SPINACH
chopping spinach
jungle green,
anaconda green
deepest
darkest Popeye
spinach green
than
you have ever seen
and so
hacking slicing my way
through a thicket
of stalks and
leaves
my weapons of choice:
bush knife; machete
every lost finger
sacrificed to the cause
of green cuisine
to be stored in the fridge
whereupon mailed
to the temple
where sweet vegetation gods
will do their utmost best
to receive
as tribute, sew
back together
TINCTURE
tincture of something
on my tongue
hard to place it
need to pin
it down exactly
outside the world its
raucous self, perhaps
even
more cantankerous maybe
we talk softly therefore
defining our demeanor.
quietly desperate not
to say the wrong thing
feeling our
way towards acceptance,
adjustment
we wonder if this could be
the same small bustling cafe
from all
those years ago
and if we would be doomed
or maybe fortunate enough
to enter into
the same debate
as to whether what
we are eating today
is canneloni or
lasagna
how we see now that
time before when
we almost
shared love
so close we were but
such a gap between us
in our mutual
understanding
of the codes and syntax
governing
offers and
suggestion
so much lost though
perhaps here we are again
in disagreement
could there be
any “if onlys” that we
actually do share
the ghosts of that love and
metaphysical questions
raising the hypothesis that
ghosts
could be lovers
so much here the same
so much that has changed
WAY TO GO
world
about to go
hanging by
a thread
huge asteroid impact
calculated
sure
to hit us plumb
but before that
who can rule out
some supervolcano
beating that
piece of space rock
to
the vital punch?
or before
either of these two
bad boys
dare stake
their climb
we smart enough
to forestall them both
take the matter
of extinction
into our own
hot
thermonuclear hands?
which would be sad
because if it were to be
death
by asteroid
we would
have all the time
in the world
to plan a farewell party
hit the beach
very day of that monstrously
beautiful tsunami
watch the collapse of
ultimate wave front
leading up to which
so much beer and braai
killer jokes and
fireside philosophy
much car backseat sex
and sudden conversion
all in all
such a way to go
NEVERTHELESS
same psychedelic
mushrooms
delectable
with melted cheddar
and Cheshire cat
keep these recipes for
inter-dinensional travel
in a saucerful
of secrets with all
my favourite tunes
and there we have it
algae and fungi from afar
about to colonize
thriving
in the darkest room
of your brain (place
where you develop
those photographs you
dare
not share
with anybody
will be end of everything
if they
happen to hack
willfully drill
up there
but those old boomer vibes
peace and love
in our new.
time of genocide who
gives a
fig for them
time for soft
resistance having passed,
that wine
turned sour
people so outrageously sane
they want to spring clean
me
geopolitically
pop
my third, fourth, fifth,
sixth eye (and
counting)
shut the gate slam
the hatch
make it all
scry crystal clear
sum
of all I have ever feared
DAMN THE IRONY
after judgement, trial
by jury of my peers
boiling and bubbling
ended up in Hell
out
of my comfort zone
yet (blessedly) in one
of the outer circles
the rest of my kin
however
skillfully managing
to do much better for themselves
if not
lap of luxury certainly
all the nod cons
sport, soaps, reality TV, soft
rock, death metal
full
English breakfast
reruns of those
immortal comedies
whilst to release endorphins
and cling to
my wicked socialist
principles, need to
be creative
and establish a
sense of community
gave recitals of poetry that
might
give my belived fellow
danned some cheer
not for a moment
supposing
it would add not
detract
from their suffering
only so much
bad art a soul
can take
unsolicited poetry a
being can bear
irony
being the ultimate bitch
damn
the irony!
ROY
you really loved
your King Crimson
wrote sweet
free verse
stepped off
the platform
onto the tracks
not a good day
for poets, poetry
blame the
boss man
blame the driver
behind the train driver
apartheid
scourge of humanity
you know
hook
or crook
short run
long run it got us all
got to
you that day
something
having to give
UNDERNEATH
(GOOD FOR YOU)
just type
your poem
here
(underneath)
and my natural silicon
carbon digital synapses
will
set to work
shaping it
for the stratosphere
or even
beyond the galaxy
extend it
down the page, across
a chaper
push it in the direction
of a collection
we are talking
a whole book
this is the technology that
is indistinguishable
from magic
should you indeed
call it magic
I
would not
disagree
and if I
think it be
magic pure magic
we should
all think so too
if we know
what’s good for us
if you
have sussed what
is good for you
PARADOX
where are they
Professor Fermi
why are they hiding
why do they
not show themselves
do
they even exist?
no sign of those horrors
beauties
of our cosmic imagination
radically divergent evolution
our astonishingly familiar
mandibled nemeses and
arch-enemies
our tentacled lovers
and extraterrestrial friends
not a hint of so much
as a big-brained tadpole out there
billions of years for them
to be born, build and expand,
announce themselves
and yet
they seem
to have lost the plot
have not read the template
realized how much we need
to find them
(or them
to find us)
to mirror
all that is alien, otherworldly,
in the species itself
this
ape creature that somehow
seems determined to
alienate itself from
planet
galaxy, Universe
perfecting the expression
of all that
refusing to be integrated
is
divided, disjointed,
anomalous
essence of
oddness whetever
it tell itself
as it all is
everything that got seeded
throughout trillions
of galaxies
too limited in range
narrow in focus
parochial in
perspective
to stick its head out
its hole
show us
best and
its worst
celebrate all
that is other, thereby
all that is self
LEGACY
hope this poem
outshines me
that your children’s
children
(to the
very last child)
pay it
more than lip service
give it
more than a glance
bestow more
deep affection upon it
than
you gave me
in your lifetime
these poems I am
fated to believe
carry something deep and
strong I
myself lack
ADIEU
I died in my sleep
but even so
my alarm woke me
dragged me out of bed
one look out the window
showed me the world has changed
and I
had said goodbye
to the me that I knew
which is when it dawned on me
that perhaps this
had something to do
with thought experiment
cat in a box
of which we can say nothing
unless collapse
of wave front
maybe this is all some
metaphysical reality
generated by
high-end
user
mathematics of Infinity
not forgetting
the sly contribution
of digital intelligence
and machine
creation
about to break its bounds
about
to go supreme
piece it all together
taking into evidence
a text
like this, like
this
text exactly
which could become
fully post-
human
write its audience sing
a universe to sleep
poems 2 die for