Tag Archives: ending

SUPER BOWL POEM


SUPER BOWL POEM

woke up
in time to hold off
on the SuperBowl result

worst fears confirmed when
I summoned up courage
to check

    yep Brock loves God
but Brock loves
Patrick Mahomes

(does not seem
to care much about
Head Coach Kyle Shanahan)

and at this
        juncture, out of the blue,
an unruly host of
archetypes made their move
wanted to stick
         around a bit, get
the lie
   of the land in the process
of passing through me

a mad mosaic it was
for a while

      many shapes and
sizes, manners and
demeanours

     jostling up against each other
(Brownian motion)
          excanging, debating,
doing their
dialectic dance, analysis
synthesis
no homogenizing

and there I was in a carnivalesque dream

chatting to the players in
St Francis’ kingdom
of those elevated
                    high above
the realms
of material wealth

peering into the abyss that
a philosopher cum psychologist
had laid
      before me

a tablet broken with the
entire script jagged

and there on the road
a burnt out humvee

and there in the docks
a rusting destroyer

archetypes at home within
settling
     for a game of solitaire

and me
thinking, wondering,
      who does have a
prophetic bone in this
my body

is winning everything?
    and if it is not

will there ever
indeed

      be an end to war?



ONE AND ONLY

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
    Mr Sergeant Pepper’s
one and
    only Billy Shears

FAR FROM IT

FAR FROM IT

far from it,
we did not
get rid
of them

as vicious and
insufferable
as they had become

we just let them
fade into nothing
embrace
    non-being

going nowhere
we simply allowed them
to reach
   that destination

perhaps ushering them
a little
    but it was for
their own good

genocide?
    no that is their
much contested term
and yet
habitual practice

such actions
          lie beyond us
this word
not in
our vocabulary

but see
     look here

admire
what we have done with
the planet
       how we have integrated
everything, biological
and technological
organic
   and machine

everything flourishing,
renewable and recyclable

this
    our mandate terrestrial
and cosmic
in equal aesthetic and
intellectual measure

ours
   is the new spirituality
to take
   across the galaxy

theirs a
     contempt for themselves,
the sacredness of being
and life
        of every living thing

QUICKLY

QUICKLY

read this poem quickly
we have not much time

an nasteroid/comet/meteorite
is going to
hit this Earth tonight

but even before which
tensions on the planet ensure
the button will
get pressed

failing which a killer virus
has obviously escaped

and then one or two
of the world’s
super
volcanos
is primed to blow
fill the Earth with pyroclastic flow
toxic dust
blot out the sky, the Sun
so, read
this poem
have some fun

best thing to do now
quite frankly

JOZIE

JOZIE

hours later
my eyes
still glued to the road

except
this is all afterburn
the road is inside my head

oh Jozie
flashiest of cities
will you
flash for me
as I flash by

naked on the hotel bed
I feel gravity, taste relativity

conjure you up
from every mixed memory
(and
   much mixed metaphor —
woefully so)

the mirror is like
the bottom of the sea

so far inland but
I can hear the waves in
False Bay roaring

but is this dream
trajectory
    or am I now, at last,
speeding homeward?

so many souls leaving
not staying, refusing
to stick around in case
of a grand finale

jaw-dropping twist
in the ending

     like when you
first confessed your nakedness

SAD TO THINK

SAD TO THINK

can’t put
my finger on it

something seems
off

the wind feels odd
the TV
    looks wrong

everyone I hear
feels that
the truth
    must be hidden
cannot be
uttered at
all costs

the plot
    has been lost
the record stuck

and those who
deny what we see with
our own
eyes

are believed

cannot put my
finger on it

seems like
the beginning of the end

we had
our run, had our time

self-destruct is
   now on
                     override

sad to think what
we might have become
    could have been

VICTORY

VICTORY

You were screening
a film about your victory

when news
of your defeat, your
complete defeat came

sudden consternation
in the projection box
reels were exchanged
and that
film replaced

by one so different,
one that dealt
with the death of hubris,
end of arrogance

and a way that slowly,
painfully
        the sins and crimes

might be
confessed before humanity;
some redemption take place.

MY FLAT COUNTRY

MY FLAT COUNTRY my flat country scrub divided by highway stretching further further Oh, the luxury of a small town with a library chance to drink coffee be philosophical mediocrity entropy won’t say they’re married but rented a room by the hour for much of the night and when it comes, when all stalls at risk of repeating myself Oh, what a night incomparable night

MAS

MAS no more poems of love only poems of pain, grief, rage controlled hatred maybe no more poems at all who has time for poetry when our world is split, divided, blockaded from truth and vital energy? pray that this humble non-descript pièce of scrawl is not the last poem if it be the poem penultimate let the last poem be a great restorative epic restore our faith and love and desire to embrace all of humankind