Tag Archives: poetry

TINA

TINA

law of
thermodynamics

there is no
limitless energy
              force of
Nature
    voice blasting its
way into deep space
flash-fire
        raging across
the stage

what can we say
          sometimes it takes
a humungous star
  to
    cease its star-stuff
for the curse of mortality
                    to hit home

I say star
      but it was like you
were a one woman whole
                          constellation

crafted,
        beautifully crafted
in
        such special metal
creature of
song
                        forged
in the flame
    of spirit, a truly
                    golden soul

STOCKFISH

STOCKFISH

my pieces do not flow
they are all
nut
and bolt

whilst the Stockfish pieces
swarm to devour
attack like piranhas

strip my defence down
to bare bones

there’s blood
in the water though you cannot
see it

Oh, that one day my
chess brain might
be Achilles and his Myrmidons
so brutally fleet
and adept
at butchering

slaughter without mercy
and then we shall find

out exactly what you
are made of
my artificially intelligent friend

UNBOXED

UNBOXED

chess:
so many games played
never
a masterpiece

moves missed (many,
many)
victory
falling by the wayside

and so
I do not succumb to
the joy of a world
of sheer
possibility

where every thought
of genius
lies the far side of a
blunder simply
begging to be

blunders of the kind
you can no way redeem

but here I am
sweating my way on
supposed improvement
trajectory

puzzle after puzzle:
mate in five, four,
three, two
find the best move
now plodding through

with each opportunity grasped
tiny chess revelation

this box-like wonder of a
a perfectly square game
all
blocking, line and
angle

divulging the logos
of its beauty,
glimpse of mystical infinity

unpackages the light
takes
me heart and soul

NOTES TOWARDS A SUPREME MUSICAL

NOTES TOWARDS A SUPREME MUSICAL

Wallace”s notes
towards a Supreme Musical

just because
we happen to sing in tune
together

does not have the logical
consequence we going
to get
married or
anything

as far as I can see
life is not and can
never be
a supreme musical
though the enriching
of your technicolour might
say
otherwise

might point to glorious
constellations
that don’t exist
have not
be truly conceived
of as yet

even if
the lyrics of your songs
harmonize around imagination
and supreme fiction

doesn’t mean anything
beyond meaning beyond all

meaning
any meaning at all

MOON

MOON

In my grey dressing-gown
I feel and look like Jedi

solar consciousness figure
I suppose, no daimonic
Plutonic energy
running rampant if released
all to the power of two
by two

Ah yes!
dark life dark matter
dark energy

infra-crimson spectrum emission
from the ultra quantum soup

out of which blood chaos,
quite naturally,
radical individualism
sith vicious boy emperor
you do it my way
steam punk gladiator
in colosseum 360
sensurround to
google into gorgeous
reality
every single Roman Empire
be and wannabe
under every single (or
binary sun)

so let me
meld with snake and spider
and creatures chthonic
in my rainforest
on my swamp planet
whipping up
some steaming mushroom stew

or find some shade and water
(just a modicum) in the heart
of the desert

think of oasis somewhere
in the desert of my heart

grey is ash, grey is
sombre, grey is plaster

grey is everything that
yearns to be silver

yearns
to be animate
to be animation

to be turquoise, indigo
or royal blue ocean
to
rise in triumph
on a gigantic moon.

MOON

MOON

In my grey dressing-gown
I feel and look like Jedi

solar consciousness figure
I suppose, no daimonic
Plutonic energy
running rampant if released
all to the power of two
by two

Ah yes!
dark life dark matter
dark energy

infra-crimson spectrum emission
from the ultra quantum soup

out of which blood chaos,
quite naturally,
radical individualism
sith vicious boy emperor
you do it my way
steam punk gladiator
in colosseum 360
sensurround to
google into gorgeous
reality
every single Roman Empire
be and wannabe
under every single (or
binary sun)

so let me
meld with snake and spider
and creatures chthonic
in my rainforest
on my swamp planet
whipping up
some steaming mushroom stew

or find some shade and water
(just a modicum) in the heart
of the desert

think of oasis somewhere
in the desert of my heart

grey is ash, grey is
sombre, grey is plaster

grey is everything that
yearns to be silver

yearns
to be animate
to be animation

to be turquoise, indigo
or royal blue ocean
to
rise in triumph
on a gigantic moon.

POETICA

POETICA

I wrestle with words
mud wrestle with them

take on every kind of figure
of liberation and repression;
tag-team fight with tigers
real and paper

never win however, my
career pretty awful
bereft of any victories

perhaps something
in the mud
consistently on
their side, already purchsed
to favour

when I get down and dirty
never really thought
how down and dirty
could
play so dirty

and the great gods of
our body politic bound
to cheat
as a matter of principle

anything in that sub-sphere
vaguely harmonic, barely
poetic

going to get the absolute
skew-eye when it
comes to
judicial image
as framed
smoking gun when
we go to VAR

(all that mud

they get to sift through)

SOMETHING

SOMETHING

something there
is that wants to
get in through my doors
get in
through my windows

drag me before a mirror
make a blood bath of
my resignation
iron
on iron
sharpening
massacre my comfort zone

lead me out through
the jagged glass
into dark pastures
where the Earth has
opened up
is truly volcanic
and my house, once so
safe and secure, boarded
and guarded
is now a thing that
can scarcely be regarded more
than a gutted shell

THINGS

THINGS

Things crumbling
imperceptibly changing
and not for the better
all about energy and
closed and
open systems

but bear with me
there is dynamic, much afoot
some strange principle here
amongst all these
swirling particles

and yet
they are not particles
They have only the dream of a particle the whim of a field the thought of a spectacle yes bear with me this is going to be my slowest most considered most laborious poem the one that rambles on and on and on doubling back on itself out Wordsworthing Wordsworth

I guess this is the only type of
poetry genuinely left to write

this is my Solaris Mirror Stalker deep
and dark most Tarkowski of poem

oblique, difficult
conceptually
diffuse obtuse suspicious of words that hide what the carry within them

words that are hollow
resonate with the nothing
they bear within

this is me floating Sub-Zero
this is me looking where no one else has looked not knowing what we’ll be found this isn’t me stripped of human company empathising homing in on the suffering of others the pain of others
speaking dreaming the
dark night darkness we all feel the dream that coldly informs us
there will not be
an awakening

in the centre of the labyrinth
where sonething is there for us to
show (not tell) that
consciousness is meaningless consciousness is nothing consciousness is an accident at
the heart
in the nature of things

the broken
fragmented dark energy
anti-matter

frozen violently expansive imploding heart
of things.