Tag Archives: poem

OF BELIEF

OF BELIEF Thought I should write love poem to (and for) the world but it probably will not end how I think it should how i wanted it to thos is the issue with creation never turns out how you hoped or thought and there is no going back to the drawing board Oh the architecture happening right now in my brain, my head, lying naked on the bed in my tiny house on this farm curtains closed lights left off (even if out of loadshedding but a moment before) imagining I could just rachet up the sensitivity and feel the flowers grow hear them breathe and talking (thinking) of nakedness, my dear, is yours not overdue? but hold that thought even worse news from the Middle East streaming in pictures of Dantesque horror words of insanity, of satirical vulnerability everything up to the max pushed to extremes (not what Aristotle was thinking what he figured on teleology would derail poor Socrates in his project of self-knowledge and moral sphere) things here so naked, exposed in all their ugliness (by every metric) bleak intensity things the world of the farm would not believe and so naked as I am speaking to you calling out to you wondering what your good self might make good or best and even better in whatever illogical gradation fullness of our together might sway the nature of belief.

LINE OF SIGHT

LINE OF SIGHT

you are
missing my poem
it is
not

in your line
of sight

and dumb ordinance
not guided
no matter how
much you drop,
you fire

not
a single hit

and, to labour
the point,
furthermore,
this is not
the terrain for
attac
at high speed

all
turret
and tracks

and so
always begging
to differ

I feel I must ask
who has the firepower
here mustered
to put a dent
in the word, the living
word

surgically, single shot,
put that light

out
in an instant

make
a confirmed kill
for once

in this rubble

over and above
all that is wholesale
decayed, false flag

lying
through its teeth

not
best
for rebuttal

this ricochet from the truth

RUIN

RUIN smooth so smooth we aiming at connection, continuity, threading stars together but across that ancient sea another Troy is burning a people scattered a tale to be told a tale of legend a tragic tale where the gods stood idle those that did not brutally interfere so smooth in this moment of possession and yet we thinking cannot help but think of all that we know of this civilization stacked with heritage and yet centred on all that defines us in these myths and legends of Troy and Carthage Alexandria and the Levant ploughed under, erased by the victors we seek out that history from the depths of their ruin so smooth so smooth the stars that brought us here

OUT OF WORDS

OUT OF WORDS a poem came floating by blessed song and me so ravaged, stunned, out of words whispered to me tales of terrible war of superlatives litanies of pain, of agony and yet promise that somehow, sometime all will be restored the great theatre of the stars still speaking even through the smoke of the sky whispering that the tragedy can turn become our great final human comedy once, at last, we begin to understand so many broken souls wishing to take themselves far away out of words a poem came floating by

STRINGS

STRINGS truth beauty the puppet moves, speaks I pull a few strings not my usual bag to first cause anything but when it talked slanted, funny, out of the side of its mouth I bore a hole through its wooden brain put a shot through its temple when I peepd through the hole not exactly suffused in wisdom or, since you request it, resonant with your symbolism guidimg to the light the overwhelming light

MONSTER

MONSTER

the mirror
is always there

follows you
screams at you
to keep looking

a mirror monster
may just
step
through

and you
sitting with your calculator
using calculus to
broach
the number of atrocities

you need to fit every piece
into the puzzle

see the landscape restored to
how you have always envisaged it
how it
has never been, perhaps
(logic, splitting fragmenting even
as we talk
through this)
will
never be

and the mirror monster at last
smothered under the holy rock
and stone of
countless tiny mountains
of atrocity

so many bones the foundation
of the Everest you are building

it is death zone up there
upon that glorious peak

WRONG

WRONG

you have
us wrong

you do us
wrong

we are not
the head or leg
or foot or
arm of this

thing or
the other

thpugh we may
undsrsand them
better than
you do

understand you too
better than you

understand yourselves

who once gave us
a weapon
    to destroy ourselves
.
across a chess board in
the endgame

all of one player
use it
     to anniliate all
of the
other

except, by
grace of God and
the smarts in our head

you saw us
     met us in court
               working together

despite your insults and
cheap shots

so clearly
    to your detriment

unless you learn
      what we have you learn
would teach you good

the way is bad
                  but there is another