a few of mine, diversity and regrets included

i cannot write the poem,
the poem must write me


like dolphins surf the pleasure waves
and incense hangs on Sunday air;
like candle-breath lifts paper sails
to float like yellow stars of hope;
like plankton blooms to paint a sea
and single drops of rain bejewel,
the poem's voice inside of me
takes this hand
makes its tool.
 
i had a dream

and in this dream
the outside of my house was full
the walls a lawn of
small white flowers
tightly packed
acrawl with bees
with butterflies
alive with life, with joy
this was my house

today i planted seeds
 
intersection of perspectives


bare winter-boughs
gently cradle a moon
illusory within a barren womb
cold-dreaming of such roundness




published in Cold Eels 2005
 
rewrite of 'harvest of the hermits' 04/11/03

harvest of the hermits


with heaviest of hearts i watch you caper
rapidly rotating, shifting weight
you let fly thoughtless missiles of contempt
elect intent of blunt reproach and
barbarous condemnation blurred
as wagering eyes they glaze with that recidivistic fever
contracted in the blaze of furnace-fired foul conceit
nothing but a slur upon the soul of constant man

go slowly
self-sacrifice is not a candied plum
to be governed by the mob is pestilential
yet with your membrane tightly stretched
you'll find that you're eventually overrun
by those more concerned with manifest of meaning
than succumbing to the rusted gauntlet
the adopted self-occlusion
the staggering self-delusion
seeking only semi-fluid truths
in dark and desperate vortices
of sensual conclusion

the horseman sits astride the writhing poison of the principle
adopts the hooded guise of executioner's consequence -
and fools, those men of motley,
mount the platform of disquietude
three-fingered shots of courage quelling ribald discontent
diminishing the threshold of their fickle comprehension
till one by one they fall upon the breeze as useless chaff
indiscriminately swelling
the harvest of the hermits
'neath his unrelenting sickle
and the slick point of his gaff
 
08

l'm not...


here to change the world
the world changes me
changes us

in draughty corridors of faith we linger
but the hunger of the world can't wait
drags us beyond those concepts
we've only just begun to understand

the now now now demands attention
a virulent child burning up
with the heat of express presence -
and the old spins away
at some unholy tangent
as yearning minds reach still for it
reluctant to let go

no time now for loss
grief's luxurious woes are inaccessible
give way, make way,
we are waylaid
overrun by now
and then becomes a slideshow fashioned by memories
coloured by time

make way, make haste
the emperor parades
and his crowding proximity will
crash right through
the barrier of days
and into you
 
ghosts in the machine


when all words are but
a trick of tumbled time
and i reel, dazed,
down passages of phrases too well-used,
what use have i of alphabets and strings?
to sing my work aloud and make a mark -
is this the aim of ghosts in the machine,
or simply voices shouting
in the dark?
 
interfacing


the screen's white
a dusty mirror in-
viting the press
of fingertips
to its cool membrane
daring flesh to interface
beyond its liquid plane
 
02!

inauspicious days


inauspicious days give weight to smoke and,
while white-robed Peace wraps herself about with virtue,
the human comedy prevails;
concerns itself with trifles
while entertaining, nightly,
the delights of battle.

poetry and truth scuttle away,
leaving behind them a trail of their scattered remains -
a precocious child, pointing to the venal throng and
laughing at its demands for more than bread and the circus
as their love for gold grows apace.

...and something bitter arises...

Time, devourer of all things,
becomes a makeshift accomplice to the avaricious man
who hopes to appease the household gods
with naught but a grain of attic salt
tossed carelessly upon the burying ground of wisdom.
appeal to the rabble,
the headless, servile herd;
expound your theory -
and hold aloft, for all to see, the one book...
this black game of yours shall surely bring about
a day of wrath to encompass the world;
man of straw, parvenu with hands unwashed,
dispensing false shame and false hope equally
while offering the greatest reverence to
the innocence of a nation,
uttering commonplaces gracefully,
until even feeble darts aspire to prick
the thick skins of those who pay nothing more
than lip-service to the ideology of world peace.

...and the workshop of the world will crank industriously,
labouring to spawn something infinitely worse than the coming disease;
shockingly efficient, startlingly fecund, the mechanical womb...

in an index of words, no dissenting voice
may be heard above the clamour of the forum
as, word for word, the propaganda machine leads on by the nose
down the ancient, well-trodden course of honourable conflict;
then pensive men watch
as a certain weariness of life gives way
to a name - and also an omen...

and i have never felt more alone than now,
for who will watch the watchers when
vicissitudes of fortune depend upon the aloof and on the drunk
as, with unequal steps, they lumber
towards an inevitable doom,
wounding the sky with dangerous ease,
minds high on bright rectitude and tunnel-vision...

for those of you about to die, in saddest irony i salute you,
your foolishness, your imbecilic reasoning;
for when the mind that informs the masses is quite insane,
stark opportunity gathers at the door
and those with presence of wit will fling wide that door,
and the sheep will stampede towards
the cliff of their final, foolish end - quite unprepared.
and know you this:

in the time of war, laws are silent
and lawlessness will shield the few yet mark the many;
and private sorrows will be trampled
underfoot in uncertain sunlight,
for none will stay to grieve...

