JUST MAYBE
maybe
if was just
bad juju
maybe you ran
into an electronic storm
your SUV cartwheeling
from zero to eighty
in two
point seconds
one day
we should sit down
put our
heads together
talk
about it
that is if the Fates
let you live
your soul
neither ascending
or descending
to
place of absolute rest
in a mind-
blowing shower
of hideous,
deadly,
fundamental sparks
DARKER TURN
when I die
condense all
I was
and now am
into a love poen
single, short, to the point
thing of night and dream
and moment when
all our darkness
all that
we are
of darkness
thrives, comes alive
knows
the bliss
of a star
when I die
turn me into
a love poem
short
and to the point
nothing special
of diamond, golden
thing in the heavens
like Romeo’s heart
speaking plainly
not
(as Juliet did envision)
beautifully scattered
and then
if I am read
(if you
are the one to read)
put
what did, what was
into some
forever parenthesis
just to say, remind me,
that I am
thing of absence,
thing of
the darkness now
this
small, petty life that
writes
being so
preoccupied with what it says
what said
took a
sweeter, darker turn
IF I WERE TO DISAPPEAR
if I were to disappear
on the night of the performance
don’t tell anyone, say
nothing
a big quiet nothing
like Hamlet might say stretching
the bounds of
our understanding, sheer
human appreciation
though so soft
no one on stage with him
in that room of Elsinore,
can (we must
believe) hear a single word
he has been scrtpted to say
No, my dear Thato, just
blow a kiss, all three
of you
blow a kiss
and walk away
knowing I glided through
that fourth wall
like it
was made of silk, cobweb fine
or most diaphanous
and now
I am with King Harry
asking to lead the voward
and so
will get butchered by the French in the
course of the battle
if you have to get butchered
who better than the French
to do it with style
with every cut
every thrust
reciting every great poet
of theirs from Ronsard
to Rimbaud
and me
held in suspense
awaiting the beauty of
their perfect coup-de-gras
or
there you are my Queen
peeling grapes, chewing dates
awaiting your Apollo
your
Roman lion, your Anthony
and we too wedded to ourselves
to smell the ships leaving port
sailing south fat
with legionaries
our deaths
the first act of Empire, suddenly
out of nowhere this
worst of all
glorious phases
in the history
of oppressed humanity
but then
as Puck himself
I return to the stage
at the waking
moment of your Midsummer
dream
craving understanding,
friendship
and forgiveness
see the lights go on
and you
my dear three
and all
around you
simply disappear
ODD WORLD
in your odd
volumpuous world
I bump into the sacred
trip over the profane
think of all those saints in
the skins of demons
and vice versa
who scrawled
their holy script
all night
with you
thinking
I could have
shown you something
shown
them something
but, alas, you
missed your opportunity
all and sundry
I sink so stately
into the grave
POEM IN STONE
prim village
but turn over
enough stones
shape shifters, Caesars,
serial-killers
and
at the tiny railway station
connecting nowhere
to everywhere
(all
roads lead to)
what slipped off
the rails
what
dark dreams?
(always a train
in a surrealist painting)
Oh and
there the tunnel
who knows
if there is light
if there
is other end?
something big
once stirred here
dared
a big net
to catch it
people remember, will
tell you,
people forget
what brought them here;
what took them hence
ONE AND ONLY
imagine
you are one
moment
naked in
the street
in Hamburg
the one before
in Strawberry Fields
with Yoko
the next
being introduced to
Paul
the next being blown
away by a jealous soul
with a snub-
nosed special
imagine a
world become
so non-linear
everything you are and were
revolving forever on a carousel
imagine that you
are
have become
none other
than
Mr Sergeant Pepper’s
one and
only Billy Shears
AWAY
friendly fire kills
without any
bad intentions
its bullets and bombs
morally superior
but let us pause
for a moment here
for establishing shot
and then
extensive tracking
as we go for
metaphor and
superimposition
passing all those broken
riddled statues
of Mary
and the Christ
in search of a man
called Wilfred, dead now
but formerly a captain
machine-gunned within
sight of peace and an
end of the war
correction, apologies, end
of the war to end all wars
pity we are late
for he was the all-
time expert in battlefield elegy
thinking
of butchered aid workers
he would know
what to write
he would know
what words to kill the lie
sweep away
convenient narrative
a Britsh poet himself
already long-forgotten
the art of a true-blue
true-
blooded imperial culture
to sweep such things away
M (for MISTAKEN)
one of us
be destined to
pop first
skin getting thin thin thin
under oxygen helium
pressure
way to go
at last birthday
or
aiming for the Heavens
aspiring
for it all
golden ring atop
that pole
start to channel
the music of the spheres
as giddy we stretch
to embrace
the stratosphere
but here again
skin to thin and
little big bang
be our evaporation
Oh I saw that film
the red balloon
cried like a child
because I was one
caught betwixt and between
a life that has been loneliness
a death that is nothing
nothingness
unless
I am totally mistaken
STUCK
stuck a mirror
on the wall
opposite
the shelves
containing
my kingly
horror collection
clown
down the drain
Jack so dull
when the words
not flowing
wonder
what bricked up
behind these booksp
(technically closet
skeleton can
never
read
its reflection)
mirroring these spines
such a blessing
that when I die
they
will not need
to search
to find whereupon
read
scare themselves
to death
poems 2 die for