THIS VIKING THING
this Viking thing
brothers in the shield wall
standing together
brothers
fighting for supremacy
amongst themselves
shield wall
against shield wall
hard to
wrap my head around
the bravery, cruelty
of these people
flows
through my blood
and yet
I understand it not
IN THEIR RIGHT MIND
saw you on
YOUTUBE being
interviewed
so many books
behind you
sign
and code
of the intellectual
man who
knows what
he is
talking about
pretty obligatory
or, as you yourself
might say: “de rigeur”
and here you spoke
seemingly not
in evasion
of any question
waxing waning
astute and erudite
occasionally lyrical slash
satirical
and me here
wondering how
you get
these gigs, how you
are always
the person to go to
person
for on point comment
whilst nobody
in their right mind
would ever
come here for a poem
DRIFTED
drifted so far
from my
original position
passed the souls of a genocide
thousands of them
in a line
waiting for something
as if
put here on hold
stored for
the meanwhile
pegged out to dry
and me
even in this state
left to speculate what
calamity it might have been
to so
overstretch resources
exhaust established facilities
leave them in
this condition where
newcomers
might see
drifted so far
so very far
from my original position
no hope now
of ever being found, let
alone kindly received
POETS: LOVERS
poets, lovers
do not
write to each other
there is nothing
that the pen
might not
misconstrue
the text
ripples, extends
finds
ever widening-spirals
and there it is
wrong dot on
the page
that universe of distance
bursting forth, already
in its
moment of forever expand
AWAKENING
nearly drowned
astral travelled
but no
awakening
no joining hands to
form a chain of light
chain of fire
what will come
and this last, great connection
will exceed all our expectations
AWAKENING
nearly drowned
astral travelled
but no
awakening
no joining hands to
form a chain of light
chain of fire
what will come
and this last, great connection
will exceed all our expectations
UND DRANG
drama of our lives
our deaths
our light
and dark
reverberates
I catch your
gist
as it floats between
worlds like
all the others
if night is good
is repose, gives
relief
so too
the singularity
so too the abyss
EXACTLY AT THIS POINT
left my mind
on the helter skelter
and you
first Dan, halfdan, third
Dan
whatever Dan you are
rollercoaster father
smirking sublimely
heavens of cloud
light and dark cloud
above me
and she
who I wanted, needed
so much at
that moment
MJM of the shapely legs
and thighs
crashing into me at top
speed perversely
has anyone ever
received such a thrilling smack
in a dodgem bumper car
and the theorists speculating
on the nature of carnival
hum
a good tune
talk a good liberation
and falling in line
(such a
ragged line)
with every compadre
of that persuasion
I wanted to
go guttural
get down and dirty
be
the sublime poet of
the sewer if only
for a brief
moment
outdoing the inimitable
Charles, universal stereotype
of this poet
Oh helter skelter
must be
a surreal repetition
to have
that guy Manson
sweep back
into fashion
and me
at the pinnacle of the
rollercoast exactly at
this point
PILGRIMAGE
skimming
our coastline
trawling
deep
sooner or later
they discover
our poetry
stumble across
that great outlier
that is
Ingrid Jonker
are captivated by
her sharpness, passion,
fierce emotional
honesty
and intensity
and yet
whenever I find myself
at the place she drowned,
marked by
her tiny, sun and sea
spray
battered monument
I get no sense of this
in wildest dreams
ever
a place
of pilgrimage
poems 2 die for