Tag Archives: poem

NOT TALKING

NOT TALKING

sadly poem

and film of the poem
are no longer
talking
to each other

film
of the poem
is still in embryo
stuck
in the concept stage

the scriptwriter
is trying to hook
a producer’s interest
presenting
a synopsis

everyone is wondering
how much of poem
should be
dropped, how
much embellished
in order to
produce an adaptation
that does not just
do justice but
extends, re-
interprets (without
going full
Charlie Kaufman)

metaphor
synechdoche

we can open with a tracking shot
to outdo Orson Welles or
Robert Altman

lingering seemingly forever
of each of
the seventeen syllables
all
of the three

shimmering lines

FIRST STRIKE

FIRST STRIKE

aliens havs taken control
of Parow library

they are using their plasma
weapons to take out
all the poetry
classic novels and
books of philosophy

there were
not so many
but all are now gone

this alien high command
circling the northern suburbs
in their mothership
are openly
celebrating as
a titanic victory

the human race needs
to be even more unread
dull unimaginative
and stupid

to become the compliant
servants and slaves
the great
alien think tanks
are convinced we can be

SETTING  (for JM Coetzeeon his 83rd birthday)

SETTING  (for JM Coetzee
on his 83rd birthday)

the pain
is embedded
has become
geological

so
deeply impacted
revelation is going
to be
  extinction level
be seismological

and there we are (time
as we now
    see
          thing quite unreal)

looking down from
the reverse slope of Devil’s Peak
out over the flat suburbs
(dust and sand
              of ocean reclaimed)

but your mind is
far into the interior
digging up the bones
that tell us
      pain is history;
history pain

somehow they cannot convert
your cerebral into spectacle
no technicolour out there
to match your austere

somehow
        intensity here has
of necessity to be
sharp
    and sweet

somehow
      these titanic currents, seas
meeting
        twisting, contorting

all going to
      flow ultimately
                        transformed
in that wash

for now
    so precious little melding,
blending
                                    hope
for the rude rudiments
of a comfort zone
            (plane almost scraping the
lids off shanties take offs
and landings
                      whole other, true,
South Africa
    cannot just wish away)

and there you are
                        delivered
of all our quandaries
all our questions
            bitter conundrums

absorbing the crimson sunset light
in your paradise of refuge

do you
          not think of us    recall
what was lived through?

take a
        last look our way

scan sky far
      to the West    where Sun
is forever setting

Sent from my iPhone

LIGHTS OUT

LIGHTS OUT

lights out for you
for me

lights out for us both, for
us all
to the edge
of infinity

and we haven’t even talked
had dinner together
and what
comes after

and so now we know
there ain’t no after
so wrap yourself
in your body blanket
construct
a Faraday cage

dig around to uncover
a shovel put
together a bunker

maybe unearthing
signs
of comet impacts
and lost
civilizations

all the way down
I wished we might
go down

ODDS ON

ODDS ON

bet you
don’t encounter
too many wobbly
xenomorphs
out there

coming here to conquer
and convert you
teach you
the truth
of their
unbalanced philosophy

so many equivalences between
our worlds and cultures

including our deep
religious faith
in four-
lane highways and
reality
TV the black hole of

consumption we
were created to be

GRACE

GRACE

by grace of
was saying grace straight
forty days
and forty nights

had to survive the flood
by surfing on my plate

could have
said it as
an epigram
spoken it
as haiku

no
saving grace
as every unsavoury creature

made its way to gorge its
greedy seven-
deadly self

turning our feast
into a mockery

as
bone-headed
as it
graceless gets
and raw
a ritual rhapsody

THE GODS OF FOOTBALL

THE GODS OF FOOTBALL

the gods of football
turned against us

they scripted our defeat
up there, in the stars

No. They didn’t.
I checked with them
and they swore that
they hadn’t bothered to watch
were much
more interested in
the Burrow/Mahomes match up

than teams committing suicide
via the failed execution
of a diabolically bad plan

STAR BRIGHT

STAR BRIGHT

sapphire blue star
at my window

and you with a dish full
of technicolour mushrooms
figured
even with
the blessing of Vega
this is
just too early
in the morning for
over the rainbow

but the magic in those fungi
such that
a tin-
brained man can
solve such
complicated equations
as any red-eyed billion terrabyte
wizard
locking the pod bay
or monolith
on the Moon

SHUFFLE

Shuffle through selves
as though through cards

Tarot cards
really ancient, origin
God knows where

that reek of dark
and translucent magic

and here
is the Empress, all
Aphrodite
she I was most faithful to
in the face of
steep disregard

her beauty, as you see here,
leaving me floundering
leaving me speechless

reading in the arcanas
the failures of my journey
as I cling to
this mask trying to
keep it secure as
it slides down
my face

the tragi-comic smirk
moulded there
mocking my feeble
attempts and onrushing failure
as I grope in
this swallowing darkness
for some
kind of illumination
some
kind of source perhaps there a

complete reading, a divination,
the wisdom
that I need

if there is wisdom
you always telling me
we can
find the wisdom
(so Empress-like
in everything
you
do).