Tag Archives: poetry

SHAPESHIFT

SHAPESHIFT Jung saw it archetype before his eyes come alive from light to darkness we can all shapeshift learn so much from shadow so much from the light carry that darkness as deep memory inflicted upon it ss always shapeshifting its essence into imagined gods creatures of pure archetype absolutely mistaken, basking in the horror of our own darkness so convinced they own the light are very embodiment of the light true terror of which no one can describe

OLD JOHANNESBURG

OLD JOHANNESBURG

waiting by the roadside
in old
       Johannesburg

maybe
     resurrection
will
     befall me

maybe redemption
will come my way

failing which
              perhaps

a circus or carnival will
come
     round the corner

sweep
    stubborn old ideologies
off the street

as serious joke or
perhaps just giggles

a parade of Zizeks
tumbling past me as if
Red Square
           comedy

where figures from the
Commedia del Arte
are here
       to replace tanks

look
   seriously at the world and
it suddenly goes
Toy Town

confirmation bias
on open display for
everyone to see

      fat
conspiracy here:
buses passing every few minutes
not stopping for everything
the drivers
             believe

waiting for the curtains to open

waiting for the means
transport a boardgame
           on my back

set
of lewd Cluedo
              for whomsoever might
wish
to join me

help me
to survive
life on a billiard sphere

hustling to get by
wanting to be Master
always
      a slave

waiting for the lights
to darken

have
lost the book
in which
I was made
        

****

after a
while

everything
slithers

snakes and
ladders

perhaps better to
devote time
to generating boardgames
rather than
squandering my existence
writing
    poetry or composing fiction

****

bumper to bumper stacked together
owe it to them

    to not close my eyes,
keep looking

or everything before me
will disappear

and this funeral procession
miss its target

some poor
exclusive dignitary

about to skip his rendezvous
with captivating tombstone
of proportions extreme

so much here
so mechanical

yet so many
vital nuts and bolts

****

bureaucracy
is horror

      bureaucracy
              is death

I sat with
Slavoj Zizek

through yet another sunset
telling jokes

about philosophers
telling jokes and
    the end of the Universe

(not that this necessarily
implies a causal connection)

today the lawyers
of old and new Johannesburg
are
   heading North
with a holy bone to pick.

I sat by the roadside
     play after play

oodles of
         words, scenes,
dialogue
                                even

             still in my head

ghosts of tales
still
     to be told

            (media marvels yet
to unfold)

old Johannesburg

WEAVER BIRD

WEAVER BIRD

always on the farm:
flash of bright yellow
across my
      line of sight

furiously at work
building their nests

chirpy
masters of
twig engineering
       brandishing their
golden purpose

meanwhile, since we
are on the subject of
nest-building
       and things
with wings

let us observe old Nick
leaving his helo
having just be ferried

from quite distant shore
to Mediterranean ship

pausing a moment to
stroke brash steel,
sculpted aluminum

of the true
spirituality of the war machine
lover
     extraordinaire
paramour to the extreme

blowing kisses to his image
where
    reflected in such surfaces

every drop of bloodlust
contained in booklet form
in jacket
      inner pocket

there
     blueprint
              of a world gone skew

slavery redeemed
   refreshed anew

Sun
   itself

blind to the glaring ironies

so much
       to fix with

all this weaving

.

TUXEDO

TUXEDO

tuxedo
is name of
the game

you file your suit
hoping
     to agree
of definitions

promise not to fight
over whether
this or that
homonym
accidental or
         intended

all puns here
quite intended

but here they all are
creatures
      of the South
my fellow-travellers

fat portfolio in their satchels
speaking in each codicil
humanity out loud

arguing
      that a single sluk of
this evil
can
    erase angelic face
pollute the God-given concept
of eternal, outright righteous

hold mirror up to Emperor
to deconstruct
      all mind of god

yes
   a time when
courage must be superhuman
to vouch for
           civility, decency

to put us on the spectrum of
one indivisible being

and this to argue
          before history, in
tuxedo

lest the lie, the quite lie
the brutal lie, the truth
denying
        crushing line

find its path to become supreme