TOSH
I wrote a poem
in which Christopher
Columbus
steps ashore
and is
captured
by a reggae band
sent back to Spain
to convert the Catholic
Churcb
to the wisdom
of Jah
and Charles Bukowski
Jim Morrison, Jimi
Hendrix and
the Doors
managed to slip aboard
strangely, their
preferred destination
was the siave port
of Liverpool
TIMELINE
Christopher
in this timeline
never makes it
to the New World
his ships got stopped
in their tracks
by metal flying machines
with stars on the wings
and the power
to sink his
every ship
in half a second
huge metal boats
surfaced from under
the water
which appeared to
have a few aboard who
could speak Spanish
or Italian
who told him
in no uncertain terms
to return whence he came
there, upon his arrival in Cadiz,
no one would believe
his story
and even under torture
the Inquisition in Madrid
could not extract
a plausible account
and, thus, in these
grave circumstances
determined he must be silenced
the thought of such
an advanced civilization
across the Atlantic
would shake
the Church to its core
and threaten the sovereignty
of every European nation.
FROM THE MOMENT
from the moment
Christopher set eyes
upon the New World
he was plagued.
by double vision
a world not
the world he had remembered
not the world he had anticpated
it shifted
in and out of recognition
something so exceptional
about this place
whispering voice of
the Great Spirit, invincible towers,
swathes of wheat
light and darkness, darkness
inside the
light
suddenly Europe a land forgotten
the tired and huddled masses
Christopher scanning
the Eastern horizon
wondering,
stocks and shares
permitting
how many leagues their
ships lag behind
DITHYRAMB
god of the sky
god of the soil
dismembered god
reborn in the fire
your gifts:
tragedy, ecstasy,
drunkenness
curses and blessings
set our triumphs
our limitations
energy
that electrifies
energy that
destroys
you ask us to revere you
then destroy us for
doing so your song
sweet dithyramb
capturing the balance of
all our
equivalences
our dialectic
of extremes
all our pain, intensity,
destruction and desire
AND BUTTER
you butter
your bread
with genocide
got genocide
sizzling
on the stove
take it with
milk and three sugars
the taste
to sweeten
swing your fat arse
into the studio
there to pontificate
argue
the toss
(toss
the argue)
that genocide, by
very definition,
ia a crime
against humanity
that can never
be said to exist
GREY
I fell into a deep
Hamlet-like sleep
I couldn’t rember dreaming anything
unless it was
of constantly correcting
himself
to ensure we were
in absolute agreement
when I waxed eloquent
talking complete nonsense
about the number, nature
and colour of the planets
and whether we were
real historucal figures,
characters in a play
or figments
in a dream
red planet
yellow planet
blue planet
green planet
orange planet
a whole rainbow spectrum
of coloured planets
.
and yet
life
is prison grey.
BIG
your hat is too
big for you
better get
your head
to grow
for hats
do not shrink
of their own
accord
and
logic dictates
(current logic
to which we are obligated)
since you
cannot buy
a replacement head
to fit
your hat
it must shrink
or grow
SLAM DUNK
mindset to mindset
not yielding an inch
not conceding
a point
leaves me confused
as to whether this is
chess or all-in
-wrestling
we find ourselves
confronted with
with chess no rips and
tears and broken bones
deadly
serious this game
hardly spectacle: so
poorly choreographed
posture and
bluster
in the same league hardly
TAO
solid lines yang
moving lies yin
I was pretty fat
(both)
outside
and in
but now
am suspiciously thin
in both
substance
and being
when not having managed
to squeeze my
way
into a
poem
for as in a poem
so the I Ching
as in the I Ching
so a poem
these the wind chimes
that must have tinkled
in the great
Leo mind of
Mr Carl Gustav Jung
real lion mind
that loved
to devour everything
reduce us
to some vast
expression of the cosmic
you are huge
but uncomplicated
archetypal by
nature
archetypal
by creation
the music of this oracle
reeling him in
caught like a fish
though
Leviathan he is
BACKYARD
I did not sweat
through the missile crisis
I was too young, had
no idea where Cuba was
and it was too cold
testing an old siren
outside our school
fun
sitting under my desk
practice
making perfect
that cold cold bipolar
war
one wromg move
could get every bomb
from Kalinin to Siberia
heading for
my face
every American base
.
but that’s geopolitics
and the worst of ideology
Oh
beast, non-
beast
bestial, non-bestial:
wish there were a switch
to flick or dial to turn
to shift us, bounce
us between polarities
would be good for my
Mars in Aries issues, get
my return
blow in first forgo
and concentrate
on kindness
and diplomacy
and not stacking my missiles
or my anti missile missiles
right in
your back yard
poems 2 die for