody stole me,
no one knows the soul
crackling static loving and rolling.

I feel so good tonight time isn’t stalling,
filaments of silk entwining, helix is growing,
splitting slowly now it’s a confusion,
tell me what to do, I always do it,
don’t matter what it is,
I’ll do it always.

It feels so new to me,
loving and owning,
now you own me now
we’re both entwining,
soon I’ll be yours to keep,
till I can’t stay there.

But once I’m yours: I’m yours
nobody owns me. Just you.


|| Poet UK || Current Affairs Comment ||

Herlihy’s Reptile Collection

March 18th, 2014

Herlihy’s Reptile Collection

Georgian crowds bound to him, pondering
a vision: rings of people floating in orbit.

His mind died in damp fog – grey as ashtrays;
croaked, from a throat hollowed brittle
by fags and joints
smoked in a bar, in New York, South Tyneside.

Reborn, at four fifteen, on the cusp of light:
a solitary skink in a tank, in a tower,
in New York, South Tyneside.

Hidden under Shields’ sand,
weaned by electric heat: carefully.
A boy, blond, gawped through glass
blurred and twisted, like mutant pink.
In a tank, in a tower
near New York, South Tyneside.
Skink imagined a birth
pressed out in sharp quartz sand
beneath warm tobacco leaves

mottled, like the Seven Stars floor,
stubbed out fag-end burns,
a tracheotomy’s troublesome stoma
his cigarette holder: raw stingers
void his voltage, and scale a suit

crumpled to second thoughts
that scabbed a doubt:
sky is a strip
of electric light,
slung above a bucket.


|| Poet UK || Current Affairs Comment ||

Autistica FAbularama BiPolaristica – a poem by Ivor Griffiths

March 15th, 2014

Autistica FAbularama BiPolaristica

drilling machinery downwards, plunging
needles, pins a brain synapse connection; widgets
welded rivets – smoke, a thought slug, white head
liverish splendour, grinning, clever sly,
husband of black toothed adultress
- anyone but him. Anytime. He leaves,

glistening diamond studded trails, ooze
behind her rubbery slitherer, grins wide
swivel eyed, on stalks, pervay’s the corpse
dismissively, body rippling, past cackler’s
hysterical laughter at the fat hairless blob
laughing stock and cuckolded slob,
“See? Who the fook are you?”


|| Poet UK || Current Affairs Comment ||

Moliere & Molly’s Magic Ping Moment

March 15th, 2014

Moliere & Molly’s Magic Ping Moment

It’s magic, full of star shaped fuzzy light stuff,

mirror-balls spinning, floating in bright yellow light

Molly, me and humanity – warm skins, a glowing

patina of sweat beads circling fractured fractions,

of fractious thoughts, we lie down, dark shadows merge

into our special white yellow light.

A butterfly, broken wings, crushed chrysalis bits,

meringue pieces lying on fresh tarmac.

A warm road skin – glowing black liquorice -

shiny water droplets, steam rises – smells nice.

“Bye, bye!” little boy cries,

crying tear drops splatter.

Now unaware, coming up, disassociating ethereal

grounds, as sunlight pings from window to mirror,

pulsing light, signifying to some -

fir trees on a horizon line, black against orange

nibbling a sky, blue blurred, fraying edges, threadbare.

Diverging now – shadow memories decorate pavements,

hardened, like Plato’s cave, the thirteenth (magic it is!) chakra,

a multi-faceted two dimensional timeless blood line.

Add ten, multiply, divide, sequence, linearise the binaries.

Then it’s done, now he’s gone. And her, and her. And him.

Pinging towards the sky. Forever happy.

Eh?


|| Poet UK || Current Affairs Comment ||