SUCH A SOFT THING
(for the poets of Palestine)
poetry is such a soft
soft thing
like a sweetmeat
beautifully prepared
layer
upon layer
paper thin wispy
as air
on a day
most care free,
seriously whimsical
at its core, though
a diamond,
uncut
hardness by comparison:
unimaginable
FAR FROM IT
far from it,
we did not
get rid
of them
as vicious and
insufferable
as they had become
we just let them
fade into nothing
embrace
non-being
going nowhere
we simply allowed them
to reach
that destination
perhaps ushering them
a little
but it was for
their own good
genocide?
no that is their
much contested term
and yet
habitual practice
such actions
lie beyond us
this word
not in
our vocabulary
but see
look here
admire
what we have done with
the planet
how we have integrated
everything, biological
and technological
organic
and machine
everything flourishing,
renewable and recyclable
this
our mandate terrestrial
and cosmic
in equal aesthetic and
intellectual measure
ours
is the new spirituality
to take
across the galaxy
theirs a
contempt for themselves,
the sacredness of being
and life
of every living thing
GRAVELY SPOKEN
the gravity of these lies
as each lie is by the following
monstrously compounded
will drill a hole in the
fabric of
space time
a sewer for truth
where truth will be dragged be crushed
never to be seen again
until our
full self-destruction
AND BEYOND
happily
we are
expanding the war
extending the fighting
throughout
to whole region
taking on
every axis of resistance
axis of evil
allowing the entire
government, every
politician to
wallow in
power
play
at battle
extend expand
the conflict
across the globe
to the edges
of ths galaxy
killing boldly
where no one
has ever killed before
for
all eternity
to infinity
and beyond
ROLL
rolled my eyes
during your poetry reading
tried my best
but could not help myself
kept thinking of
a ballroom waltz but
the dancers on
rollerskates
with the skates themselves rusted
and long strangers
to oil
as a whole, not the rock
and roll linguistic gig
I had been
anticipating
as a whole, the sum of each line
as a part
considerably less
than a hole
PLEASE YOURSELF
please yourself
it’s not your war
and why should
old injustices
present slaughter
trouble
you
you have
your own life to decode
everyday concerns
to fret over
so much
fretting there
who cannot forgive
your total dedication
to present
woe and
need
pleasing yourself
finding
what you pray will
prove
(and provide)
supreme relief (in
an extremity
beyond
belief)
TONGUE TALK
I flick out my tongue
to test the air for you
drink
your scent
rattle
appreciation
no
threat display
though lately
I have been told
I am
indeed venomous
potent neurotoxic
am thinking that
the glory of my dance
and the
beauty
of my coils
sly sophistication
of my
pattern
will
win you round
WATER MOCCASIN
I waa thinking
of a dream poem
about a new
dream body
when all of a sudden
a mud-coloured water moccasin
broke through the surface
of my flow
alerting me to
the inescapable nature of entropy
and the primeval structure
of my being
and here the skunk odours
of this approaching viper
alerted me
at once to the dingy, tawdry, drab
undercurrents
of all life
and so
I sensed it best to put
all dream-minded thoughts
on hold, let
them back burn for
the night
water mocassin gliding
effortlessly by
not as ornery a reptile
as is
the reputation.
poems 2 die for