Soul Projection


Dismay may befall at times in our life,
For the world is both joy as well as strife,
We roll up and down like waves on the sea,
Traversing a destiny that we cannot foresee,
But life is so precious so living it well
Is a duty beholden on the soulful swell
Upon revelation of unspeakable glory
Underpinning grief with the primal story
Of miraculous birth and consciousness,
Treasures unparalleled from the first
Breath, breath, breath, the rhythm divine
Unto death, the great prism for light to define
Its manifestation through our formation,
Glowing from fiery stellar predestination,
Our furnace, our maker, our soul’s projection
From the darkness of space, God’s predilection,

Minuscule Atoms a-gifted


Respectful dissection of the life of men,
Allows us to resound when we learn
The basis of joy underpinning the bent
In our lives which takes us across deep waters,
Far away to distant dreams that glow closer
With rotating Earth dancing her career
Like a cosmic ballerina expressing both grief
And pure love for the galaxy to which she was born,
Lifting us up, shifting us through the hidden spaces
Of realms unexplored and never sensed before,
Our lives long and short of it,
Powdered with stars made of the carbon too
In our minuscule cells, the atoms a-gifted
From his ponderous, explosive creation
Of a truth in which to revel at all times,
Loudness and brightness our signal
Of perpetuity and assurance
That to live and to love is the purpose,
It is quite truly, the purpose of God.



Love is the truth
My Lord
Love is our breath
We are thee
We are you
My Lord
In the tenderness
Of our pain
My Lord
We are given
We are riven
With secrets
Of light
Known best
To the poets

She knew me
My Lord
She knows me know
And I love
The stars
Containing her essence
Which lives
In you
In she
In me
In all and one

May she divine you
To her soul thus

My love for her is old
But anew each moment
Through you

Who revealed
An unhindered sky
To me tonight
My Lord

I am love now
I am you
I am she
I am peace
And I am beauty
Across the ages
Of man

Weak, sick, strong, determined

This is the new now

Forever lord amen

Alternate Universe


Demented dimensions of
Parallel worlds in an
Alternate universe with
Different demeanours,
Where denouement is pliant
With the dream of the dying
Breaths are such drama,
In this world and those
Where the air is your
Enemy by dint
Of expansion
Of lungs;
Oxygen, blood,
Around on the cyclical
Construct of chaos;
Fractious fractals
Of regressive infinity,
Plundering lifeforms
As divinity;
Diminished devotions
And torture renditions
In the jump suits
Of orange sedition,
Breaking the souls
Of all innocence.

(c) Kosmogonic 2016

A Hollow Tomorrow


Persona non-grata,
I wear the stigmata,
The oxytocin burn
Of your never return,
Vanished like breath,
Banished like death,
Gone from such joy;
Some demonic ploy,
To shed me of soul,
Words don’t console,
Lost cosmic treasure,
Love beyond measure
In the glory of you
Gone, bloodiest blue
In my forlorn heart
Flatlined, voltage restart,
Shocked into rhythm
By cataclysmic schism,
Savaged asunder
So far from your wonder,
Why have you gone?
We were so strong
In worded compassion,
In sensual passion,
In alignment of hope,
In artistic scope,
In tender soul tears,
In undressing fears,
In listening and learning,
In synergic yearning,
Yet all that has died
With all that we’ve cried
Out to the stars,
Banished afar
I am, it would seem
To this night-filled dream
Of sadness and sorrow,
A hollow tomorrow
Without you, my love,
Without you.

(c) Kosmogonic 2016

I am the Residue


I am the residue
I am what’s left
I am in awe of you
I am bereft
I am the holy fool
I am transcended
I am repose
I have descended

God only knows

I am in shape of cross
I am untapped
I am truth ever lost
I am in straps
I am unholy ghost
I am rescinded
I am decline
I have no kindred

God did not shine

(c) Kosmogonic 2016

Watch “Erik Satie: Gnossienne nº 4  (Reinbert De Leeuw)” on YouTube

“I love you. I kiss you and we’ll see each other again”


“A poet makes himself a visionary through a long, boundless, and systematized disorganization of all the senses. All forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he searches himself, he exhausts within himself all poisons, and preserves their quintessences. Unspeakable torment, where he will need the greatest faith, a superhuman strength, where he becomes all men the great invalid, the great criminal, the great accursed–and the Supreme Scientist! For he attains the unknown! Because he has cultivated his soul, already rich, more than anyone! He attains the unknown, and if, demented, he finally loses the understanding of his visions, he will at least have seen them! So what if he is destroyed in his ecstatic flight through things unheard of, unnameable: other horrible workers will come; they will begin at the horizons where the first one has fallen!”

* * *

““Love…no such thing.

Whatever it is that binds families and married couples together, that’s not love. That’s stupidity or selfishness or fear. Love doesn’t exist.

Self interest exists, attachment based on personal gain exists, complacency exists. But not love. Love has to be reinvented, that’s certain.”

* * *

“One single true word: it is come back. I want to be with you. If you listen to this, you will prove your courage and sincerity. Otherwise, I am sorry for you. I love you. I kiss you and we’ll see each other again”

* * *

“I understand, and not knowing how to express myself without pagan words, I’d rather remain silent”

(Arthur Rimbaud)

Living inside Proust, Pessoa, Beckett and Rimbaud, as I do…and I really mean live …everything else is a mere front, a charade, a pretence, an act, a projection, a persona, a role…eventually made me realise that there is truly nothing else to say which can be worth saying. Rimbaud’s words above seal that so beautifully and he had the courage and vision to enact his silence. Outward silence, even inner quiet, is art in its purest and truest form, so long as one has been deafened by the gore and glory of music, emotion and dreams on the way to that silence. In the final reckoning, before and after we exist, so briefly, so bitterly, so sweetly in this world, we are pure disembodied silence – that is our true primal beauty, our unfathomable, imperceptible, deafening, exquisite, unbearable silence – the seemingly endless eons through which Calliope lays down her lyre and allows all men, all women, all artists and every poet simply to be, to exist in the eternal, swirling, all-encompassing silent beauty of souls, as they come and go from this world just like stars in the sky. That is the untouchable silence of my waking and sleeping dreams. How perfect, how inevitable, how beautiful. All my love and gratitude, outwards, to those who understand, who understood right from the beginning.