The Oken Stone Podcast
Poems, stories and thoughts from Galloway, Scotland.
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Geology
Walking, I passed between stones
unnoticed leaving left and right
divided by geography.
An accident of place or time?
It wasn't clear but crystalline.
My hemispheres are cut through.
Thought is hard and ordered,
slow; blood seems
an unnecessary fluid,
heart beats a series
of shocks across
tectonic continents of skin.
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The Oken Stone Podcast is brought to you by Oceanallover and Lizardly Records:
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The Oken Stone Podcast
Two Halves
A few recent poems discussing the two halves of an argument, perspectives, and landscape. The soundtrack is also a collection of moments seen from the present moment back across the space of thirty three years and includes people and places of great significance to me. Musical Credits for recordings and samples to Nicky Spence, Catherine Carter Brand, Dougie Hudson, Florencia Garcia Chafuén, Gwen Sale, Breezy Lee, Marion and Jamie Kenny, Oliver and Anders Rigg.
Two Halves
An axe is only metal
without a handle
and a tail without a horse
is only hair.
An anchor without a chain
holds nothing
and a riser without a tread
is not a stair.
Conjunction without love
is only friction
and a word without a meaning
only air.
A step is not a journey
without intention
and colour without light
is just not there.
A palm without a life line
is only leather
and here is only here
if there’s a there.
The left and the right
were born together,
mirrored twins;
a hemi semi spherical
or demi demoniacle
acceptance of direction
rejection of dejection
the button and the whole
systole and diastole
the beat and the off
of a heart doubling
Venus and arterial.
A mountain is high above
The falls below.
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AR 2025
Thanks very much for listening. Art is an act of generosity and as such is made to be shared.
Two Halves
An axe is only metal
without a handle
and a tail without a horse
is only hair.
An anchor without a chain
holds nothing
and a riser without a tread
is not a stair.
Conjunction without love
is only friction
and a word without a meaning
only air.
A step is not a journey
without intention
and colour without light
is just not there.
A palm without a life line
is only leather
and here is only here
if there’s a there.
The left and the right
were born together,
mirrored twins;
a hemi semi spherical
or demi demoniacle
acceptance of direction
rejection of dejection
the button and the whole
systole and diastole
the beat and the off
of a heart doubling
Venus and arterial.
A mountain is high above
The falls below.
Epithet
The hands of time
have got the shakes
his metal has fatigue,
and all the little cogs and springs
are overwound and seized.
The wheel of fate
has got a flat,
nailed in a seedy bar,
he does not know which way to go
and is following yonder star, oh.
The wage of sin
is all done in
and needs to use a zimmer,
he can’t be arsed in going out
and stays home to make the dinner.
The call to arms
has caught a cold
it has him by the throat,
his muscles all are jellified
he couldn’t fight his coat.
The just dessert
will not arise
and floundered in the oven,
the price he paid was not enough
and was screwed by the baker’s cousin.
What goes around
got lost somewhere
and can’t find its way home,
it caught a bus to wanderlust
and was crushed by a rolling stone.
Conflictatory
The shape of us is
drawn in the dust
beneath a bed
of roses.
Our arms surround
a past profound
whose depths dissolve
all choices.
We each consumed
the candle wax
when passion’s heat
with held us.
Now some years on
the burn is gone
and fleshy feels
eroded.
You were the most
you were so very
you could always
say you’re sorry.
I could always
say you’re sorry
we have become
conflictory.
Am I always
conflictory?
The past is not
what it used to be.
Feathers
Your hairs turned to feathers,
plumed arms and
preened chest
I’ll pluck you slowly
baste you wholly
you’re mine, pre-possessed.
Your poise has no equal
a cut above
the waves beneath
your down in my pillow
upon you I bestow
my dreams, my heart obsessed.
An ocean bird, a mollymawk
scything wings that
reap the sea
your flight is my sail
your breast my gunwale
sailing sure and straight to me.
Returning Reverie
Came back from the mountains,
forests and rivers in my hair,
birds and ferns in my mouth
my skin mossed bark,
my feet a drowned tree,
rockslide slipped arms,
bulky boulder head filled with roots
moraine skin washed out
shattered and gleaming pieces
of a blood red rusted stone,
pig sigh deer hooves duck shit
paw printed scrub buried up
to its neck in the alive and
serpentine bed of streaming
geology, water blue and
grey and green that will
level all of this great upheaval.
Loving and dreaming
finding and intersection
walking swimming flying
lungs filled with air
from the both sides of the door
so many years and still
the line between
surrender and control
chaos and understanding
disorder and force
acceptance and will.
A meeting of
or exchange of
all things.
AR 2025