# In Ash on the Sand

> Last Burnt Poems...

**Published by:** [Ade's Press](https://paragraph.com/@adespress/)
**Published on:** 2024-05-22
**Categories:** poems, poetry, books, freeverse
**URL:** https://paragraph.com/@adespress/in-ash-on-the-sand

## Content

A final collection of personal free-verse poetry exploring connections to nature, environment, and modern life. Ade M. Campbell Jan 2023 [Here available, 2024, as one of 500 limited edition NFTs minted on BASE and stored on Arweave.] CONTENTS Intro… ‘focus’ ‘that sea’ ‘down the line’ ‘flicker’ ‘close to right now and the future beyond…’ ‘strange dreamers’ ‘a power’ ‘don’t stop’ (permaculture thoughts) ‘trailer for a remote, fragmented life’ ‘beyond the dark pines’ ‘coffee cup thoughts’ ‘from we, lost foragers’ (more permaculture thoughts) ‘coastal birds’ ‘the tree…’ ‘beyond all hype and bubbles…’ ‘coast guard’ 'flashes of happiness’ ‘wind-formed words’ ‘ceremony’ ‘relinquish’ 'hey, Future...' 'don't remember me in words' Extra note… Intro… Having moved from rain-soaked South Devon (UK) to the more extreme weather scale of S.W. France (from 2015), I found myself unable to stop this final, fistful of poems. Some, look forward to continued prospects in a new land, and others hark back wistfully to Devon days, and childhood times there. ‘Larger’ themes I guess also emerged...[eg. towards a 'regenerative art' phase.] Environment shapes us, and we adapt painfully fast, or more slowly and surely. Maybe writing, reflecting and journal-making are part of this process. In nature, some species ‘dance with ghosts’ for a while, when their environment disappears completely; when their genetic traits have no more application. They need to change, and come up with something new. My poems are not very practical (and could be more so) but each one wants to say something final, in many ways. These ones are final, because I’m onto other things, in this diverse business of living, surviving, thinking, sharing, and being...! 1/2023 [Note: AI + Chat-GPT would soon arrive, which led to 'An Ode to Mankind' where some of these + earlier poems I'd 'rewrite' - or expand on - via experiments with the technology. The works here are all the originals.] ‘focus’ where is my focus? now — finally — close by ? i sit nearer to its red heart and pray that this fresh boat is varnished, sealed enough — and dried to cast a good song - a swan song — into the fray. changing world… i sit with the stones now feeling some power still as the waves withdraw, pulling the very core of me… back. i scramble for cigarettes; fast food; more sugary things — to soak in - and the lakes; rich and black - drilled - for more dips into caffeinated depths… as the fire crackles on behind the new glass. . . . [lyrics in image are from ‘riot on an empty street’ by kings of convenience, ack.] ‘that sea’ Death is shining at me in the distance - in that great sea - beautiful - in the blue light of faster, former days. only now I see It — feel It — closer now, moving inside me, too, with those waves of my annihilation. i’m waiting to be hooked out; cast into some sea beyond even, this golden sun. . sure, we’ve worked; we’ve played in the bright wake; defied It for some while shifting our dreams, tapping on proud castles in the sand; all these many forms of fishing for the reeling in — tight turns - to lend us ‘peace’; notions of control; while It slumbers there — or wakes; to shed Its scale, so deep, Its mystery wide and ever-tempting; to drink up, then sleep off on the beach. it’s no mystery: that sea is Death It breathes; It breaks into life; It brings new life to us more sunken in the sand; this hungry shore. hello - i take a photo and admire the light but it does not capture this inner-sea beneath; my turtle soul blanched and overheating toiling now more slowly over its sharp, dry rocks. It will pull us away you know, or crush us; shells like stars summoning tired bones. and we will go; fall down on the shore once more. born — we were, and bound — to slide - or be winked out; pulled back to fill the world’s spaces as our fingers forged new patterns of its thriving; surviving shadows. isn’t it great to love such an idea of Death? to marvel for a moment how everything is shaped by that Sea: the very shape of this hustling, bustling shore. yes — everything is Death, or has been: trees, notched and crooked, grains of sand, fine-honed those gemstones beyond so many flickering plans, brief, sudden laughter, drowned by harsh separations barely noticed; in our imprisonments from each other. i cannot say much more, of course. we are Its avatars, loaned-out creations - and - It is a force we ride, and are ridden far, and away… from plans, to have no plans; to pass long before our time is run or surrendering our selves - to just be old; tilling the land; ignored, as worn-out sand-keepers letting others live; sharing in their joy; smiling simply into the wind and the waves with all other half-baked notions washed and cleaned and dried. remember… me?