humanity – Page 7 – poems 2 die for

JOY

a god walks the stage
the world in
a state of wonder,
state of fright

loses; forgets
its words

as above
so below

jets and drones
contest the sky

we are below, suffering watching
unless the god
rescinds his
refusal to elevate us

teaches us that which we need
to scoff at this war
thess wars
elevated to the stars

the words that turn
a world streaming out
from under that mask

direct from Olympus, words
to drive insane, turn
upside down

flood with intense
laughter and pain

dark understanding
filled with divine joy

so far beneath him
this thing they
will eventually call
history
terrible in its
truth

a god walks the stage

CROSS

my sphere
your sphere

two
hemispheres

no actual line
of demarcation
marked
for us to
cross

at out
peril

as painful first
step to

(what discord, what
dissonance,
what celestial music)

some
kind
of redemption, state

of liberation

EQUATOR

forget boundaries
forget enclosures

here
there are no
prisons for the body
of the soul

there is wide expanse
open sky only

boundless
across the page
between the lines
each and every

three sixty degrees
meridian and back
from pole to pole
twice across
the equator

planet
to galaxy
ocean to ocean

from
the river

to the sea

ICARUS INSTINCT

I barged into
the temple of
artificial intelligence

stormed out
after dismantling and
indeed liberating
a host of automatic
telling
and vending machines

flew up to the firmament
with the eye for aeronautics
of an ancient Daedalus
deluxe

soaring Sun-ward like his son
determined that the destiny
should be
becoming child
of the cosmos beyond which
no sense to aspire.

EMILY SYNDROME

stuck some poems
in a folder
ready for revision
(Oh,
happy day!)

left them not
so long but
long
longer than
intended

albeit without Sun
or air or
indeed watering
at all

so imagine my delight shock
and horror that
day of
days, moment
of reopening

when found the little bastards
to have thrived
and multiplied, some

even grown in size
to embrace the gamut
from
split little
atom through to
Pandora of expanding universe

poem growing up
prophetic,
apocalyptic

whispering, screeching
to the Universe

their
primal truth as mirror
and
testimony (dear
reader)

to all
expanding size

WE

we live
we die
we love

we collide
we rise

we revisit
we revive

lose
win

surmount
survive

tally up the numbers
but —
cautionary tale —

they
never reconcile

TEETH

thanks
for the interview

which should
have happened
years ago

might then
have meant something

for what am I to say to;
share with ye avatars of empty

puppets and
stooges
political appointees

what
do you know of the word
and true human sensibility

your brains burnt rotten
but such
photogenic teeth

UNDER LIBRA

balance
temperance
transcendence

I check my calendar
assiduously
wondering when they
might
reappear

(if
they ever
did appear)

so much bad substance
dark matter festering
this many a day

coming to the surface
bursting every
tectonic
plate

hot slick sludge volcano
whose pyroclastic flow
covering in
magma
whole wealth of detail

that it
is turning out to be
this change
of epoch morning

whilst I spin my roladex top database
like an insane creature trapped
in the winking
headlights of extinction

searching for a theoretician
(any still standing
though
tossed
aside)

can explain
this shit to me

balance transcendence temperance

I hold off
on judgement

(sum
of all my fears)

FAT

soon, everything
will have had
enough of us

the planet
will refuse to look us
in the face

species by species
they
die on us
fall
by the wayside

so fat on the proceeds
of this treasure-trove
we have
allowed ourselves to grow
refuse
to stop growing

TO EACH OTHER

clearly
iceberg and
Titanic
were Other
to each other

such a risk
with first
glancing kiss

shatter of the mirror
fragmentation, disintegration

and so much
icy depth, no one
divulged how
quite the abyss
we were talking

quite the overkill
we must suggest when
it is the belief
less than a tablespoonful
will suffice for drowning

but there you are
above the waves
not bobbing
but floating supremely

clear as royal icing on a cake
(if not clear then
as smooth entirely)

wishing them well
upon their wedding night
(much blessings
much much blessings)

so much of that
bleak psychoanalysis having
imbibed

knowing how love
as hubris might just turn out

a smile
     a wave — pun
                        unintended–
a look like that of
that mad German we
do hate
        so because
we owe so much

who dethroned sun-bright Apollo
threw in his
lot with the god
of drinkers