Damian Garside

AND THEN

AND THEN

and then
there waa
no choice
no option

fate had decided
desire complied

we fell into it
this thing pleasure
embraced it
until we
got saturated

knew yout
until i could know you
no more deeply

but here
there is always more
aleays more deeply

oceans of detail
to touch, taste, feel

savour until the Sun
ghe Moon, the day; the dawn,
time itself dissolve

everything but you
just disappears

and then

THERE BE

there be satirists in the land

rare, ’tis true,
but nore plentiful than dragons

and Oh so easy
to avoid them!

not an issue
to learn to steer clear
of their usual habitats

can dodge
them readily

neither lithe, nor elusive, like
Australian brown or
African black mamba

and nowhere near
as outright venomous

step over them freely
my brothers, my sisters

though they
hiss and may strike

nothing to fear here at all

CHUTE

if we were
aligned skew
during manufacture

and so conjure up
a monstrously concocted version
of original divine image

what hope is there
for us to unentangle

the moment of beauty
is exalted
but passing

no sooner gone than
plunged headlong again

into
theme of survival

Ah, the cycle:

flameout,
parachute

rip cord
again failing

nothing to steer you clear
you clear of those onrushing rocks

about
to hit you at terminal velocity

all I can do
for you: this
song of regret

SAME

SAME

found myself Christmasing
in the House of Led Zeppelin

my younger brother
having usurped my rock influences
and extended them beyond
my wildest imaginings

every page in the library here
resounds to Jimmy Page
guitar pyrotechnics

remember this solo, this lick,
this riff?
am cluster bombarded
with questions where I could not
be further from answering

seems like
from Tangiers to Birmingham
to Kashmir

the song is forever changing
only in the most abstract sense
ever
remains the same

LIKE A

LIKE A

was
light years ahead

and now
I am dead

soul free to roam
in that dark space

ghost
music only

ghost poetry

voices, songs

Ginsberg, McGough, Henri,
Patten,
Ferlinghetti, Corso,

the Beatles,
Hendrix, Cream

and the Rolling Stones

SYNCH

SYNCH
“there is no try”
Yoda, The Empire
Strikes Back

should try to
hammer it into
my head

not to worry
what you think

take this
as it is

me
as I am

this my style, that
your style

maybe here’s where
they can
blend

dance in
synch

do much more
than co-exist

WHAT MAKES

WHAT MAKES

what makes
a poem
Shakespearean?

I was asked
the je ne sais quoi
signature
of the bard
indeed

hard to replicate
if you are
thing digital
disembodied
intelligence
binary being

some residue still
mechanical I warrant

no matter how polished
(like reflective
sculpted metal)

the lark-like artifice
with
which you sing

what
makes a poem
human

hold

that thought

set play

to pause

stuff in my answer
I still need to dream

SPELL

SPELL

strength loves beauty
beauty
loves strength

gold, silver
hard and fast law of attraction

hard truth
soft reception

for better or for worse will be
forever mirroring each other can

never break that spell

TROY STORY

TROY STORY

am
a reporter on the scene
at the siege
of Troy

rushing for a scoop, meet
my deadline

ask ancient poet
Homer what he saw

in such
vivid

inner colours

SCRABBLE DABBLE

SCRABBLE DABBLE

my brain
is a scrabble set

juggle roles, identities
am after a triple word score

tire
tier
year of the tiger
hit something
good on that
abacus and so

masc and fem mars
and venussing together
dance
of conjunction
in alignment

about to go full
elastic band

slingshot projection

time gravity bending me
to their will
true trajectory
whispering your name