Category Archives: 1, poem, poetry,

HAVE HEARD

have heard
the fable
of the sticks

lovely metaphor
for unity
            unless
something black
shirted takes charge

gives it a
tighter symbolism,
nastier appropriation

unity
unity
    which ever way
you cut it

for me
    in this not
small matter
of heart and mind

a single flower
owns more power

FIRST GEAR

making hot
stuff with you

raises
my pain threshold

lowers my centre of gravity

tunes me up, every piston
pushing perfectly,
like
    a twelve cylinder engine

a portrait of road
holding, fuel-injected precision,
as soon as you get me
out of first gear

PROFESSOR MOINSHINE

was wearing
my best strip-searched
human face
instant guide
to my moral integrity
goodness of my nature

philosophizing
at the turnstile

life
death
Heaven Hell
United City

activating my consciouness
Earth watch, star radar

derby match floodlight
bathing the stadium

sky wheeling in time lapse
as it got to
penalty shootout

even as Sputnik
circles, Eagle as landed
space roce
      whizzes by

long time long time
(unless already on Mars
conspiracy theory) we
all
   believe we saw

boys shot from sunny Florida
racing in silver dune buggies
back
fron the Sea of Storms
bouncing in that gravity
towards the Sea of Tranquility

FOR  HANNAH ARENDT

what it the compassion
you can squeeze
like a lemon
drag
from a stone?

camp gypsy
coaxing a wealth
of sadness out of an accordion

a couple of devil
Halloween masks
fall by the wayside

not all that skims
is banal
entirely devoid of imagination

lips finding
special pleasure, dodging meaning

the road
once tangential is
now overgrown
unless it is autobahn

we were
      talking compassion

but dismiss this, or
whatever

not enough tears
in out history
   ever to drench you

IN PARENTHESIS

long division
square root
(stick night
black night
in parenthesis

before you take the liberty
to photon bombard it)

I would write
you up
if you were
worth the trouble
let you
take me in
your arms
and multiply me

all your chromosomes
gotten into the habit
or reading
me like a book

backwards forwards
straight line, arabesque,
turning
     your story my story
into a flip thru
pop up
  illustrated manuscript

shaving away those
bad dreams, wonky genes,
picking and choosing
choice bits
     from my D

N

   A spiral

not all behind
the scenes
        the clothes
the blinds  the curtains

so
   seemingly old  inert,
entropic, horribly
outworn
    and outmoded

see how fresh how suddenly
green
   when you edit, splice
cut through
sheath
    down to essential fibre

highest factor lowest
common denominator

blend with which
life can perhaps do something

BOX

packed
my universe

into a box
not Pandora’s
not Schrodinger’s
and nothing

Chinese
a
b
o
u
t
  it

set it
on its way
cast it
adrift

packed it
a box lunch

the universe never
giving
   a free lunch

but here
we are talking
        about the space
outside it

PIGGIES

three little piggies
high tailed (or short
curlied) it
to market

dreaming their dreams
ignoring the scene
of the town
all around
falling down being
bulldozed

earmarked
for gentrification

and behind them
still stalking that
big bad
      business brained wolf

becoming more
of a friend
     and worse of a wolf
to find
  them so flush
with money

huffing and puffing
with big bags
loaded
   schemes and
policies and deals to
make eyes water

no one
going to have
their house
blown down and invaded
and be splt
roast before breakfast

without
    peace of mind of
adequate compensation