Category Archives: 1, poem, poetry,

TWO POEMS
hole
nous

HOLE

there is a in my poem
a very fine hole,
a beautiful hole in fact

rain gets in
wind
whistles
through it

especially
when Mars and Venus
find themselves in
conjunction
or
  imtimately worse

please, if you think
you can fix it
if you have
the technology
or rolls
and rolls of tape

write to
the address below
I desperately
need it mended, need
myself mended

only then
might i be able
to start
  writing with
blind confidence
papering over everything

filling in the cracks
for instead of waning
as you
   might suppose

I feel he is out there
but also
within the lines
bending them
to his will
shepherding
    theit direction

waxing in power
the light suffusing everything

trash-talking all
that is
    askew
          tantamount
to an
apogee of
miserable insanity

hint of the infinite
constantly
   streaming through

****

NOUS

he writes cursively
and yet
concisely

knowing full well
how ripe the world be
to swallow
this tripe

and there is your consensus:
hear it mewl in unison
(child father
        to man but
not
  for this generation)

a gathering gathers: spin-
doctors, masters of character
assassination, doctors
of diatribe

all one tribe whose
genealogy
         is golden, palms
crossed with silver

commentators, phone hacks,
two-way
   radioed manhood
cursed non-
Shakespearean gentlemen

they can call a summit every
minute print the words
that should
      suspend
      everything

deary deary all so dreary
Professor looks so
vacuous right
now

luckily his pen has
the nous to
perpetuate itself

SIX POEMS:
without batteries
masterpiece
tantra
scrapbook
the music
warhead

WITHOUT BATTERIES

insidious, the pun
destabilizes

mangles single-
meaning

in its electromagnetic
                        field

a field day having thereupon
I think of a goblin green
Vader Christmas

slipping down an industrial
smokestack for the children
who choked to death

on his back a pack of Death Stars
and other Sith machines
to toy with
and destroy the galaxy

luckily without batteries,
Skynet took them, the Matrix
took them

total the disappointment
whereupon for the
children of every executive

reminding us all
of former wicked times
of Scrooge economics
and monetarist deprival

and those who suffered
the feeezing calamity
of Christ”s birthday
reflected
     as it was in the tiny
suffering always
happy face
of Tiny Tim

meanwhile some Jew or other
in the British musuem
is slaving daily
    at his big
red book

we are
creative creatures, he writes,
not regretful
afterthought, surplus
liability
      
        image that is no.match
for such
dreams of
  transcendence that plague
our human imagination
(the ghost of
a Marley man financier
ghastly at the door).

****

MASTERPIECE

I read an
unusually bad poem
from a
Professor or so

worse
    than normal
but no ways so bad
that I might
quite involuntarly, mind,
require to
     gag, vomit, spit

which would have been
not a good look for me
given his
current level of
appreciation
(verging on
near total public
         adulation)

such pressure on me
unforunately to
favourably respond

that when I did in fact retch
(following
      line of least resistance)
I threw up
     a jewel

wonder of transformative
power of mind over matter

a gem
    of a vicious
     masterpiece

****

TANTRA

I drink
where the rivers merge

slake my thirst
at the delta

some ocean salt here
too which
I taste
    no mistake

a lock
on time
    when you
flow
with me
and we
locate our
psalm sustenance

behold
     something has
changed

      seems the sea is
surfeit

we have
long left the land

****

SCRAPBOOK

I am going
to repaint this town

in line
with how you
dream it
retell
its history

scatter sepia, reframe
as daguerrotype

invest with shade
of fake civility
wherever
     the whim takes me

nip
   new

in the bud
let

this be my enterprise
until faith
       in the lie

gets up one day
and quietly leaves me

****

THE MUSIC

there was no music
none
   to
talk about

then suddenly,
there was
the music again

and the Beatles
found it

learnt it played it
packaged it
         sent special
delivery
from turntable
           to heart

and there
        inside that music
there was
one Eleanor Rigby

who
   are went
           looking for

nobody
found

sadness of that
            fiction destined
to haunt

****

WARHEAD

I don’t know
about your brain

what kind type of
brain and
whether firing on
all cylinders

but your head
     did take
             your body
along
other day
went looking for
                 headwear

thought
      if at least looked
half articulate then
    the words might just
elect
to follow

but
nothing there your size
nothing
     but extremely bad
  
fit

seems
     your head
                   has sacrificed
rational brain for

warhead target selection
and
    guidance system

set with such hair-
trigger precision

best not
     ask you to speak