ON ITS LAURELS
flint
brass
brimstone
lodestone
iron
steel
sulphur
phosphorus
and gunpowder
stone was stacked
stone got cracked
shot and
shell
courtesy of
the tactical flamboyance
of our old friend fire
naphtha
napalm
nitro
nuclear
could not
let stone
rule supreme
therefore no
resting on
dud laurels
nothing ever
so sure or secure
in the nature
of regime
when walls
take writing
seismic cracks
then appear
RIDDLE
drop me from
from nearly thirty thousand
feet
or maybe
more aptly
two thousand and one
plus which
in Arabic numerals
at least will
tally up
to two thousand
and three
the sneakiness of three
plunging us
headlong
via Oedipus, foot leg and
stick of the Sphinx
into the heart
of riddle
whose subject
framed by that odd
counterfactual
joke
of time
we now seen
born
held up to the Sun
but dreaming
of Moon
strangely named Moons
Phobos, Deimos (Oh, I
mean
Demos
Titan, Europa, Miranda,
plus others
as well
five listed here for
every toe on
your foot, finger
on your hand
held up to the Sun, ball
of such Uranian energy
watch him
long for that furnace
given
the slightest opportunity
doomed to there
walk, hobble,
crawl
FRIDGE SYLLOGISM
my cats, great philosophers
that they are
assure me
that inside my
old fridge
it is
pure utopia
a Platonic communist state
jam packed with delicacies
for all
felines
to share
each according to their need, and
power to irrutate
and I, for my Sins (all of
which pretty mortal), have
five of
them, one Socratic,
another Nietzschean and the
rest undecided whether
to follow Slavoj
Zizek or
call themselves Arisotelian
masters (and mistresses) of
the art of the syllogism
each of these
little logicians
expert at reasoning
and so would you be too
if you believed for a moment,
as cats indeed do,
that we
are blessed with
a modicum of rationality
if not an entirely rational species
whose yes/no, valid/invalid, true/false binary processes
can be read off their faces
and exploited to
ensure the
keys to
that aforementioned
paradise are not
left entirely in human hands
ALL OUR CURRENT
All our current
antichrists
happen to be worse by far
than the archetype back there
in the Book of Revelation
all our latter-day demons
more demonic in essence
than any cast out
in holy parable or
Biblical Tale
and these in
plain view or
under government top secret
but truth
will out
so just
scratch the surface
with flesh-cutting scalpel
used in sanctioned
medical experiments
on the maruta of
Pingfang, or the Polish women
at Ravensbruck
or, closer to home, the
hypodermics used in
the bastion of democracy
to inject the other with syphilis,
give people
their plutonium shots
hunting for the mirror
in which to see their own depravity
the immunity given
to these pioneers
true
demonic complete redemption
all our current antichrists
God bless them all this Easter.
EASTER POEM
Easter is upon us
read
the book “Zealot”, read the
Gnostic Gospels
watched J of N
on a streaming service
for the zillionth time
but did not
see this
sucker coming
(still see
myself as
the prodigal son)
and now
a tale of torture, agony
for all time
sweating blood there in
Gethsemane during
that ultimate dark night
body of
Christ itself
turned apocalyptic
tale of Paul and tale
of Mary Magdalen
tale of Crusades against
the other Abrahams
tale of
the energy in mass
released in microseconds
delivered on a platter
to vaporize
sacred sites
just
to list
evidence for
the case
that we
still
need
redemption
transcendence
of the brutal self
at least
for some peace, a modicum
at least
over this Easter
whilst I
amongst parable thorns
fallen on
stony ground
called
but not answering
flatly look forward to
spending this Easter
summoning up
ancient alchemists
of my
acquaintance
begging them
getting them
egging them on
to transform, transmogrify,
do their utmost
to achieve this
this bag
of Roman nails
simply
shuffle down
that table
before
my eyes become golden,
eclipse my eyes as solar spikes.
CROSSBOW
I interrogated Aphrodite
after the fall of Troy
so much death and devastation
through her direct interference
all for a single
golden apple, and the required
abduction of a queen
holding her in
the sights of my
crossbow whilst
I bombarded her
with questions
on the nature of love,
her sacred domain, and
why
it should exist at all
when it destroys
so many of us
or leaves us
alone and yearning
victims of its disdain.
XENO POEMS
1. SUN
the xenomorphs
were playing
in the Sun
having such fun – –
I did not think
biological creatures could
survive such. unseasonably
high
temperatures at the heart of
the corolla
****
2. BOOK
the xenomorph
was reading me
like a book
a Lovecraft book
one which
turns its
own pages
tiny tentacles reaching out
from inside the book itself
****
3. FOOD
the xenomorph
shared its, food with me
after which, as act
of reciprocity,
shared me
with its food
****
4. CHOIR PRACTICE
The xenomorphs
having attainef consciousbess
found
religion
are gathered together
to conduct a huge debate
whether to
crucify, or
simply burn at the stake
the worst of all heretivs, apostates and sinners
and those
habitually
late for
choir practice
****
5. WAR
humans sent a delegation
to the xenomorphs
attempting to
civiluze them
moderate
their savagery
teach them the
gentle art
of human warfare
annihilating cities,
with state of
the art
weapons
fire
and forget
aimed at targets
thousands of
miles away
so
casualties
not an issue
ROCK BOTTOM
Playing for
team humanity
I have tried
my best
as have
we all
and yet
we languish at
the bottom
of the league
zero points, expected goals,
goals, assists
the statistics show us
to be
the supreme
soft touch
slaughtered every
game whether
home or away
no match for
the power of every ambitious
all or
nothing
team
stocked with
foul misanthropes and
cheating galacticos.
BACK THEN MACBETH
watched Shakespeare’s Macbeth
with all of my school class
back then in the sixties
marvellous setting: an outdoor
stage in a park.
surrounded by woods
and me in the front row
suddenly suprised by
my Jewish classmate
rushing up
to sit next to me
let me share her blanket
and so,
we watched the play
(later I would audition
at this same theatre
to join the cast, as an extra,
in Anthony and Cleopatra
later
as a student, and as an intrigued
observer of the authorship
controversy, would
take Shakespeare in
fat doses, not exactly
in quantities though
to take me up
to my ears
but then I thought
good things in woods, bad
things in
woods
soldiers with tree branch
camouflage to peversely
help realize
hidden divine justice
at the heart
of evil prophecy
and as for Lynne
with her blanket
she got me in her
school play, saw
her around at University
wondered about
magic and
evil
and things beyond
human understanding,
re-defining the limits of
malignity and cruelty,
hatred of other
politics
of pure power, fear
and revenge
a witches’ concoction
brewing away in
the dark
core of
this darkness, deep heart
of the forest
I wonder now
what we all
of made of it, how it
shaped us
in what ways we
too might think, dream
of murder,
the grasping of power
believing
it is what we deserve
back then
Macbeth, for three solid hours,
prisoners of that imagination
WINDOW
my window open
rain
thundering down
a bedraggled cat
caught in the downpour
squeezing his
lithe body
through the burglar guards
sometimes it is good
when natural storms
hit epic proportions
takes the gloss of
political storms, global
clashes that lead
to outright warfare
show us
that little in this moment
is worth elevating
our species
lacking the tactics
and strategy
to find peace at all
my window open
the rain still raging
everything thought here
under the shadow
of getting
washed away
poems 2 die for