1, poem, poetry, – Page 125

IMMORTALITY

was striving
for the wrong
kind of
immortality

needed the kind
of accolades showered
upon Mr Charles
Bukowski

which in his case
was like
holy water
off a duck’s back

CRISP

the Sun
not yet crisp

have we
Aztec priests
to thank
for this?

crisp
is what the snow
in deep space
believes
itself to be

no
Sun
of any ilk
to bring
some
raging warmth
soften that reality

to what fits sweetly
within our range
whilst
we hold tenure
of
this place

PIECES

to be
or not to be

they will
not tell you

what could be
good move
never
mind best move

not a whisper
even a
glimpse or
hint

Knight, Queen, Knight
Pawn

kept under wraps
kept to themselves

just waiting for you to
hit the pitfall, move
without
seeing

odds so long against
pulling a Kasparov Carlsen
Fischer worthy gem
out of the hat

magic rabbit
of a combination

plan
     (if that
be the word) not
as solid
     as it seems, something
outside all
that you schemed walking
in through sudden
doorway
       unpredicted
       unobserved

asking you how
you going to get
out of this catastrophe
needing
strategy, fluidity,
flexability

your
calculations so
wooden

in Hamlet were chess
this would be the question

OR ETERNITY

ANTHONY

every which way
you were
a better human
being than me

found time to
send me
a birthday message
was planning for me
to fly from
Manchester
spend time with
you on
Manhattan island
celebrating New York

and that house where you
lived where
everything happened.
(wherever you were
everything
seemed to
happen)

Professor Emeritus (seriously
outranking me) out
there in
Kentucky

postcoloniality, ecology,
the political
landscape of
the South African novel

so kind
to me and I let our friendship
drift our connection
dither

and now looks like
whatever it means eight
years ago
you slipped off
the radar
I know what I fear it
might mean

one of the best
no longer
around
that laugh, that kindness
no longer here

GARDENER

BUT NO

BUT NO THANKS

thanks
but no

thanks

put way the glue,
the tape, the tacks
there is
no
quick fix here

might as well
look at the likeness
we how slap-
dash the thing
got crafted

damaged
beyond repair

and you in what
might pass for
artistic agony

crying out
in self-destructive rage

your wounds
my wounds

there’s all you know
about representation

all you feel
about transferability

WHERE THERE WAS

where there
was hair

now only
a scrap of gray

scraping
of steel wool

she called me Adonis once
looking down from Olympus

in need of
worship, a fix, mortal love

sad play
on the mythology
the love for
one such
by Aphrodite

how close we came
to happiest transgression not
perfect
re-enactment
is thing could only
trust to
the years
to make clear

yesterday
we laughed about it
feeling about as far from
goddess plus Adonis
as we
might possibly be

wizened by time
every word weighted
a deeply
considered miracle

what passing now between us
compacted by interpretation
upon interpretation

everything
every trivia aspiring
at that moment
to satisfy
epic proportions

and here we are
for what it is worth
for what
we are worth

brought to this moment
of measure, of
considered forgiveness

acceptance of
all things

though I could have then
so should have then

asked for more
could not
ask
for more

THERE IS SAVAGERY

THERE IS A SAVAGERY

there is savagery
to emotional neglect
parental distance

pad this tiger’s jaws
these tigress claws
as much as
you can

would
ever want to

end of
the day
end
of your childhood

will
still kill you

JOINT PROJECT

my father
loved his meat

a piece of dead pig, sheep
or cow
for him
the most beautiful thing
in the Universe

these
the values he
strove to instil

no matter how much everything
became
disjointed

seems we didn’t quite
share his
philosophical appetite