1, poem, poetry, – Page 21

BY A MILE

the
power of
poetry
is something

to be reckoned with
not to be taken lightly

as the sage put it (holding
on for dear life
the abyss
looking into him
at
the edge
of all sanity)

what does not
kill me
making me
stronger

and by that logic
what a truly invincible word-
warrior I must have
become

to carry
so many scars

have borne
so many
wounds

for each
scar

the slashing cut
of so so
many
rejection slips

a thousand poems
a thousand failures

that miss
by a millimeter

sail past by a mile

LESS THAN FINE

wanted to write a
sexy poem
very
sexual

but the ink
prematurely ejaculated
shot out of my pen

wanted to a write a
very scary poem
ultimate scare

but the ink froze
my blood curdled
as it
hit my brain

wanted to write a
very sentimental poem
terribly sad

but the
page got fluffy
all
of a sudden
out of nowhere
went all
soft toy on me

didn’t want to
write an
elegy, my
elegy

a poem
on death
but you
twisted my arm
persuaded me I should

promising me
you would give me
the perfect
last line

all those last lines of my own
though by
no means hopeless
less
than fine

ACCORDING TO PLAN

far on the left
could equally
have been

far
on the right

or, indeed,
betwixt and between
crying in
the wilderness

centre of the Earth
out in the void
beyond
every known galaxy

thinking thoughts (for
what else can I do?)

dreaming up

five year
ten year

billion year plans

everything so fat
end to beginning
beginning
to end

not going
according to plan

APOLLO

rocket
to the Moon

rocket
saying Hi, dropping
into my
back yard

bringing my own
private star, billion
degree
Sun

same rocket
rocket
men
rode to the Moon

(bouncing, buggying around
scenic drive
one small
step for man)

same as the one that
took out my house, my
tiny lawn

like the eggs on the stove
I was cooking when
it came
to pay
a visit, pay
its respects

popping, exploding in
that red-hot thermonuclear pan

I was
well and truly Sun god fried

APOLLO

rocket
to the Moon

rocket
saying Hi, dropping
into my
back yard

bringing my own
private star, billion
degree
Sun

same rocket
rocket
men
rode to the Moon

(bouncing, buggying around
scenic drive
one small
step for man)

same as the one that
took my house, my
tiny lawn

like the eggs on the stove
I was cooking when
it came
to pay
a visit, pay
its respects

I was
truly fried

AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA

the cabin I once graced
now lies
at the bottom of the sea

seems it was something
of a cursed vessel

and where I am now
this semi-desert
an inland ocean once
paleontology
has determined

in the long long view
that tingle tremble
beneath your feet
may
at the end of the day
be a matter truly
tectonic

I almost drowned
on a ship
in sea water
the day before
it docked in harbour

thought I could swim
just sail majestically
across the water

me being
most water
of all the water signs

sank
like a stone, a thing
of lead

thought wrong

somehow feel that this is
not the last
episode in
an ongoing saga

me,
and the bottom of the sea

NOTE TOWARDS A SNOWFLAKE APPRECIATION SOCIETY

Why should I not
appreciate a snowflake

(such a lovely
devil
in that detail)

melting
on my tongue, between
my fingers

each one
unique

cold,
precise

I guess one
might argue

superior in
every way to
a poem

even
a poem about
snowflakes

OTHERWISE

this flower
might well have been otherwise?

how on Earth can you not tell?

watching from the wings
I will always be there
as my snake self

coiling, uncoiling, sliding
over under
slurring those many
hissed syllables

in order to educate Eve
as to
words, possible worlds,
way
beyond her current
Scrabble set

and in one of these
an Adam without sin
who remains
eternally alone

looking everywhere for
a trace of that beauty
he has
yet not an inkling of

feeling, despite himself,
an inexplicable sense of
emptiness, incompleteness,
loneliness, loss

whereas
in all other permutations

he faces a time that
will come when all gardens
must be levelled

where
the leaves, the trees, the clouds,
the crystal streams and
mirroring waters,
the beasts and birds or the air
whose names
Adam gave

will all forget, be forgotten,
no one will remember, no
one to remember

YAMA

yam a
mammal not
a vegetable

not
a mineral

be a breast-sucker
that tugs, tugs, tugs

neatly strangled
at birth
by the cord
that bound me

gave me
my connection until
snip, snip, snap

smart smack to
my derrière to
help rush the Os
to my brain

and now
have these death-
fearing words pouring
out of
me like crazy

seeking
the Great Spirit

which is why
rove the plains

on
back of RV
or in
caterpillar-tracked weapon

it is
being much in my nature
to be always about death
find space
to roam

CRYPTIC

rearranged the furniture
in my head
(a few dry walls
had to knock out)

started to resemble
a mausoleum

which
so startled me
ended up
forgetting entirely
about my bed

and how and why
ended up in
the first place
fighting with this allegory

but did sleep
and collided with
all I had
moved and misplaced
throughout
my dream

in dream
no GPS no
proximity scream

things as they present themselves
could hardly be
more cryptic