1, poem, poetry, – Page 137

PIPE

CATHEDRAL

sorry!

just a
slip of

the tongue

was just
imagining myself
a mamba
and
the wrong
word flickered

wanted to
was of
a mind to
say
“is it”
what came
out

what I ended up
saying
sounded like
“Zizek”

such a sublime little
slip
fork
in the road, twist
of
breath

and the hovel
of my art
rising out
of its
foundations

becomes thing
long suppressed
other
than
itself

thinking of, naming,
seeing
itself as

thing now
descending, shape

in the clouds

maybe cloud to you
but to me
some
kind of
cathedral

HELLO EVERYONE

NAME OF THE GAME

how to write
a poem

how to
not write
a poem

right track
start
from scratch

now here’s a scratch
could work upon it
open
up

make into something
way bigger than
something your
domestic
feline
might deliver

leave a scar? there’s
always a
scar
par for the course,
name of the game

it is what
it is

your child, your offspring
looking nothing
like you
wanted it to look
saying nothing
like
you wanted it to say

you thought it would
stick to you
like a tatoo

change your voice, your look,
everything
inside, how

you see
the world

it’s just a poem, do not
fool yourself, on your way
to Sun, Star, Moon
Magician,
La Maison Dieu

become
the Tarot Fool

poem is
last word, final
analysis

when all
is said
and done: something,
nothing, something and
nothing

everything no one saw
every word you spoke
but didn’t see
foresee
.

CRUEL

PLANET (JANET)

QUIETLY

me and my
postmodern imagination

sat together quietly
thinking about you

comimg up with famous
film scenes the three
of us might appear in

just the three
of us
cutting and pastimg
from classics, mainstream,
and independents
alike

as if we had become
possessed by the genius
of Mr Tarantino

players and played
as it is with
practically everything
most of the time

you, me
and my postmodern imagination,
only thing that
connects us
any way at all

ONLY A PLEASURE, MR SHELLEY

DARKER TURN

when I die
condense all
I was
and now am

into a love poen
single, short, to the point

thing of night and dream
and moment when
all our darkness
all that
we are
of darkness
thrives, comes alive

knows
the bliss
of a star

when I die
turn me into
a love poem

short
and to the point
nothing special
of diamond, golden

thing in the heavens
like Romeo’s heart
speaking plainly

not
(as Juliet did envision)
beautifully scattered

and then
if I am read

(if you
are the one to read)

put
what did, what was

into some
forever parenthesis

just to say, remind me,
that I am
thing of absence,
thing of
the darkness now

this
small, petty life that
writes

being so
preoccupied with what it says
what said

took a
sweeter, darker turn

Category Archives: 1, poem, poetry,