when you stand above all others,
stand well-clear of the edge lest you should fall -
for the fall is a long one -
and heads, like hands and feet before them,
shall fall into abyss.

with punic faith and fists and heels, enjoy your black day
and, at the moment of your death,
kiss the hand of monomania;
pray well,
for stealthy, unforseen dangers wait
attentively to harvest.









this one came about after looking at latin sayings and their translations - some wonderful phrases - i couldn't help but be inspired to get busy. :rolleyes:
 
2002

Life is always fatal


No matter how the rosy cheek
Doth bloom with ruddy flush,
And dewed skin and white of eye
Deny death's creeping hush;
It matters not how tall the man,
How strong the sinewed arm;
How steady beats the pious heart,
What lines array the palm;
'Tis preordained, in stars foretold,
Engraved in matters natal,
There's no escaping Death's long arm
For
Life is always fatal.

No holy book can succour thee,
No psalm will stay thy time;
No golden guinea on tin plate
Will buy thee endless rhyme;
No pyramid with powers old,
No potion, trick, nor spell
Can stave the op'ning of that door
Leading to Heav'n or Hell.
So throw thy shoulders back, my son,
Don't squander life, be grateful;
There's no escaping Death's long arm
For
Life is always fatal.
 
graceless


we'd gaily danced thru St. Luke's summer,
lotus-eaters spinning threads,
spinning ourselves a shimmering web of
star-lore
to bind us, to find us so much more
than the empty perfume of a social romance
without encore.

as intellectual sovereignty
juggled with that pearl of pearls,
many men with many minds
turned thoughtful, cold green eyes on us.

you swapped your silver ninepence piece
for that robe all-steeped in crime
(nothing but a weight on such a pristine mind as yours),
the gratuitous meddling of plausible fools
paying the piper so that you must dance
to a tune of their calling

... and in this falling from grace -
in the moldering space
breeding maggots in your brain -
foolish fire flirted, thought to thought,
divine creativity shriveling away
to a laughing of crows and
small piles of rough ashes.

with words no more than Martin's beads
you strung long ropes of brazen bull
around the necks of Myron's beasts -
till sculpted tears slid from their eyes;
no pride in praise, no comfort's glaze,
a blot upon a heart where fears all mingled.

cold and swaddled broke the final day;
the slouching realisation of the key:
the need to fly the cage,
to flee ...
to flee the felony, the sway
of your vulgar imperfection;
affix the seal of midnight;
smiling, take the assay.

and nobody was there.
nobody was there
when your midnight wrapped soft arms about you

but you swore the secret taste of
golden apples lit your tongue,
filling you with youthful bliss
and sweetly certain knowledge that
once more would you full-flower
with the coming of the sun

and though it were too selfish
i, too, wished i had died ...

if tears could bring you back to life
a thousand, thousand miracles
for you would i have cried.








oh lord. so much needs doing with this. maybe ... later. :eek:
 
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liar, liar


he was a man for hot flavours
or so he claimed
but it turned out
he had no sense of subtlety
had an undiscerning palate
was a cheat
in the kitchen

finally
i found
i just couldn't stomach him
found pleasure in
dining alone
 
not everything

that springs from the soil is good
not everything organic's always wholesome
there's a certain shade of green
of white
that sprouts and dances
pretty in the light
yet harbours poisons
some more subtle than others
all of them intimate
 
rainlight


mute skies red with rain
wrap womb light round us
windows open wide invite
the soft wet red of night inside
to take us
 
nightwalking


raindrops in the still winter eve
a chillsome smattering
a repetitiveness, pattering
of mid-formed precipitation

it's raining slowly
as darkness claims this town
anonymity stalks on stiff legs
down
cat-eyed alleys redolent
with yesterday's decay

dampness seeps from every quarter
unseen, slip through darker shadows
as though you've never been
no-one sees so no-one thinks
of hard-to-answer questions
just nightwalking
a repetition of footfalls
stalking Time on soulless tracks
past nameless places
faceless windows
 
she's cupped
in the white bowl of his thoughts

melting slowly
white on white

stirs her with a lazy finger
brings it to his lips

then sighs
bored with vanilla

if only he'd added
some sauce to the occasion
 
positive thinking


in a dark and burning world
where even ice catches fire
where skies peel
and the soil is sour
where howlback oscillates
cinder cone to horizon
a shabby soul
may yet get clean



(removed)
 
