poetry – Page 226 – poems 2 die for

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

sorry
for interrupting
your poem to

tell you about
this sensational offer

we will
in future allow
you to claim rewards for
poetic miles travelled

imaginative experiences
emotional
transfigurations

all of these
we shall reward

and more
and more

and
more

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

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

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

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 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 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.

FLAMETHROWER

got job as
gardener

put a flamethrower
and (Zyklon-B
out of stick)
gallons of
agent orange
in my hand

can’t believe what
happened to this garden:
not a single rose
red or white to
fight
hack to death over

what the Hell since
my ancestors invaded
has happened
to this place?

Oh they brought you silk
they brought you cotton
brought you
Asian and African wisdom

brought you Rolling Stones
Kinks Zeppelin
and Beatles
(same river
wound its dark way
past our homes)

and now I must massacre
weeds to save
the bowling green surface
recite Prufrock under
the collapsed
gazebo

once walked the streets
with Swift and Pope from
Ashton to
Rusholme

once
       when the youth stuck a
big fuck you
    through lips and nose
deconstructive style
               meaning anarchy baby

death throes felt
       that we all must
             surely see

fuck you-s through

GLOW

walked into the Cafe

fish in the tank
had an unearthly glow

no one else seemed
any the wiser

seems it is
the privilege of being born
twelfth sign
to read this text
devise the code

and see with eyes
pure Old Testament

but as we
enter this establishment
scan, reconnoitre,

see this bunch of executive media
types crunched around a table
talking District 9
or possibility of TV follow up
with talent competition and
fun rides

I could pitch them my talent show
all of them
contestants, nobody survives

and the fish trying to sell me something could it
be a (fish)fingerprint of the gods tale of
Antarctica hiding
Atlantis

love these lost cities when feel lost
in the city, lost in my own mind

should write an alternate history in which
my ex-wife led a revolution sending me
and my kind South
to Antarctica

where
there are alien space bases, lunatic
fringe has it

me and
my kind I do not have a “kind”

milk of
human kindness milk of my galaxy

spiral nebula in my coffee could be Andromeda

hurtling towards us
take billions of years to get here,

Greek mythology certified, sweet extinction on its way

I know
you know
I glow
you glow

twin slit experiment you wave me away

ONE ONE

Gary has scored!
Gary has equalized against
this team from the thirties
he spun, hit his shot and
it went in on
the rebound after
taking a deflection

but now they say
he should stick to
punditry, stick
to scoffing crisps

and they want the goal
disallowed, they demand
a recount
insist there must
be a referendum
on the decision from VAR

so Gary’s goal will be disallowed
and what sinks must carry on sinking
there are wave machines
to sort this out
and full fan hatred
shouting singing.

Tag Archives: poetry

NOTES TOWARDS A SUPREME MUSICAL

MORE

MOON

MOON

POETICA

SOMETHING

THINGS

FLAMETHROWER

GLOW

ONE ONE