… why? ‘i’ was just another of Life’s white lies, another of Death’s tools working together for a while to feed what Life is emerging in the careless, care-free flames of those waves out there whispering they were always there. . ‘Oh, how, time flies With crystal clear eyes And cold as coal When you’re ending with diamond eyes.’ [inspired by a song ‘cross bones style’ by cat power and the coastline of s.west england, uk.] [Collectible as separate NFT] ‘down the line’ . i see problems down the line; i look away — look down; (not sure where to look) i know they’re inside; i know they’re mine; this situation slipping us right out of our minds though we were chosen — we chose it — now we’re living it. … it could still break us over time; a storm, forewarned, without measures to take out — into the rain. this could wreck our train — next time, then freeze and let the winter in all down the line. . i see problems down the line my weakness rising; my spirit looking to the door maybe I can fix it — fix me — remember where I’m going and still get there in all this… i write this — even — cast it out from the abyss; it might be enough but does it really exist? no… not above the cold dice inside stark and creaking dawns; the racing, shunting down life’s noisy tracks right over thorns… . hey, i see problems down the line; they’ve blasted tires, caused delays but i think; I hope — you know — if it’s all to crack… i wanted to be there; be free… with you… for the record even with the anchors we would drag across the floor i saw beyond it… all problems… even the line… i knew that Time would wear our chains away not without us getting frayed or knocked around but that some part would hold on fast, never close that door; our door, or feel dismayed or let the darkness eat us up, with all our deeper sun - so warm - to the core of the earth. . but I should go… this message ends. Love clings to itself, in fiery dances enchanted, gets one big chance for then Nature’s furnace calls again — for food — and it must feed… …all through the lines in Time… . . . . (c.2019) acknowledgments to: ‘down the line’ a song by jose gonzalez ‘flicker’ don’t ask me to remember or to dwell for long on what lies beyond thru windows and thru doors of everything around me… here; in this mansion of one moment flickering to the next: it’s all before me… it’s where I live. i struggle not to strive to straddle Time, and distance - but just blur them into one. with coffee gone dry; internet all dead i’m ambling up and down my driveway now letting the grass grow — great… so, don’t ask me to remember what so quickly burned; yes… a candle needs its wick, and air, light hands to light it; keep it fit but, fuel and flame we’re all the same burning one another, burning up ourselves with what has come before; what might come after… … at such near cost; the cost of hardly gazing thru these stems, so tall and present; owned not by time but so much quick life appearing; tangled up; overwhelmed — yet unfazed by the finding of itself, inside it all. . . . . [Collectible as separate NFT] ‘close to right now and the future beyond…’ (from an animated photo-art piece, taken on the edge of Dartmoor) close to right now and the future beyond lies the present… .…some new influence or encounter with nature; the next hunt and reward where what our inner nature dictates lies the beginning of our work; the tomorrow it can create. . mostly, it is restriction in the now; freedom later, eyes searching for something to be dazzled by, again but — all our ‘meaning’ is defined by our efforts; by the way in which we do or achieve things; by whatever box or boundary we are restricted by — confined in — on a path to some harmonious kind of being… where the jewels in the far light can be stared into because we seized just a few of them; those that were there, too right in front of us. . (2021) [Collectible as separate NFT (art + poem)] ‘strange dreamers’ (from ‘Organic Metaverse’ Ai NFT collection) who or what are we? where are we going? our longer legs which found the solid ground now stride about, and over it, balancing; reinforcing rows of toes which lost the refuge of the trees, the air; arched feet gripping trunks; lifting us up high like our cousins - humbled by Time and presence- now there’s just the breath of the land. .. we wander off, don’t we? wondering where to be and who we are… our arms, our clutching hands once hugged those trees finding fruit and spreading seeds now, they scoop the earth to find and bend at plants; at things; make sounds; we’re happy with our foraging; our sudden findings still spreading seeds within, across, great boundaries. how much takes root? how much is cut down? .. science, i do not know knows much at all. nature can take its course: how to live, can be taught through skills ingrained already; senses, tuned to the wind in so many ways - intuitively testing - while all