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plague of love


a morbid infection
this strange plague of love
an icy inflection
a poisonous glove
draws cold-fire fingers
across a dark heart
it conspires and lingers
right from the start

and in the belly of
the sleeping python's lair
doubts slide brownly on
dead leaves of sepia care


it's a question of wavelength
spanning the void
a question of mind strength
and how best to avoid
the shape of the problem
hawking low on taut wings
that makes each of us beggars
crouched in our silken tunnels
not kings

and when the golden paw
purrs over the moss
i'm left shivered and thigh-sore
and falling across

the space into half-sleep
on pale moody eyes
the shade of pale sherry
soul-piercing and lit by

a fragile chip of moon
in a sky barred with gold
destiny come soon
these emotional tides i can't hold

level the red earth
the strange islands stroked
by cloud-shadows birthing
the stoking of fears that might choke me

gather religiously
all sons and daughters
converging explicitly
crumple introspective waters

burst from the depths
in a white rose of foam
on a white chain of moon light
roll and curl towards faith-flown

evaporate - on a fine haze of heat
feel the glaze - of this fantasy dawning
sparkle like - a dust particle floating
chancing the burn - that'll strike without warning

and it just might leave you drifting
on down
to the resolute rocks
on down
it just might leave you gifting
the ashen air of aftershock

and it's a question of wavelength
spanning the void
a question of mind-strength
and how best to avoid
the shape of the problem
hawking low on taut wings
that makes each of us beggars
when you know that we'd rather be kings

and it's a question of wavelength
spanning the void
a question of mindstrength
and how best to avoid
the shape of the problem ...
 
i no longer have the picture this was inspired by:

thoughts and tunes - a study in light and shade


half her face is lit
that half furthest from his back
light weighs on his shoulders
curls them inwards
away from her
and the shadows she makes on the table
and that damned half-halo
limning a mirroring curve


and he's unaware
of how her cigarette's smoke
drifts up and away
to that high, narrow window,
its passionless stare

twinned downlighters
over him
over her
shaded thoughts
shaded faces
and though his nose and lips are
lined with light
his eyes are closed

the shadows are speaking
along with the light
listen, you'll hear them
the smokey stroke of ivory
shadows in a wordless voice

and on the table
fourset and square
the handbag
closed
makes shades of its own

she's all closed
arm closing him out
reflecting his angles
nicotine and alcohol mere props in this composition

beneath fingers of light
and shade
no black keys
he brings his own shadows
at least from this angle


as her legs are angled
towards him but crossed
they deny him
she denies all of him
curtains her thoughts
and he is a curved closed shield
tender neck exposed

two chairs:

a dark gap yearns between one and the
light that still spills
on a table top

while the chair at her table
empty as empty can be
as if it's been empty a long time
no-one welcome in that chair
 
old but not sure when ... maybe 6 years or older

a hole in my


there's a hole in my head
where light spills through
a hole in my belly
where dreams unspool
these holes in my hands
they focus on pain
and those in my feet
allow in the rain
there's another one here
and two over there
i'm hollow with holes

i wear about my self a
sort of perforated air

holes are not wounds
rather wormholes (of sorts)
watch me stream with the light
of a million thoughts
that flow as they grow
like a river that runs
as i stand and i spin
in front of the sun
 
another older piece

because


welcome the dark
and the cold
the harrowing wind that
drives your wintersmile deep
into bones

a silent crucifixion

welcome its breath
intimate as eternity's kiss
inhale
freeze the soul
feel life seep from fingers
from naked toes
welcome the loss of sensation

denied your silken warmth
the lustre of your vitality
they are obsolete
no need of them
now
dissolve the ego

become one with this night
stand still
outpace the pain
await the purity of nothingness
love will taint no more

opalescent and beautiful
beyond the ruddy glow of life
a statue wears its dusting of ice

sightless
dreamless
heartbeats slow

no joy no sorrow
no gods or demons

fall into infinity

no demons
 
debt of honour


stout with despair
limbs so engorged
joints can't angle
through shame's stark geometry
no more can they bear
their own weight of skin
 
last year, this site i think

defined by sirens


and the sirens
the sirens
hold the night

define
in strident notes that try to tear
my skull in two
or more
i can't be sure

of anything any more
it's so surreal

i feel the fabric where i sit
its stiff nap
but fingers won't interpret
or tips translate a colour
to a brain that's all night
split
and split again

i've no spit left
with which to swallow
and my ears don't hear
the moving lips of
busy service men
my ears and eyes know nothing

numb with shock
looking at the body
stretched and tubed
obscenely pummeled
over and over

"clear!"

i worry about bruises
 
diamond


flames dance in the belly of my ice
in memories of star-beginnings
of being flung
as motes
across the vast distance of nanoseconds

of everywhere redness
a molten maternity
fluid and crucial and crushing

i know the white tides
swifter rush of the blue
as they sweep across landscapes

everything is fluid over time
everything changes

even as i changed
when carbon called to carbon
and a gasp of life cut me
loosed the nature of my fire
 
Distraction


Come,
Intercept my dark musings,
Give me the gift of your smile,
The reassurance of the look i seek
Upon your face
That lights the twinkle in your eyes...

You are my welcome distraction,
The solid earth once more beneath my feet,
The blue heavens that arc above me
And the gentle rain that holds no malice.
How i love you,
My distraction.
 
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