Rycroft Poetry Corner

Early B.C.

Selected poetry and writings of Alan Rycroft, August 1988 to August 1990

The City

Endless stretches of desert.
Small oasis of life.
The City.

-- August 18, 1988, I won't live here!

Clouds hugging Mountain

Moon beaming through
clouds hugging Mountain
by candlelight.

-- October 20, 1988, I settled in Nelson.


Chasing 42 at 28

Ageless feelings hold me tight.
Why am i confused tonight?
The phone sits still,
i think of you.
Silent echoes
ring me through.
Tonight.

-- January 7, 1989


Morning trip to the postbox

Obsequious boy delivering briefcases.
Loomis in the backalley.
Darkwoods Forestry Van
with cutout cardboard figure.
Driving.

-- January 24, 1989


Questions

Romantic fools laugh and cry.
The others know not why.

-- February 8, 1989


Dream come true

Five hours a moment.
Eyes sparkle forever.
Our bodies dance.
I dream of you.

-- March 8, 1989

Paradox

Consuming we are consumed.
Letting go we gain.
Non-attached we merge.

Be free

Complexity entangles.
Simplicity frees.

-- March 10, 1989


In memory of the hundreds of Chinese nonviolent revolutionaries killed in the first battle at Tiananmen Square.

All over the Earth

All over the Earth
the Tribes rise up
for the final battle.

Nonviolence,
the creative power of love,
transforms
the armed impotence of hate.

All over the Earth
the Tribes rise up.

The final battle has begun.

-- June 5, 1989,

Revolution

Illusions dissolve
the ground sinks
nothing is solid.

-- June 6, 1989


The Language of Image

Some thoughts on TV, photos and the language of image. It has become apparent to me in the course of recording my dreams over these last six months that dreams speak primarily in the language of image. I am used to dealing in words, but dreams speak in image. There are words, and no doubt they are important, but the focus is on symbolic image, moving image, video of the mind.

It is often lamanted that TV is the great manipulator of the emotions. No doubt it is; it speaks the language of image. Our culture is so imbalanced that no doubt it is quite effective. We are so uncognizant of the language of image, our subconscious, our right brain, that the TV reaches right in and manipulates, imposes, implants, rather than dialoguing. It is our ignore-ance of symbolic image that turns potential communication into message implantation.

And the messages beaming to us are predominantly sick. They are based on the anti-ethos of buy, consume, rape, rather than live, dialogue, grow.

The medium does indeed mold the message. The strength of the image media, TV, video, photo, art, is in communicating with our image-i-native aspects; predominately our subconscious selves that deal in image, symbolism and emotion. Our efforts are misdirected when we try to aim images at the left brain; the linear, rational, ponderous self. For that we have the word-- spoken and written.

The language of image, of symbol, is not to be pooh-poohed, for it is a basic core of who we are. It has been with us longer than languages of words. Image should be respected, understood and used to communicate. Our culture is guilty of ignoring this, our first language.

As harbringers of a new culture that enlivens we must embrace image, our mother tongue. We must use it fluently, both within ourselves and in communicating with others.

One of our goals should be the democratization of the means of image sharing. While the video camera and the computer make this possible, the highways of communication- airwaves and print are still hijacked by corporate money.

-- June 30, 1989


The colour of plastic

Rainbow of death.
Slick on the water.

Pretty coloured clouds.
Smokestacks galore.

-- July 21, 1989


World of silohettes

Stars fade into dawn.
Light peeks on the mountain.
Glimpses of the Past. Present. Future.
Thoughts of you of me.
Eternity. On Earth.
As stars fade into dawn.

-- July 24, 1989


Words are plodding

One consciousness at a time, moment by moment,
the earth is reborn, regenerated, alive and vibrant!

Words are plodding, Reality fleeting. A moment flies past.

words aflame

We are shackled to their image,
held by their myth,
so strange, so powerful these words
to create and destroy.

life upon life
time after time
eon and eon
eternal
words aflame

-- September 24, 1989


My Berry Lovers

My berry lovers i adore you and worship you. I play with your precious droplets. Their desire to seduce greater than mine to avoid being seen seduced. I seek no hands to moderate your passes. I want to know you mouth-first my delightfully edible friends. My berry lovers!

I walk on further and see others no longer loving, but now raping the berries with buckets and ladders. Gone the lover's kiss, the perfumed brush hello/goodbye, oh my!

All the life in this one small field is overwhelming and yet it remains unseen. Imagining it lifeless and without value it soon disappears under the deadening sound of "human progress".

I bow to the grass and am instantly surrounded by insects, spiders, crawling over, flying by, leaving me in their wake.

-- September 24, 1989


Terminal Democracy

The power of the state whithers day by day, but new powerbrokers arise; the multinational and the community. The multinational is all pervasive; the community all powerful.

In our space-age world of instant communication and tabulation there is no need for representational democracy. As always, the community is open to direct democracy. But now so is the city, province, state or multinational.

Do away with the annual tree-gobbling habit of telephone books, and give everyone a clever computer terminal. Not only are up-to-the-minute phone listings available, but so is electronic mail and conferencing, debate and voting.

-- October 1, 1989


Forty Percent of Canadians

According to Statistics Canada, forty percent of Canadians cannot, or can barely read.

It seems we have moved into a post-literate society.

After several thousand years of the literate period, after only a few where literacy was widespread, we return to our tribal voice and image world of the millenia.

-- June 4, 1990


A moment in time

Silence
precedes the birth
of the world
the sworl of energy
now

-- June 27, 1990


This Poem Has No Name

Moonbeam whispers to me.
Cedars dance again!
Lunar cycles calling…
baby, boy, buddha, grin.

-- July 15, 1990, A new birth.



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