this work, and search, leads us up, and out, and back again… short rewards — yearning towards some other, endless future beyond just one more, once-golden dawn… where… we had some fun, didn’t we? monkey laughs - ballooning out, across the plains. ridiculous, loveable us against that crude and cutting distance which those trees had hidden so well up to the stars between our families, cousins, old friends driving away our fears with fresh but dominating plans. hey, maybe we can find our way through the darker days through more powerful dreams that bleed away, into the night — back — into the light — can you lead us? back into words, and sounds the working together — the knowing of one another; all we mean to the world. … more energy — we are — with just one ‘real’ need — to reconnect our souls once more to the rich earth, spread its richness, make more air- make love — for young kids breathing, building, sharing the fruits of small labours keeping us close and pure, and free, to the end; to be run down; so beautifully tired all over again by working with the sun. just know this, ok… wise animals may be simple, and in tune; unconfined, beyond territorial disputes never again — their own worst enemy. even — with so many baseless schemes, ideas and fears obsessions of control — all cast out. Life is making us, shaking us, loving us, hiding us, crushing us back again, into death. we will be wronged by others who are right in the dark of their night — some justice to be fought or foraged for — reclaimed, in the light of a new morning. yes, the land, the sea — those trees, still shape us in their meaner Time, pulling us ever by our hunger, thirst our mutual growing, nurturing, cycling, of a system superbly super-spreading... …beyond the ceaseless stabbing at more wild and abstract plans… to re-possess those perfect, golden lands which shine to empower us, blinker and distract, follow old or reinvented maps keeping us, calling us from the bright but buried campfire bones still in the deep woods — but blackened with our broken hopes of ever finding them… where so many wait and watch and waste away with soon-forgotten tales about the latest, escapist games, their heady, controlling, super-powers which separate and where the simple meaning of our being is buried again beneath the strangest of dreams. … .. . (2022) [Collectible as separate NFT] ‘a power’ (from NFT ‘inkgems’ collection) This is my real art; some marks upon the cosmos but i am not ‘i’ — am i? only for moments ‘i am Nature’; a phantom of this force. so what do ‘we’ become oh phantom world? our own ideas of someone. once, like you, i spread the seeds of new trees i tried to become unseen, but all powerful. . maybe ‘i’ am… maybe ‘we’ are… . . (2021) [Collectible as separate NFT] ‘don’t stop’ (permaculture thoughts) ‘Organic Metaverse’ NFTs the guy on the TV doesn’t stop knowing it all (or seeming to know) but, this other guy at least, shows how to tend or keep in tune with a ‘productive food forest’. so can we make the whole Earth into a productive food forest? harness, in harmony our great technology too (this time) for many of us have learned in the course of our lives feeling lost is easy in a too-easy world severed from the land; the sea; the open sky. maybe we could swap so many people for trees then have a party. just kidding - Nature will do this for us once it’s burned us all back since it feels a little late to start loving her now we know (do you know?) we’re a part of the show- one more energy flow yearning, ever-burning… where we’ve been learning to overcome her; plunder the reserves in her deep bones so wonderfully to feel as though we can belong here for so long… still learning then… all just a phase… energy’s not all bad, you know, and it does try to make us work together. maybe we can make it thru to some re-balancing… if we don’t stop tending to it all, or keeping more in tune or thinking… about tomorrow. many will die, some may thrive less estranged, less deranged maybe even better than before… before this watery, miracle planet fills up and overflows - washing itself free of us… to bloom again… and spread the next crazed seeds across the galaxy. . it was our god, you know not all these other strange shows but unlike this guy we’ve not been turning up for mindful worship; to pay our respects or pray enough… but when yesterday’s gone for those still wandering about in the sun unable, or not thinking in the shade - Nature is the cruel teacher. don’t you look back… . . . . [acknowledgment: dave holmgren interview (happen films) acknowledgment: fleetwood mac ‘don’t stop’] ‘trailer for a remote, fragmented life’ hey, it’s starting… . fragments of a life my life is a trailer i got a little sidetracked you see by people leading me out — or in - thru places, yes, spaces strange but now… i’m here; remote working i’m remote - cheers, Time. . . i was gathering up; got stuck but why not come join me, i’m piecing it all back