Damian Garside

CASCADE

CASCADE weaponize this poem harshly weaponize it softly need to defend the indefensible suck good blood truth (and hashtag) out of my thumb opposable entity, fattest of fingers and hey hey Deleuze happy hanaka Hegel me in line with arm raised high to deflect legal contention from terror, my accomplice me now in bed waiting for breakfast, as simple as a one slice two slice open-face sandwich making for an interesting dialectic, however you elect to interpret reader writer master slave blurring of these categories, until, who knows?, look to the East! Look to the South! maybe a cascade

JAVELIN

JAVELIN it is false flag picture of anomaliea and discrepancies vituperative, driven by the pressure of lie upon lie it is strange when we confront you with logic . seems a weapon so alien thing that threatens to stop a tank in its tracks

SANCTUARV

SANCTUARV give my safe place far from your safe place for you have made me the antithesis of your identity essential for your entire meaning of self opposition without which you could not ezist

BY THEIR FRUIT

I have such trouble
writing this poem

my words swell fat
like overripe fruit
burst on
my page, on my fingers

covering everything with
sap wet, thick
and sticky

in colour and feel
indistinguishable from blood

and these
are the same words
the golden children of the law
use in the court room

where
such words do
not explode, do not
shatter the auditorium
with blood-juice
and bomb shrapnel

proving
(sadly, sadly)

that there will always be something about poems, about

poets
and the power
of their poetry

that remains forever
at a distance

tragically unreal

STUMBLE

we were falling asleep
trying to left-brain
follow every
technicality after
technicality
(South Africa got no case
because we forgot
to insist on
a reply)

but we will show you
dispute if you
diss our
deep integrity

(bet after this you
wish we were
your legal
arm)

but where
were your human fire and
intensity
moments of raw humanity

saw only a shifting of the goal posts
a stilted conjuring act

none of that Irish flair and poetry
threatening to scorch the beams in
the palace roof bringing it tumbling down, everything upside

down
and tumbling down

the world tipped South and
the Southern Cross

pointing the way
dear next Dante
away
from Hell
and towards Heaven

yes no poetry, not a flash at all,
just stumbling responses
and mixed-up
papers shuffled like cards but

all of them
jokers

not a poet
in the pack

not one
homegrown (perhaps
you did
them in

as you did every voice in Gaza
especially
those of the poets

NO SOONER

no sooner than they
amputated her
legs
and arms

no sooner
than they shot them
all
execution style

than
I forgot

thought it best
not to remember

better one of ths carefree,
untroubled people of
this dead planet

the be haunted
for the entirety of
what remains
of my
life

remains of human life

DEBT

wanted to
write a little poem
about suffering
about genocide

but
spam and telemarketing
rained down
from Heaven like
peverse
pay-later manna

and incessant reminders and
encouragement
to settle my
outstanding
debts wonderful, this world

once God
declared for capitalism
poetry and
profit
such excellent bedfellows
like lovers
in Hell

and talking of Hell
there is
fear and consideration
of media troll monsters
children of the children of
the fat uncles and
aunties
who battleshipped the streets
in my small English town

so no poem
I’m sorry

no tiny increment to
add to this struggle

you are
on your own again, I’m
afraid

nothing more than ashamed failure
(with the rest of the world
accused by
this legal Penthisilea

I stand
not with
my brave South African
compatriots
far from this dock)

WARRIOR

WARRIOR raw farmer land stealer we that being the writers and intellectuals that survive will divest you of that coat of light dump true dark self in the dock ship you off far far away where you dare hurt nobody get you to sit in solitary explain yourself to yourself dark and light selves in their bitter final conflict

FUNCTION

the weather comes
a volcano blows

climate changes
bringing
Vikings

brutal monsters
from.the North
in my genes
in my blood

and now
the rain

has gone
insne

my only hope
it is raining like this
across the globe

every soldier
drenched to
his her skin

unable
to function

the way I sometimes wish
they were always meant to be

STORY

it’s your story
so stick to it

you need a good story
a whopper to turn

a blind eye
to all
this suffering

listen to those on
the screen who
carefully explain

see
how they attack you
when you can
no longer
believe

so much suffering
but suffering is transitory

we all
suffer

suffering is unreal

now we have
that out of the way
stick to your principles, be one
of the staunch
supporters
good
upright people

It’s your story
and you’re
sticking to it

how you
would suffer
if they took that away