SIX
sometimes
simplicity rules
so much practice until
instilled
becomes
embodied in
perfect delivery
and, talking of perfect,
in your hands
a dossier of
perfect plays
grandmaster chess puzzles
fail to
rival
in their brilliant complexity
but here
we have comedy
see epic antagonists
convulsed with laughter
suddenly the script has the
texture of absurd theatre
longer
than waiting for Godot
waiting for
Super Bowl six
BLUE STAR
blue star
my blue star
keep
shining
when I am gone
keep shining
charm the sleeping world
with memories, stories
of he who
sang such songs
for his lost
Eurydice
that
the rocks, the trees
awoke from their slumber
to share
the beauty of
this sadness
blue star
my blue star
keep shining
help me remember
before I go
why
I am here
EVENTUALLY
We eventually
invited you
to our party
felt
we had to
eventually
and lo
and behold:
eventually
you came: pitched up
in the last of
your great ships, now
an
old just bucket
barely held together
in need
of patching
patching holes pretty much
the theme of the day
theme
of the new
decade
hopefully into the next
century
saw you
at the party behaving
pretty much, well almost,
like homo sapiens
was not
always so
state of the ship such
a revelation
Oh
how we partied
sight
for sore eyes.
We invited you to our party.
You came, eventually.
Truth be told, though you
may well choose not to believe us
we always
kept your seat
at the table,
take your right place
WON
we came for the big game
met on the intersection
of Meridian and
Equator
we sat for the battle
you
waited in awe
they remained standard
first,
before a piece touched
they insisted on rule changes
make the game more equitable
in other words
their game more powerful
bishops
and knights
should be made invulnerable
echoing their
feudal
reputation
(“especially the white squared one”:
someone chirping
from the corner)
and then
it had to go, whole en passant rule
as unnecessary compromising
defences
and when
Kings castle on the back rank
strength of rook
alongside be
doubled from
five to
ten
to echo their supreme
nuclear strength
we came for the game
whole world watching
what
a shock it was
the day we won
PLAAS ROMAN (farm poem)
crossing the farmyard
to my domicile
trod on something in the long grass
perfectly camouflaged
looking
for all the world
like a stick
which
of course it was
my penchant for attracting
disaster wrong this instance
not the ambush predator
viper with potent haemotoxic
venom we
both assumed it to be
nor
Cape Cobra (here in
South Africa we have
the prettiest cobra)
nor Boomslang, nor Rinkhals
nor that speed freak elapid of
supreme flowimg motion
olive-gray in colour
hero of
Tarantino’s Kill Bill
but with
silky pitch-black mouth
and me
child of 53, making me
in Chinese
terms
a fellow of that brethren
slow and quiet until called upon
then red-hot writhing, razor
sharp wire
sign of the
creature closest to the
Earth (as I am now) and
thus
with such gravitas
noodle with
nuclear chemistry, one
drop
never instil
thought here on the farm
might
get away from him
hide from the god of life-
energy where
there is
no much
life energy
everywhere I look
plants sacred
to you
and the way you crushed me,
destroyed me
injected me with tragic
beginning to fear
I might be sacred to you too
never to evade you
ever
escape your clutches
as my last days run out
and I can
no longer walk your wild
or love
your women, the ones
you singled out
chose for me perfectly
dreaming of our resurrection
wondering what
you
will tell me, what
you will ask me
man to god
(schemed as a
dithyramb)
about the shared pain and ecstasy torture and beauty
of this life
(forever fall
forever rise)
SYSTEM
and now I find
and now I find
gymnast and
syntagm
are so intimate
anagrams
of each other
spooky action
at linguistic distance
but what do I know
of such unique connection
all my lovers
ghostly, some
actual ghosts
the dust of all
that was desire questioning
my stridence
gives the idea
puts me on notice
that it is
all simulation
and when you undress before me
in name only
getting the sweet syntax
up and running
see what you are up to here
Mr Shakespeare or
Earl
of Oxford
whatever you wish to go by
privately call yourself
spilling from Juliet’s lips
the philosopical truth of
a true rose
even if
a thousand years of cynicism
scepticism stands in its way
when you
go inexplicable mystery
and wrap yourself around me
making us (yes, channeling you
Professor Noam Chomsky)
branches, leaves
upon the same tree
graft taking
we can grow now together
happy
(who would not be) though
this all
feels pre-planned: our
perfect simulation
ARTISAN BAND
I try to sniff out
poetry anywhere
and everywhere
omce I thought
a few flashes in
a band on the Reeperbahn
four working class guys
irreverent, cheeky,
full of irrepressible
young life
watched them
began to get excited, thought
I saw, felt poetry there
but they
were just getting better
tighter
practice making perfect
as is the way with bands
some of their lyrucs
and harmonies suggesting
promise, revelation of something
a capturing of the heart
of rock
and roll
but I must have been mistaken
projecting my hopes upon them
tough business, hope
they make it
my artisan band
ENTIRE
you have clocked us
and cluedoed us
and played
every
game
with us
to see the world
through photoshopped eyes
to switch on that strobe light
good for interrogations
but not for
viewing from a divine perspective
all you have dehumanized
stripped of humanity
millions of God’s image
murdered
each, as your great book says,
a Universe entire
AND VANITY PRESS
I am
all about death
and vanity
press
this i
(readily) confess
to
both
woman
and
God
the chimes
in my head
both essence
of poetry
but also
cash register
and so I write
of holocaust and genocide
things that
lately delight
if not
why so tiny effort, huge
reluctance
to stop
doing so?
the sound effects of
slaughter
so much
one can do with them
FLOW KYLE
go with
the flow Kyle
trust
your instincts
at least
feel
your instincts
develop
an instinctual feel
imbibe your book
your sheets
swallow, digest
embody
then
throw away
run with what you
are good at
true to
is burning
inside you
play come
what may with
power
and way
release the huge
deluge of positive
carry
the day
poems 2 die for