together at least I put myself — in this here, this time i think between these lines and my answer is… ideas — i can throw you some while we hope to be more local - AR glasses closing distance in an instant - on demand… . so come find me… or I’ll find you… why? and what to say… the house is warm, i shuffle about modernity; edges of a decadence depriving us of the very notion of fulfillment - those pathways to some peace, or ‘peaceful living’. . at least let it now be finished… or be reunited… . yeah… let’s start again let’s not be so apart let’s build our worlds where we can since everything seems so keen on falling apart the movies will stop moving - ours too - so let’s relinquish what was always bound to relinquish us… . cigars, fine wine, good song let’s share you know, there’s nothing really there for you those glorious roads but everything’s here… . come on, why not fall down — together - since we’re going over - going down - then back online, rebooted and in between let’s break our own configurations smile at some mornings, command new projects, overturn some motions and be ever-famous to the stars we’ve left behind… . everything, you see, has changed outside the present we may change, or never change. we dreamed; now we do the work shot for those stars — too far - then dried our eyes, were friends again whatever works… . our movie starts… the wind projecting through the trees we needed - what we needed - already playing nature’s roles, we were while we moved, were moved and dispersed… . …more seeds… . ha! ahhh, you know, it never mattered… our energy, configuring energy… . . . . ‘beyond the dark pines’ that shore; it’s been calling us all day beyond that line of old, dark pines. i’m sure, there’ll be treasures to find; strange, blue wonders lost in a time; hidden within those overlooked, seaweed-soaked, sodden estuaries. . . since it’s now our turn let’s go down, to that bustling old sea-town, hushed for now by gusts of this great wind whispering… of something still to learn in seeing — what we can see; some mystery, unknown in being — simple, free as all we can be… keep close and maybe we’ll make it back home safely before the stealthy tide turns steadily against us… . even our small but hardy crew of fired-up pirates — intent - on finding, sharing all the secret light there is on this bright and dark earth. . and what did we smuggle back? or salvage: a fine, abandoned shell, the smoothest rock, an old piece of string to wind around the years and attach us, bind us, to that source of everything around still drawing and calling us within… . and where will we steal such power? to the pulling moon… out — to other, far stars… or put back in that land thrilling and wild where fierce, sun-filled daffodils bunched in the hand belonged to us with all the tiny changes; living signs and sounds - cold, soaked or warm - challenges; inciting us to new riots along the sand. . indeed the sun breaks - and we too — against those fast, foaming treasures of the sea freezing our feet breaking us back out, or down in laughter fits; falling around the wide, giant bay scattering; splashing us raw into its shocking, fresh, timeless time… . but soon - battened down against a wind - becoming gale - battering another night - and nearly all night long wide awake thinking, listening - at the end — dreaming - of what more could possibly lie out beyond those dark, now darkening pines… . you know, I know - the new kind will hunt and gather - maybe find - something new to burn and shine for a short time… draw and excite then slip away… like grains of that shore’s warming sand through our ever-young, ever-reaching fiery hearts… . and these sea-cold hands… with still, its great and ceaseless work causing me to pause, assemble, and make plans. . . (2021) [Collectible as separate NFT] ‘coffee cup thoughts’ let me live a life — entirely within the after-burning, sweet kick, and swig of a good, strong coffee… . in full-flow stuck in its warm, energy-glow, distilled thru the sun’s black fruit - fired-up — from its froth - I become the sun… filling up with Time… reinventing gods and myths… becoming known - liberating myself above all the world - in inspiration — pure - without ever slipping away, or down soft — ghostly - once more, to it all… …. …losing to the moon; returned - to that realm of locked reflection, gloom - Distraction in command only of the waves that will cover all our statues soon with these strangely crooked, crafty towers… (straining under white bag-loads of sodden, soggy, sand-words.) . .. … ….. [Collectible as separate NFT] ‘from we, lost foragers’ (more permaculture thoughts) beyond the TV panel problems deepen. in the garden great walnuts shake their leaves while all around their base, they inhibit growth with juglone. it’s one way to defend a world, alone with a magic circle poisoning off the competition. . and we, lost foragers; with strange ideas and poisons too who roamed and pillaged