AH, YES, GARETH
Ah yes Gareth
is, this, not a case
of who will
guard guardians (custodes
custodet ipse)
or that old
joke against the Reich
involving bicycle riders
and Jews
we see
how neatly education,
class and
wealth translate
into realms political as
more insidious
species of liar
as the world clamours
for democracy in the face
of every species of
fascism
I confess to be less
than entertained as your
stale brethren
by the puttering
posturings
of your pithy little pen.
ELEGY
elegy trumpeted
my sadness
painted my grief
in matt black paint
or was it gloss
or was it indigo
forest green
steel gray colour
of cold Northern ocean?
so many in mourning
at your passing
so conceited
as to think my loss
beyond bitter,
intemperately special
as if I the only one
to truly know
what an incredible being
to have
here disappeared
EXACTLY
what is it, exactly?
I try to draw a picture,
a blueprint, an organogram
in my head
every
time I think
I am close, something
tells me
I got it wrong, missed
a crucial detail
or sensing that I was
gettimg Oh
so close, changed
itself slightly, or
even completely
leaving me
as always, in the dark
exactly where
I believe i began.
WRONG WAY
do not take this
the wrong way
do not
take it all
quite so personally
the best metaphors
are the ones
you cannot help
but take personally
the worst,
the ones you take
the wrong way
are
diabolical, lethal
some unidentified metaphors
on and beneath
your radar
are winging their way
to you right now
even as we speak, shoot
the breeze, could
be angels,
might be devils
might be
arrows
soaked in love
killer envenomed
not being able
to duck them dodge them
shows
for better or for worse
they have
your number
can’t miss
about to hit
TO YOU THROUGH ME
have to confess
to not being
supremely invested
in anything
birth death cycles
blind repetition
in perpetuity
my eyes opening
for that first time
learning to ride my
bicycle
in the cemetery
doomed to retirn to re-
learn as if
on some Escher loop
believing I have
duly departed
but here
I am
returning again
and again
finding my way back
to the graves
I do remember and
each tiny
funeral chapel.
much hidden history
in every
minor variation on
pretty standard epigraph
taking them on board
as I free wheel along
the lanes
between the graves
and here I ask you
as you, and indeed
my sister
ride alongside me
to define, via differentiation,
what penetrates
and, there again,
what remains
taking a deep long draw upon
that cold Northern air
as it comes
to you exactly, if things
should vanish,
happen
to burn, if smoke recalls,
does at all remember
.
a complete, and, yes, complicated
tapestry
we all swore to finish
but never do
and me thrown by
the strangeness of each
and every queation
unsure as to
where they
came from
and how could possibly
find their way.
to you
through me
INFINITESIMAL
my desire
for you so binary system massive
so why
didn’t space time bend
everything bend
to my will
and with it,
you?
everything stop
in its tracks slow down
to extremity?
must be
what you felt for me, tiny
a void, antithetical, infinitesimal
as quantum
probability
worst case scenario
thing massive in its negativity
whole universe size
singularity
BARBED
Martians had landed
were disintegrating
every one
and everything
left, right
and centre,
the radio told us,
warned us
was very clear
on this. broadcasting
every horrific detail
we ran
for our lives
all the five boroughs,
evacuated the city
except
the stoical, smart few,
aficionados of
one or both
of Orson and Herbert
those unspeakable twins
in everything
but blood, though, well,
their surnames
spelled out that affinity
and there they were, those
apocalyptic sci fi diehards,
desperate
to get a glimpse at
a tripod, if not
an extended peek or
even guided tour
of the, cockpit
which might
just have shocked them,
seriously subverted
their assunptions
to find
these hideous, monstrous
creatures,
having an
affable, charming side,
with poetry and
painting, culture, architecture,
religion
as alien as us
on the outside, and the inside,
as human
as us too
like us
spreading their humanity
in their worst
possible
most human way.
TOMAHAWK
tomahawk
was just
an axe
but now it
fills the horizon
with death
and fire
seeking out
its enemies
there can be
no mercy
when
such is the power
EMPEROR
“The only Emperor
is the Emperor of Ice Cream”.
Wallace Stevens
Let’s get some
ices
currently spelled “iceSS”
the big esses there
to signify
exceSS
one fat lick
and you get
the instant brain freeze
you may not
have voted for
actually been asking
for
or,
iced in a trice,
may just be
three bullets point
blank through the face
catching
up with you
nine decades you
ducked them
but now they are here.
BECAUSE YOU STILL LISTEN
“My tongue betrayed me to the
butchers” Brecht
someone is listening
monitoring, eavesdropping,
looking for something
to
nip in the bud,
find full
flower
in their heart
someone listening
is about to plonk
me Adrienne
at the
dinner table
hold me hostage
vaporize humanity
whilst
we dine
all night
but truth
be told
I am quite hungry
am so hungry
haven”t eaten
a square meal
for a
thousand years
that starving
prodigal of
the parable
how effortlessly
I exceed him
what
fatted calf
was ever
sent my way
and yet
fortunate I am
compare those
who
simply died
at the very outset
or lived
through worst
of worst times
plague, famine, blitz,
slavery, torture
and every
subtle (and
not so subtle) flavour
of oppression
myself just chilling
at my desk
at school
told not to sit
exposed but
climb under, find
perfect safety
some rum run in
over the question
of missiles
blockades
and bluster
land of sun
and sugar
embracing
the red philosophy that
told America “no”
the villain’s
children’s
smiling faces
on some canned
goods in my
Mother’s pantry
(bound to
be
simply
bound to be)
day of disaster
beyond
any other
somewhere children beaming
asking “what
is thermo?”
“what is nuclear?”
would not
be beaming if they truly knew
someone is
listening got
my gist
left
me thinking
if my tongue did
betray what
is there
to say?
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