poetry – Page 242 – poems 2 die for

FOR THE GODS

FOR THE GODS

“which to Angels look like torment and insanity”
― William Blake

Made in the divine image
(thus
fabricated)

but how come
we get
so demonic

allow ourselves this
most poisonous pleasure

succumb to the devil
in us

from
time to time
to most
apocalyptic
of times

all the time
(that
divine image getting
pretty mutated)

and then (stop me
and contest this) when

we think the divine
we get
so divisive

cannot tolerate difference
become uniquely genocidal

and so
here the question begging
to be asked (so
superb in
question-
begging)

which of all these
blood-soaked, blood-
spattered
images

is the one with true sanction
the one

from above?

All
from

below
equally above.

MORPHOLOGY OF MARTIAN

MORPHOLOGY OF MARTIAN

let us
invent

an ancient language, lost
for millennia

call it “Martian”
let us
construct a grammar
divine a morphology

a language that will
refuse to lend itself to
the trite
and the trivial
bend its form and structure
in the service of evil

like all the languages do
on the planet right now

giving propagandists their
dark joy
in the fabrication of oppositions
construction
of hierarchies

building of pyramids and towers
to mask
diabolical schemes

no let our language
dispense with all gatekeepers

show itself truly generative,
supremely transformational

in its very acts of creation
turning to the galaxy
to glean
from every language,
every spoken
written tongue

downtrodden
and suppressed

UNDESERVED

UNDESERVED

take it away
take this away
keep
well to yourself
I refuse to read rhis
we refuse to read this

you have nothing
to sell
you havs sold everything
this poem is immired in
bloodshed and murder
holy lies,
false propaganda

the slaughter of poets
right next door, through
the barbed wire

right outside
your secure (impossibly
insecure)
contrived
golden cage

take them awsy
these poems, your writings
this so-called poetry

forgive me
forgive us

if we give them
the contempt we feel

where you tell us images,
symbols,
metaphors

we see
only blood, find only
complicity

no matter how much you
tell yourself
do everything human
and barely human

to convince us
it is
undeserved

and so

plesse go

we csn suffer you no longer
take your sad, broken
failure of
a Muse with you

and
just disappear

AM

maybe
it’s because
I rashly ingested
exteme amounts
of caffeine

I found it in my nature
to come over all cummimgs

completely kine-
sthetic
shot-gunning like
a olive-grey black mamba

all over
the page

fang-sharing, snapping
left,
right,
and centre

as if oozing deadly venom
(which
in a sense, of course, I am)

FIELD THEORY

FIELD THEORY

a thermonuclear blast
that’s real loadshedding for you

have to
figure out
lightning, atoms,
electromagnetic field
how they connect
what
is the exact interplay
between the four forces

all this at
a University

built
from twigs
and leaves

so much needing
to be re-
invented

not least
ourselves

DALI BREAKFAST

DALI BREAKFAST

nothing quite says
“Dali dream breakfast”
than a few octopus
tentacles and a
bowl of red squid

eaten inside
a divers
helmet

other octopi
and squid
swimming around
the helmet

peering inside
shocked,
horrified at

the
surreal shock show

yet by no means
as surreal as other reality TV

IN THE MIRROR (HEAL)

IN THE MIRROR (HEAL)

in the mirror
we were

all together
all beautiful

luxuriated in a joy
that could not
be real

took me
time to grasp
how here
were sown the seeds
of an
impossibility
that was
our destruction

needed to
read Alice, see
the Matrix

sit on your couch for ours
as you teased out
every tumour

in my consciousness

and then, no doubt too late,
I began to heal

UNDERWORLD

UNDERWORLD

it is a war on the underworld

and so
they burn everything

and so
they burn the sky

the shades of heroes
long gone stare
across
the river
in supreme disbelief

not since
the Children’s Crusade

has an army of the tiny
mustered to cross

souls
that did not
have a chance to live

REFAAT

REFAAT

so now
they have resorted
to killing poets

because
the pen is mightier
than the sword
it is said

and they took that literally
and
as is well known
James Bond carries
his old Q branch
speciality
of rocket-
launching pen

nothing
more deadly

which
you know,
       we know

every spy agency knows this
it is something that
military intelligence
                even one
caught false flag asleep
at its post
has prepared for
extensively
trained for
exhaustively

knows
only too well

and how can
target
be a poet

if they are all animals?
that is the syllogism for you
to
take to heart
the
reactive-armour
heart they
gave you

as you plough through
guilty humanity
steel-skinned in
your Merkava
kampfwagen

hunting for the tunnel
will take you down to Hell

where
poets, great poets,
will all be waiting

to raise a few things,
take issue with you

by hook
or by crook

endeavour to persuade you
that there is
something in
this voice, about
this speech
that justifies itself

WHEN NC GOES MISSING

WHEN NC GOES MISSING

when Noam Chomsky goes
missing in M. I. T. they will
all say
end of an era
I will say
end of a planet

and
we will both
essentially
be correct

though my
feelings on the matter
might be difficult to
express
might struggle with
all sorts of
gatekeepers
internal and external

battle to find both
the voice and platform
in which and from which
to express this

eternal battle: beyond good and evil
(as Uber-Fred put it)
fight to
the death and
beyond death

between
the politics of print
and
creativity of grammar

Oh we all await
our day of reckoning
but how we
characterize them
so fundamentally
different

no rapture for me please, nor
May Day square tankfest

but to see you
on the podium confirms
grace
of intelligence
intelligence of grace

so much silver hair there
and beard

who now has the audacity
to argue the toss
for supremacy
of golden?