the four corners… we’ll use some seeds now from our circles, overgrown in the needy breeze we’ll fashion words, drop them into hard nuts hoping legacies and learning from before living within us now can be cracked open - sown - in some life beyond. . we’ll reintroduce the forest floor we cleaned away even restore more open, sustainable solutions. in our quick time too quick for thinking but at least we got there in the end. . our sons and daughters can carry a new know-how about living together, sharing and foraging again. they’ll have to find some road ahead, or back, more in harmony… . but is there, even such a thing in this hungry, smash-and-grab, over-controlled, juglone-soaked world… as ‘harmony’? . . sure… ‘we can work it out life is very short and there’s no time for fussing and fighting, my friend.’... . . . . [acknowledgment: Beatles, ‘we can work it out’] ‘coastal birds’ . the wind again; it owned that place; we were not supposed to be there hiding out on a cliff-edge. . below us, dark sea blasted netted stacks of stones holding us in place. that bright morning black rooks had tried to warn us - about it all through their high, ragged calls. well, it could now actually be the end of us- battened down as we buried heads inside warm beds - like birds in one of those dark pine trees we would fall and not matter to the world; its turning, booming, crashing storm rolling out battalions of waves on another dark, abandoned planet. . or else we might — even — win through in the end - you’d hope; break away —in rockets — up to other stars; some display at least against that sleeping force threatening again to snuff our fires so easily out. . for yes, that night, was a battle only dumb men would presume to dart out into or describe; believe they could ever conquer… we are just birds - grounded it’s true - but only birds fleeing and flung, into new, blue skies, opening up a while clasping our crooked worms; landing more and more into any safer, quieter corners. . did you ever, like, like this world, we held out against? where we walked and talked and decided, what we needed to decide on next; where our minds - still fly and roam, swiftly stirring our stomachs again - through the great night - those nights - some time ago… yet only figments to this lost world we serve utterly and will return to wake up in again then be worn down, sleep deeply, snugly into; for the length of a dream it seemed to have some need of us… our fires maybe, are like its deep fire feeding on its own creations, where each will face that storm — embrace — fully what its life is, what our death’s merger means; for this blind biosphere some freedom and great sacrifice; our erasure, for its grind; its continuance. . . . . (2021) reference: dylan thomas ‘the force that through the green fuse’ ‘the tree…’ . … is a closed temple; i cannot ascend up the slow-formed, fountain of limbs like carved pillars or pay homage to its self-made existence with my own short life and death; nor any physical act of worship, to praise something which an inner tree in me is looking up to; reaching out through these leafy words. . my mind tries to follow its routes; drink it in; explore such a spectacle. but i cannot go up except with crude tools, or from this shade watching like a long-legged pirate eyeing up its treasures — since all its deeper magic; high, nautical thrills sway, locked to us all now; hidden in thick time behind walls of its mute and towering, true, elemental house. . or is it I stricken blind and deaf to understand; interpret correctly its great umbrella art creating some sanctuary on display - in which i stand — against the cruel sky. . noises come down; my eyes are overwhelmed by light and shadow. it fills the space massively with its thin solar panels fueling a patience and growth so maternal and alive with tiny things invisible to my slow, thought-dreary gaze; simply over-awed by its presence. i almost merge, in longing to be more embedded and entranced; charged up by its myriad processes, occupying space; and generating my very air. . why and how did we abandon them… they may encroach upon our houses but they have new inhabitants now enjoying everything: refuge, food, freshness, the sudden rush of height and danger their lives and quicker deaths all part of the deal; a cycle owned and possessed by them all. monkeys share this secret without question — it’s irrelevant; looking down upon us like strangers; distant cousins we simply never knew; never grew up with. besides, they’re busy, being alive; serving their quiet gods — keyed-in to the buzz of each other. . who am I? My inner tree speaks. not a complete imposter but removed from this great home now not welcome — welcomed. it doesn’t matter we poorer, earth-bound lives still spread seeds; jumping and traversing other, stranger kinds of tree. we ride horses, drawing up, hushed as ranchers before an ancient Indian chief; i’ve no idea what I’m doing here i