Tag Archives: poem poetry

BIT

BIT

you summoned me
for party-games,
for romantic
themes

or so it sounded,
so it seemed

given your dancing through
all protocols,
your show and tell
and mystery

graceful
as all Hell but too
leopard fast that
I might anything retain

and there we ending
playing Monopoly diplomatically

diplomacy
monogamously
unless
in Triple Entente or
Menage a Trois

and me
in inquisition mode
determined
to interrogate your very
sensuality probe you
high and low
for heresy
(whether best
or worst of its kind)

the Turing test
the litmus test the blind taste test

with control

and me busy scribbling my way
through raw data
conclusion (and recommendations) thick
with crescendo

and to think
my original presumption
(seduced into
aberration by
Descartes demon)
was that I did not could not really exist

and therefore
would never get laid

an alternate universe somehow
devoid of sexuality

I am at
the bottom of the Seine in
Rimbaud”s
drunken boat

awaiting Nemo
my last hope of rescue

need
to go full Nautilus
to get
out of this place return
to my gone childhood

where robots are spooky by
no means mind-
expanding and
voraciously sexual

she sitting with me in a pose
that
given the technology may
well last forever

time whirling, whorling
into gold blue circular
star patterns
insistent
on their forever

soused in an artistic courage
determined to have its
(wicked) way

we are not anything
nowhere
nothing
like,the rest

merci beacoup
for
the darling sex
(you so
so slickly
do
your bit)

NARC

NARC

beautiful planet

so we
can expect narcissism
everybody
     overdosing on blue

smoking thick cloud

but now
        like a battered football
a bit sore
  about its looks

sad for the planet
        sure it is has its own
ideal of
    something to which
                 it once

so
   tragically aspired

PYGMALION

PYGMALION

the gods pitied Pygmalion
his love for his statue
(so nubile under
his fingers),
her reflected love for him

decided to bring them.together,
enshrine in marble

make
their love immortal,
permanent

aching to embrace forever
inching closer each
millennium

a tale with enough true
sadness for
our age

though the fable
Iives
inspires in
different form

secure in
its impossible irony

TOROJAN WOMBMEN

TOROJAN WOMBMEN

Toorojan Wombmen
have helmet heads

love licorice
(it is their
most guilty pleasure)

hate
allsorts

would send all allsorts
down to Poseidon’s locker

something fishy already
felt about the smell

Oh but the Achaeans
are coming
the Myrmidions are coming

loaded with logic
and rationality

their armour as
bad-bullet proof

as Blackpool rock
(so many cavities
in the fangs
you
are bearing

so much yellow enamel
in need of bleach)

HARPIES

HARPIES

They tug at the heat strings with state of the art wirecutters
so let us call them
“Harpies”

double envelopment
they have
broken through
both flanks
and encircled humanity

the minds they have captured
headed fod relentless torture

but this
blue bunting, red-
hot pokers
is all about mythology, about
Palladian architecture
and ancient meanings

the ocean sighing as it pulls
back from.the Dover shore
before biting further

into ths landscape

no time to
set fire to the ships we
must imagine them burning

must instruct
the plebs to
see them burning

everything so gaslit
it is plain
as day

and there
quoting disparately
in elementary Latin stands
our Caesar

sort of stands our Caesar
Oh when will
such a Caesar ever
come again?

BROKE-ASS

BROKE-ASS

came across a broke-ass poet

sort of all medieval minstrally meandering around

strange how the Carolingans also had their surrealists

                                                                                            just didn’t know it

thought that search for artistic holy grail

the most dubious pilgrimage,

most apeshit quest

of them all

and you have to be careful

                                                          in an age of belief

you cannot shake off

full-throttle God-rollicking

divine diss from place most

high

              you are not going to come back from

recovering in sanatorium

placed

                  on injured reserve

but

              here

                              in our age of sidetrack

no one

                gonna get

allow themselves to get
railroaded

                                                            so hopelessly
find themselves suddenly cast up on desert shore

fate worse

                                  than turning bankrupt

becoming the thing

your father’s whole being was

                                                                so well protected against

and yet

                      my dear saint, so grievously arrowed,

a smattering of suffering (dint

of raw chaos)

                                                                                        might just do the trick

to shoot you

                                                      to Olympus for

(statue, no statue) sweet consultation with Apollo

WHEN THE POEM READS …. YOU! reading my poems at Marionhill Monastery KZN RSA 2005

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WHEN THE POEM READS …. YOU! reading my poems at Marionhill Monastery KZN RSA 2005

FABRIC

Have no idea
how much air
it has sucked

how it is going to
pay for itself

who is
      going to to pay
for these lines:

the good lines
the bad lines
and the ones so
downright
                 ugly
say such
    unfriendly, inhospitable        things
        ripping the fabric
rocking the foundations

astonishing that we be asked
to support such
outpourings.