Category Archives: 1, poem, poetry,

FEAST

FEAST

the goddess
requested (well, yes,
being a goddess,
sort of
   demanded)

a poem of me
and that I
render it to her,
furnish her with it

finding her there
beneath her sacred tree

that with her sharp, sharp
mind she might
pain-stakingly read
wrap it in
silk, satin
or velvet

keep under
her pillow, secretly feast

ARROW

ARROW

was shooting arrows
picking my spot
missing everything

out
of inspiration

maybe need you
to act as
my target

strike
statuesque poses

but there again
your speed of thought,
                                 your
blinding beauty
                     bound
to dazzle
     spoil my aim

get me
          to aim
                        too high, perhaps
too low

shooting arrows
tipped with love potion
threatening
your equilibrium with
potent
    erotic poison

and yet
        calling my bluff
with contempt so openly,
dare I say
nakedly?

you caught freeze-frame
striving to catch them
as they
    whizz by

wonder where you might
keep it
    if you managed to catch one

pluck it, so to speak,
from the sky

my best guess
telling me

in a silk-lined box somewhere,
casket
   close to your heart

not to
rule out
    heavy return fire
streaming in from your
redoubt
   
hit me
    palpably and yet
just a
flesh wound

to get
   full flavour possible to have
to stick it
     in deeper, extremities
of joy and pain
as, desire
running rampant, I much
            mortify myself

out in the open
        no chance of lovely
assassin here
pulling back her bow-string, silent
in the forest

shooting
    at small, small, dodgy
creatures
I warrant mostly
mammals

once hit a
goddess (bit of
spectacular misfortune)

she
   returning fire, shooting
from the hip

hit me
fair and square with
that selfsame dart

and there
I fell

in her arms, mortally
struck, wounded forever
slain
   by
         Athena, Ishtar, Isis,
Aphrodite
perhaps Artemis herself

done in by a goddess,
best, worst
kind of death

FULLY OPERATIONAL

FULLY OPERATIONAL

three little bags
of lethal fur

at
  the foot of my bed
curled up into a ball, brothers
my boys

behaving impeccably because
they evolved to do so
honoring their
obligation in the contract
which they assure me
(in that contrived
voice I am hardwired
to succumb to)
I must
have conveniently forgotten
I did most
certainly sign

little cocky predator
felis lybica, scourge
of
  North Africa
apart from
a fresh coat
of paint
   it is you, all three of
you,
    wild as ever, still
basically the same
testing my
edges, my boundaries, smearing
me with their smell
getting their
best
  handle on me

so close in proximity, until
things get
   a bit incommesurate
and you
are light years away from me
going full
   Schrodinger, full Lewis Carroll

living hair-triggered, yet
kind of
   Zen mindful, full-on
Satrtrean being before essence
existential
   philosophers

philosophers
with whiskers, and other
unfair advantages
    over us
mere humans who
once
  worshipped you

recruited to the all-
conquering armies
of the eternal
city

legions of you, since
the army of Empire marches
on its stomach,
entrusted
   with the sacred task
to protect
the grain

whither we go, I go,
there you
go too
    apparently

and here you are in a flash
out to accompany me
hot wired
    for anything, flanks
and rear protected

fully operational
          my little legionaries

from whom (how
the hell
   exactly did
this happen?) right from
the outset
   that die cast, there is no escape

every manoeuver in our dance
executed to perfection



AS A CHILD

AS A CHILD

as a child, you
wrote poetry

a form of liberation, if
not the very weapon of it

something poetic
about that
    curved magazine

the brilliance of
its rugged simplicity
thing of
wood
   and metal

Garand and
Sturmgewehr, you

delivered us
    their love child

Tarantino’s Samuel L.
telling us
   in Jackie Brown
this is
   the perfect amalgam of
voice and
rhythm

absolutely essential
when you need
to clear
a whole room

and when you passed
word went out about
your deep
regrets at having
created this
sublime artifact of
deadly engineering

left us
   if not with a song then
your signature
                  tune, and

from your grave,
that distinctive sound marking
the death
of Empires, release from
burdens

and then the legend
    buried beneath that good
Russian earth

if they
   were to raise you, disinterr
you

chamber
   the first round

would
    you fire

from the beginning always
a poet of fire



BEFORE YOUR TEAM CAN WIN

BEFORE YOUR TEAM CAN WIN

and so
they spoke

the football gods
the ones
that are there
not the ones
were elected

told us
     that this shithousery final
was what
we wanted, what
we always wanted

what defines
in essence
the beautiful game

not sentimental stuff
like twenty year old way
back then
Leo Messi
cradling that little
African Arab baby
Lamine
Yamal

said this is the rough stuff
rules are only
for the rich
and powerful

what
you begged for
and so, we gave you,
at the home
of gridiron
    of the New York
Giants
could you have asked
                for more?

unless, lovers of defense
that you are
      unsatisfied by extra time
only the cataclysm
of penalties
would
   be enough to sate you

chance to
   leave it

in our laps
   who in truth
          do not care for your trophies
and medals and
State sports washing
all those
things infants and
infantinos
hold
   so close to their hearts

we
love
    the irresistible craziness
of the game
when it becomes fluid,
full-flowing

ten goals
   in ninety, beauty
wizardry
off the charts

but
   not what
is demanded
for victory, for joy
for
   mere mortal perspective
on this
game of games

when
    things fall as they must
before
your team can win

TATTOO


TATTOO

those eyes
that blazed with anger

now smouldering
with desire

what was locked and bolted,
a barred portal

now a net of
gossamer, a screen
of silk
     a shimmer of filigree
to lure me in

the love that pumps
through my
heart
  and veins
for you

demands this pen
writes, writes, writes

poor as this poem is
my words are

I know none
  better to have inscribed
on my skin
in place you are
bound to
find 

LEXICON

LEXICON

these are
the alien words
that signify me

express
me completely,
capture who I am
in a whole different tongue

exquisite in
their orthography,
impossible to pronounce

symbols of something
I have not located, would
appear to escape me

somewhere out there
a description, definition,
so resonant
        it is
the answer to my identity,
every question
ever asked

KASPI

KASPI

Ah!,
     those pieces
are starting to open up
becoming a lot more
friendly to me

the squares, too,
are starting to show me things,
teach me
how this dance
is done

pulling back the veil until
I see them, find them,
those
   secret patterns, hidden
pathways

how it all
       meshes together as
a perfect machine

Oh
  now for the first time
I embrace that temptation
to sacrifice time and
material
    seeing what this game
of games unlocks
to what heights
it takes me

honoring the memory
of Kaspi, my one-eyed, bicolor,
feline best friend,

named after that author
who so cogently argued for
the intimate
connection between chess
and life
with all the persuasiveness
of a great world champion.