Tag Archives: poetry

REFUND

since the poetry tax

every haiku
is short a syllable

those
       who never
wrote a line

queuing an eternity
waiting for
their refund

and for
those who
never learn

every epic masterpiece
of rebellion
and defiance

plunging into debt
breaking the bank

let me use
sign language
to express

what words of desire
lack the feel for

short on touch

ZAPIRO

it’s no paranoia
just
bad fractals

not a tad of alien malfeasance
behind those clouds

focus
   won’t you

be like the Sun itself
passing through
a magnifying glass

observing
how a piece of paper
flapped in Parliament
(Parliament
of Parliaments)
might cause the wind
to howl
through streets shut down

a bad time idea
whose time is here

and now
only the anointed
wish to be
associated with it

loyal to
this final state
of secure being

iron wire and
tape spinning

nothing like it
even if your
paranoia run rampant

nothing in your
mind could be more off-beam

POLE STAR

Poles apart
and that gap
widening

though the melting
of the floes
bringing us closer.

So much
love in the air

you feel its warmth, are
suffused with care

drifting under
star clouds where
a break
in the grey

like you
are last chunk
of ice

once
a glacier, berg formidable

soon
to disappear, unable to
save a desperate bear

clinging
for dear life from
death by drowning

POLE STAR

Poles apart
and that gap
widening

though the melting
of the floes
bringing us closer.

So much
love in the air

you feel its warmth, are
suffused with care

drifting under
star clouds where
a break
      in the grey

like you
are last chunk
of ice

once
a glacier, berg formidable

soon
    to disappear, unable to
save a desperate bear

clinging
   for dear life from
death by drowning

BY A THREAD

my poem
is running
with the wolves

running
from the dogs

poems
always seem
to end up
chased into the forest
running from the dogs

sheltering
beneath the tall trees
trees stocked
with good wood

springy, workable,

chop/chop
                  /chop

and there you have it
a gibbet born of craftsmanship
set to hang

unless
      we cut out the middleman
let the trees themselves
do the culling, catching
chasing

me meanwhile
so desperate to
deflect
    win hearts and minds
counter-persuade
them

   I am repentant utterly
reborn to turn
over a new leaf

doing my best to change things
before the last line closes

leaves us
   between turnstiles
frozen in limbo

hanging
      by a thread, by
a single thread hanging

CANOPY

catch me
in the treetops

dodging
the attack butterflies

buzzing out
of character like
angry 109 Messerschmitts (someone
having stirred up
their nest to a frenzy of
National Socialist fervor)

below the canopy
burnt out hulks
civilizations scrapyarded

threatening the promise
of sacred, peaceful,
untroubled,
          no bumps
in the night sleep

parachutes
opening formally, things
mushrooming with
a wide radius

dreams as thick as dead leaves
as the last days of Northern Autumn
everywhere you look
littering the forest floor

THE RHYTHM

it is the
rhythm
that survives

finds its home
sets the edge
gives the tone

survives the centuries
connects the stars

lives
and dies
lives and dies

it is the rhythm
that outlasts
decides
what
stays; belongs

survives
the rhyme