1, poem, poetry, – Page 121

WE SEE

SHE

she
is a
pocket whirlwind

one drop
of her perfume
and tsunamis
reign

ate my heart once
then came
the audacity
to berate
its flavour

pure gut punch
and of how
it is all
put together

I have
said
nothing as yet

WITH APHRODITE

I held
a long interview with Aphrodite

peace
love
sex

these we touched upon
sinking ciders by the poolside
(wedge of lemon
jammed tightly into
the neck of the bottle)

in the course of which
frank and honest
and open-
ended discussion

the goddess revealed much
of her immortal self.

SELFLESS

I wanted
to leave selfless

but there
was the fruit
half-eaten
at my feet

and there was
the serpent
I was already
starting
to morph into

and there were the skyscrapers
and Tarot towers plunging upwards
about to
dominate the skyline

and there was Eve
dark with all
her fresh mythology

against which no option
but to delve downwards
mine
that treasure

soar with the schene
of things now aspiring
beyond the sky
to
name the stars
as they
thus multiplied

on route to our conquest
of the heavens.

ZOMBIE

thought it waa
a zombie
but it was
the Muse
of poetry

would trade
me inspiration for
best part of my brain

thought it must
be a vampire
but it was
my most
cultivated reader

a gallon of best
universal donor special
for what
sounds like sincere praise

INCIDENTAL

farm told me
(all the leaves, plants, creatures)
we not
integral
we incidental

not the place to
which all road
and rail leads
like we eternal
station central

no
here where green
proclaims its domain,
its power so
insistent

may flash
a hint, a glimpse,
of that
we forsook, place
we abandoned,
upped
and right out left

a paradise, albeit the odd
viper eyeing me out there,
studded with
the occasional ambush predators

CEILING

nothing Sistine
about my ceiling

just plain off-white,
not sure whether
the paint they used
would count
as matt
or gloss

tradesman’s work, not
a hint here of Renaissance genius

and then the light fitting
hard to see a noted design style
at play here

and this the ceiling
through which
my soul must no doubt
travel to meet
my God

for which I believe
it will have to serve,
will serve well

staring at the ceiling
as night descends
just
a trick of the light all

that it might take
to set me off

soaring
no g force attendant on
this acceleration

all just
practice
to
test my engines
fins and wings

missile myself mentally
running through all
that is
required

practice making perfect
as every evening at dusk
I put
myself through the motions

prepare
for the real thing with
every single
imaginary run

Category Archives: 1, poem, poetry,