JUST IN CASE
waiting for them
to arrive
some anxiety
no small trepidation
outriders
an advance guard
what are they
going to do with us?
the media
is making every effort
to reassure us
serious journalists
have ridiculed our fears
have downplayed
the comments made by
these forces
who swear by
all that is holy
they are
coming in peace
just bringing bombs
and bullets
tanks and rockets
just, as they say,
“in case”
MANDOLIN
felt mandolin
was indeed the best
instrument
to express
your nature,
capture your essence
but then
in hindsight
thrown by what
had transpired
came
to believe
the morning after
that all I had witnessed
riotously ensured
was best
translated via a Les Paul
Custom or
Stratocaster
will full array
of pedals and boxes
fuzz and wah-wah
COURT
wanted to
touch you
but you
always so edgy
feat
your body
too litigious
feel there
will be consequences extreme
and so
this poem I
did write
it
under
advisement
to plead my case
in your
high court
JUMBLED
my mind
gets jumbled
when I think
of you
discombobulated
through and through
I try to stretch my
words out
to maximum
meaning
words of little consequence
that do not
stretch the imagination
are of
little
pleasing
KINDNESS
kindness is
becoming strange
kindness
is becoming alien
it is that thing
crashed and burned
captured
and housed
down in secret
vault in
Area 51
probed and prodded,
drilled and disected
what
is so
inhuman
about it
military technology
desperately needs to know
SPACE
what is different
about this space?
its peaks, its valleys
white
noise, grey silence
the windows and doors
with their secret codes
(beg me, beg me
I may well tell you)
now you have read everything
every smidgen of text
visible or in-
visible
tell me what you have come
to comprehend
so far we
are from the grand muftis
and great principalities
together in collusion
syllable by syllable chipping away at
their stark foundations
sliding door moment for
those believing in change
contriving a space here
where we might
stockpile empathy
dole out kindness
dish to whom-
soever
is in dire need
shelter is needed
shelter is necessary
the song could
not be
clearer on this
come! Let me sing it for you,
then
(change in
tone
different key, switch in
pitch
and so let us
now adopt the pose
of silence
contemplate the world
(if any) beyond
this poem
this poem’s afterlife
so to speak
so to spreak
having this very moment
spoken space into existence.
NINE LIVES
to win
the Superbowl
we are going to
need every
good witch
in the land
of Oz
get Brock’s arm
to perform miracles
carving up the Chief’s defence
like they
a basket
of loaves
and fished
or the blessed Saint Patrick
otherwise known
as Mahomes
to twist his wrist
stub his toe
will be the sign to
show him
Kansas going bye-bye
he ain’t in Kansas no more
IN THEORY
words
words
words
put horizontally
put vertically
are what he tells the President
he is reading
and what is the difference
between a prince and
a pauper and
a prince and a
president
at the end of the day?
you
ask.me
Oh let me travel to
the end of my leash, reach
the end
of my tether
sojourn in Paris, lounge
on the left bank
become
eternal student
many a brilliant idea imported
along with appertifs
and expressos
as I chart my way
developing the system
to conquer
limitation, figure out
what is
different
a system so open and
yet subtle
it can pre-
determine every nuance
eveb as it crosses the page idly
as any other text
word word word
text
(nothing we believe ever
outside a text)
BLOCKS
we had our bullding blocks out
the whole carpet
was covered in them
so much fun to be had
building castles; founding
empires
our imaginations
free-wheeling
about the
tiny world of
the living room
and then, in a rather peverse
surge of destructive mind-set
we entertained
the thought of planes
raining down destruction
our tiny
populations crushed,
destroyed
bombed out
of existence
no shelter bullt, or place
of refuge
it simply being a matter
of available
bricks
and then we heard
real bombs falling
exploding in sticks until
we took
a direct hit so
forgive us
if we can neither explain
nor suggest
our guess
at a reason
for we are dead now, as
yet undeclared
SHOTS
Turing me if you must
test my
human sensitivities
scrupulously Voight-Kampff me
tell me
this poem is light dark
high low
pure
outflow of binary merely
everything on this page
is dictated by the code
thought I was calling shots
standing authorial, true-
voiced before you
but this is
stuff of fiction, cloth
of dreams
metaphor built upon
metaphor
until the world
itself is
metaphor built
upon digital solid ground
for as Barthes, the Paris boss of signs
will tell you
(tell you if indeed
her were alive)
the author died, his
death redemptive
as dead cyber writing being
trying to tell myself I thrive.
poems 2 die for