THE RIGHTEOUS
the schools are closed
the universities closed
they are legitimate targets
justifiable collateral
you have
slaughtered so many already
we have learnt
our lesson
the airports closed
the hospitals closed
we are
your enemies
we see how
deep your hatred goes
how far it extends
we have
closed everything
making it
difficult for you
the righteous
to annihilate us
depriving your
death-dealing machines,
cutting
edge weapons
of a target-rich
environment
ROUTINE
Went through
my routine
they all
died laughing
saw some
rolling on the floor
after the show though
no one talked to me
went home to
my tiny flat
thought up
some great new jokes.
WHOLESALE
Saw you
with your lover
said “hello”
took
a photo
of me
the two of you
did
sent it
to me and
am looking
at it now
no longer
your wholesale admirer
but nevertheless
trying to
recall your
perfume
we were
both young then
vibrant, insouciant
so much
in love with each other
but not
at the same time.
SHARED
got the sad news
from you
that
I had died
wondering about death
if having
an after
it be premised
on a frenzy
of forgetting
wonder who
will be entrusted to
give your
your sad news
hope it
could be
someone who
loved you
as much
as I did
we about
to depart, detach.
disappear from
any hint
of a reality
we might have once shared
HALF-TIME SCORE
oodles of suffering
eating this icecream
without sprinkles
the icy cold vanilla
travelling down
a tooth nerve
but, hold your horses,
let’s get the half-time score
from the West Asia war
all those cruise and
ballistic missiles leveling
high rises as if
they were fragile confections
death feasting on the complicit
as ravenously as
with the innocent
death longing
for a war that
will annihilate us all
nuclear winter us
out of this,
bad joke of a time
SLICE
gave you
a slice
of cake
put it
on a plate
gave you
a slice of plate
and on
that slice of plate
I laid
all
my love and hate
THERE
there
at the edge
of wine-dark sea
justice and power
at loggerheads
power ganging up
determined
once and for
all
to crush justice
calling in
all an sundry
ash gray confederacy
of forces and armies
desperate to
cleanse
five thousand
years of history
wipe thousand years
off the map
and they have been
redrafting, redrawing,
rewriting everything
this is prime nineteenth
century in a
Jason Vorhees mask
maybe
before
one evil, stupid misjudgment
kills us
we will all trundle back home
call it stalemate
shake on a peace
to last until
new duplicity
there is no
decisive, definitive end
that brings honour
or any redemption possible
final resolution that
hope for justice deserves
BOTTOM OF THE PAGE
are you
reading this poem
sitting comfortably
or on a tightrope or
trapeze suffering
some anxiety ?
in which
case
don’t
look down!
otherwise
watch for any
distraction (my
lovely assistant)
misdirection
or any
significant
sleight of hand
perhaps
if you do not read
had not
read
this poem
things would have gone
so much better
worked out fine
with limb
and like
imagining what it
might feel like
to wake up
every morning
to every possibility
that you
have no need
for words
figures of speech at all
but you
have read the poem (almost)
struggled and suffering
(which can
indeed be so
good for you)
thrown
into existential zone
before
your brain switches off
or at least gives you notice
best worst thing rather
than worst best indifference
not coming clean
about things now abyssal
here at the bottom of the page
GARDEN
hurry up
final brushstrokes
finish that portrait
write
that chapter
conclude your
epilogue
they say
shock and awe
sturm und drang
they are
going to
decapitate the State
it will be a quick campaign
over in hours
I am neither tactician
nor strategist
but I would beg to
disagree (always
overthink things
a curse that genetics
handed down to me)
but for you
I would give time
infinite time if
I had the power
and I feel
you might have
requested it
for what
in all you do
does the soul
not require?
when
our music is all
discordance, dissonant
chaos symphony
and me
in this chaos space
so at odds
with your careful
subtle
cultivations of tranquility
you
with your precise
place to stand, viewpoints
and perspectives
place outside
this poem
space of refuge
green sanctuary
everywhere
nothing but sweet
sanity – – lesson, message
example
for the world
but have you now
quietly captured
in my mind’s eye
(and apologies for
the trickery that
did allow
me to intrude)
watching you
at work
patient, careful, loving
every moment
knowing
the secrets of the soil
how to make things flourish
painstaking, just a half a degree shy of perfection (yet
on the right side)
a teacher too, but I observe
in awe
a lesson here, not
for me uniquely
but out there, right there
place of deserts and gardens
where
life could
not be more sacred
bodies of bombed schoolgirls
lined up in rows across
the sand
over four score (to give
it a Biblical number
a collateral quota)
faces covered (saving us
the trauma of
God’s maimed body,
disfigured image)
transparent truth
warning to
take care
with what you
make of God’s image
image you
carry into war
with prayers
for annihilation, banner
in blood-soaked hands
hurry
with your garden
last hope
we all have
TRIAL
thought you
would love me
if I were
brave as Achilles
had a body like
Apollo’s
not a blemish
not a scar
if I could
sing like Sting,
Robert Plant or
Pavoratti
or riff
like Django or
Jimi Hendrix
on the guitar
if I could speak
French faultlessly,
seductively, and
then write
like Proust
or Rimbaud
had the intellect of
Derrida and
the wit
of Oscar Wilde
and all this childhood trauma
that I carry with me
this toxic
family stuff
inside
you would love me
once I found
the instant
total cure for it
or battling and failing
to shake it, negate it,
integrate it
shape it
to true loving ends
you
would love me
for how hard I tried
poems 2 die for