occupy space too — but none up there. one of its winged dwellers — afraid - casts upward into its network of arms suspecting me of ill intent, indeed, I have burned other, whole villages i can’t remember why. this is summer everything re-surfacing its creatures play the ultimate video game; roaming an open world to be truly immersed in: one of instant need; no planning — just to forage and be risky, frisky on the edge of everything since everything really does exist on a keen edge. . yet I only know this. i cannot feel it here, or now. i walk away; retreat to carve my own dry sounds to my lost comrades clicking on and off slick gadgets costing time and money; lost upon this other, more encompassing world we imitate; celebrate in so many ways… this secretive tree still summoning, overlooks a garden corner with long grass bending, flexing in the winds’ blasts but is not overlooked, by me at least, or — you — it seems still following? — looking upwards too - until the very end of this tree verse all now spread out; run through with roots put down into a cultured soil though they may not go as deep or go deep enough… . not if either this life, or this art hopes it can outlast our doomsday secret, hidden in the ruins in that wind whispering something more about some rising, retaliatory plan to either cut us back, or bring us crashing down… for other, fresh things to grow and fill the dark space where everything rests and stands. . and i tell myself again… to burn the last of this written, treelike art to mint and serve new life; to simply nurture trees which open eyes and fill up time and space — far better — in its stead. . . . 2021. note: tree inspiration was/is a large Tilleul (Lime tree) in S.W France. [Collectible as separate NFT] ‘beyond all hype and bubbles…’ old photos feature outlines of pines. a distant ship shifts on the horizon. . beneath this, lie the treasures of Time to spend away, today, down by the sea, not always looking ahead or feeling so numb, comfortably. . many, were found - then lost - or at least held for a while… . you know, one day we will forget everything, our lies, our strange ideas - these words - even this wind which brought us; bound us, so close. . will we find our future? do you think? no, don’t cry or be dragged down remember a here; the now… your pure joy, rising up through every moment - the very first and last - not written yet — or far off but snug — as we were - within that timeless, time-forged coast - its new pioneers… where everything that ever was, and is - still is - forever near; attainable; forever incredible and possible… yes, possible… . . . . (2021) [Collectible as separate NFT] ‘coast guard’ in the dark I lie back thinking of when I first heard such desolate presence turning and pounding at a near shore changed utterly by a storm quietly raving; crashing and eroding time beneath heaps of stones, under directing stars; even a vengeful moon. . that sound — oblivious to men — is no friend of everything we stand for everything we hold dear. . besides there was only just a TV signal, a small open fire had warmed our perched and cosy nest and life was newly-fired but now so fragile where our family clan lay — except for I — listening… timing… the next bleak and random space between each close and far-off breaker. . it really is our dark earth; our troubled sea conspiring against us; expelling or at least getting it all out, or something. . under such siege others slept on warmly thru that loosening, booming night… then i too… buried deeply in between — and found rest within oblivion… … before . a brand new day - bound to come back beyond the dark to herald - . brave, fresh adventures for our greedy spirits, surging to ride out again; to seek the source of all that restless power beneath the near and steady horses of our parents love. . you know the memory of those waves — and my fear — all turned over; changed; into bright wet sand; seaweed wreckage, running — to tame a land of windy, fresh mornings, ransacked and renewed for quick plunder together as the waves worked on, distracted; so far out — . we stole their treasures while they regrouped; hushed; more settled; sure — but still… and ever since i think on it — . that sound, cementing us in a fiercer realm; that time ruled by timeless, unstoppable stallions forever charging, rising, spilling and commanding — from their distance in the dark — smothered, yet ever present, beyond the measured law of each and every day since childhood… . since the music and voices grew all around us and let us softly drown. . . . . . (2020/1) [2nd last line: see ‘ghost song’ by jim morrison last line: see ‘the wasteland’ by ts eliot] ‘flashes of happiness’ flashes of happiness are what we live for; strive for; quick hits of contentment as we ride, or play well this mad, game/storm of our lives… but will you hold fast? will we? while blasted across blunted rocks; these crude formations, fading in; blocking off routes… will we stand tall, and at the last? beyond every after; not just the before we tried to make those moments last. .. no, it’s not all plain sailing - brows furrow once more - clouds, they crowd back in; we’ll tow again on that long, and winding line binding us all; leading us in — to some far shore - or as Browning said ‘what’s a Heaven for?’ . . ‘wind-formed words’ . Art… [go on…] is a bit like [pause] …being continually cut off on the phone — hello? . oh, you had just been describing how you feel about… things… .. so you lay it down; try and get it just right be fair, and true; be clear - self-effacing too — it wasn’t my fault all this selfish being in this wind — a few ideas to share to ‘culture’ which — i am sorry (to say) must be sold, i am selling… . more art magic can be summoned to rise like a force, reflecting, reaching for some high, sunny peak by scaling through dry, word mountains… but it’s a fast fountain - mighty — or a tiny expression; it wants to blow thru a person is it the world talking through us you know? maybe… what the…! [hello?] HELLO?! . …so now you won’t know… about the force and that power outside - that’s inside - in your nature. . you’ll have to put your time to some other use. [The wind presses again. Something falls.] the air outside wants to alter us more. . [He..ll..ohhh...?] … you needed to talk… in this way culture will go on… warping; filling out, diverse, contracting… in… those storms, like that sea fashioning… . things will remain like your words in my brain — is it from some old song… . all set to change things again. . . we’re up next… . how this world needs we steady chain of ghosts to walk and explore it; haunt it, and sing; make some power, unleashed to control then make peace with it… . just work with it. [okay…] . . [Collectible as separate NFT] ‘ceremony’ we must destroy each other before the world destroys us groping, closer in our brimming homes high above the world’s unbounded power, ceaseless and spare . the new, TV news gathers us in but i need you here to share this form I bare — this body — with all its fire for you — for all your kind — for on my own i can be strong but i am nothing - a ghost enjoyed by ghosts - i am no stark victim of your next decision, or abrupt, enveloping moves. . it’s only someone such as you — your feline folk — who keep me real, and clear: fangs bared and sharp, tongue lolling; my mind primed; ready to blow. it’s how it is — you know — we all share in our desires everywhere; worlds of desire destroying — to be destroyed; surviving — to survive ourselves until …our fires die out - or are subdued… …and we are freer, emptier shells painting each other; creating games with words; lip-syncing from the shade or noticing change; smiling up at that sun which will burn us altogether. . others may notice our destruction even witness it but they’ll never feel more - no, they never partook of it. . believe me we’ll have a great feast and after start out again into the unknown foraging in fresh estuaries. just as everything we’ve come to know once was — unknown, strange and new this Earth, to be discovered . just as we were discovered while discovering in our joy; destroying — in this wind’s bitter grip - amid old ghosts of the destroyed; the once-proud, empowered departed . we’ve survived their desire and must keep on loving and not hearing, fearing or becoming them. how we laughed at them! and i recall that chilly breeze how it made the whole hushed and flowing scene of sand; of sunlit water - flash with gold - beneath my only small, warmed toes digging in… i heard only a few high cries, ecstatic yells from other souls — very far out - lost in the breakers. . harsh beauty, we must perform our ceremony of fire enough times, before all time. we must remember this is what we were — once; it’s what we are — raw energy controlled by that chaos — ancient; older than the hills around our bones as we stare back — stare down — from atop such soft but brittle, shifting thrones so many fathoms out - to that far source — that shining sea… and hear it crash once more; hear it roar beneath. … (2021) [last line: ‘hamlet’] [Collectible as separate NFT] ‘relinquish’ Tintagel, Cornwall, uk the game is playing so control me- i am the game; move me; mould me out across the plains. this day — today; what will you have us do? to get through you, be fully known - beyond the burning, up, in those old, wild stars; your secret hearts. . those scars — they burn was that you?! it was… until i could relinquish and be done with it all, become unknown — you know, completely completed; lost… in stars i dreamed i’d own beyond a good home. . stop the game, this train let’s go there — where? back home, zone out, watch ourselves, from afar, you know, those stars… laugh — can we? Together when we laughed how I loved you… . Life; it need never now, be hard and it was never but it will never stop burning… . (Sleep, that tired tide of