SCRIPTURE

SCRIPTURE

thick smoke pouring
skyward indicating
target-rich environments

things
balanced on
a scalpel-sharp
knife edge
nuclear option
not least of all

and here I am in
the basement stack
a year before
we met
used to chat
in this exact place

half
a century ago

here I am
deep down in the
bowels of the University library
(the same
library destined
to burn)

reading
the Upanishads, wondering
about the nature
of consciousness,
transcendence and
this thing
they call the
soul

outside the thick rain clouds
hitting us with an
insane deluge
as they cross
the mountain

and
me diving deeper into
these sanskrit scriptures
(in translation)

losing all
sense of
space and time

the ghost presence of that
briefest moment
of being
together,

swirling about me
unseen, promise of
something
beyond special
never destined
to be

those thick clouds rising
above an expanse
of ferocious
flames

this is not going
to end well

chance that
what ends it
ends everything

so much
for all of us to lose,
we
played this so badly
so stupidly,

the laws of physics
that tell us
we are all
if small
matter

infinite energy
a small Sun a
flash of light of
miraculous intensity

and
crazy as it sounds, obessive
truly

the balance
slipping, tipping

thinking of you

something of the truth
of you there
in those scriptures

BOTTOMLESS

BOTTOMLESS

the deepest, darkest
place in Hell
wholly black hole
bottomless

is where
knowing
not
a
shred of
regret, not

an
ounce of
shame

shred
of regret

hypocrisy
           lies
bathing
itself

in the false
smothering
light

ultimate mirror, and
one true image

of singular,
perfect pride

THE RIGHTEOUS

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

SHARED

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

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

THERE

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

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