nothingness, break over me… far away — from struggle and race, from where we hardly were… were we? really? — No…) i was. i did. was done… who won? well… those new trees are growing, knowing they grew through me at least the burning, burned me letting me, at least — and at the last, laugh a little… or for a while… . . . . hey, Future... you're silent, unknown and thus - ever - filled with our big ideas - big talk - getting lost on a good moment. . Tomorrow is your dream and your struggle but will soon steal the light out of another bright morning. . our Future is expected to be full of power, surprises - collapse - world peace? more time outside? less? or a faceless mass with - vaguely - brave new worlds in virtual arenas... . so you'll be told whatever... but I think there should ever be the ‘us’ - bound to the earth - coming back to rough contact, growing, shaping, the truth from our own toil, the feeling tired right here in the now - from the sowing to the reaping; the feasting and the bright celebrations leaping long into some far after... . stay pure until your pure rest, your silence, and the unbinding... of just what it was we felt, or knew, we once were - full - and so alive - to one other. so hey, are we moving forwards? 'progress'... or retreating... further - down - or far away - from the sweet love and personally-enabled glory which rises up and is gleaned like honey with the milk - of what we take directly and give back to our lands; our worlds together thru greener insight, wisdom - more foraging and finding - fresh spice for some inner, deeper harmony which can flow; which exists... . our environments; they rule: they are - really - all we have to work with, moving you, still - along these lines i'd say - how they move us all (so strangely) shape us into circles, ever-shifting: decreasing outbursts overturning breaking, reaching back into new lines across the sand and in this wind you'll find the way... … .. . (2024) . . don't remember me in words . don't remember me In frozen words or crafty speech when I am dead. i should be far - removed - from those particular views, your quotes or judgements passed, smart summaries aired to others in closed comfort - cute queries into how I lived or who I was or seemed to be... . i shall be spent and so will you at the end of this energy we carry from the blend of soup we steamed out of, unfurled into a world of power seeking drink and fruit - more power - trying for some good, or turning bad or breaking bad it is all being spent, you know it, in the name of many things. . but if we stumbled thru real times and evolved together - when we were free and needy - closer to the soil - then think of these between obsessive work, survival and the riding on the storm of Life you must right now hide or try to rise from, fearful of the quick missstep or bracing to adore a sleepier fall. . we are all connected so it hardly matters if we were kings or robbers we were just kids sticking together pushing out at the surroundings pushing in upon us where the endings to our smoking stories all seem sad... but try to judge yourself - from the world's view: 'you' picked its many apples 'you' scattered seeds, fed the soil, 'you' breathed and maybe had the chance to love and rut now keep on talking, mourning, making noises in the trees. Overall we seek a space to rule, belong, feel fine - about ourselves - and love this world as dearly beloved gentle elephants - their great, dim shapes - get hustled away but still gather back, in the dark, to softly tread and sway - lower and bow their heads - if not for me then for it all... before... our next strange calling distracts us away; incites us out to cry or laugh some more to serve and play again - raise our rackets to the bouncing ball of this shared being in this firey, flowing energy game... where words are more ways to hold on and to handle - to control another; to pour over what is being poured out anyway - you should not need to pour them over me - 'just get yourself free...' . . . (2024) Extra note… Thanks for reading. More poems can be ‘found’ online or off, evolving or devolving, including ‘At the Far Tor - Poems etc. from South Devon’, ’Across the Shore’ (an NFT collectible poem catalogue) plus earlier work ‘Gathered on This Beach’. Ade mc @ Ade’s Press 2023. [2024: Additional (final!) poems were added to this collection to mark this full release as NFT.] Collect Note: No chatbots were used at all, for any of the collections here at Ade's Press. I will always specify if/where used. I am currently working on training a chatbot with most of them, as an experiment to see what it can produce. You can access and test drive this work in progress, 'Ades-FreeVerse' via Poe, using Chat-GPT etc. All outputs 'used' must include a credit to Ade's Press. Stand by for an update and list of all chatbots I'm working on, plus prompt ideas, in another post.

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