Tag Archives: poetry

PASSPORT

PASSPORT

I lost my passport
to the land of atrocity

sadly,  sadly,
so wanted to go
to internalize such evil

the kind which a single
eager-to-learn human being
needs
    to take on board
in order to slaughter and
destroy
    every person on the planet
wipe out the species
in pure, divine,
fully transcendental,
ultimate expression of
creative joy

KINDERGARTEN

KINDERGARTEN

sirens in the kindergarten
not for lunch
but as everything
beginning with
the letter B
is about to attack

some chuckle-face
throwing himself at Miss
asking good-naturedly

how do you spell “conventional”
how you write:
with the one
true God on our side, it is
with sadness and
profound regret
I have
    just given the order
pressed the button
for nuclear attack

Miss,
    face ashen,
wondering what, if  anything,
will ever written again

YOUR STORY

YOUR STORY

the moment I stepped into
your boudoir, your bower
your magical
room
beyond all rooms

down otherside the main road

way
below the University
due South
of the Mountain

I realized our story
might be wonderful
but we
do not share
the same fairy tale
are of
misplaced and
out of key archetype
as genre goes
along that spectrum at
opposite ends

and yet for an instant that
branching moment of
entanglemen
of which the great
tale of
quantum tells

we looked at each other giddy
with the spectre
of possibility
and yet

not with the power to
rewrite, retell

do that zany, sexy Zarathustra thing

of breaking moulds
redefining all that hitherto
we were
and believed
about ourselves

SCRAPS

SCRAPS

the spiritual ones
burnt the great libtary

came with their torches
under their god Emperor
a huge holy mob
blessed with the knowledge
of the splitting of
the atom

which art now lost
sadly forever never
again such
sublime
    destructive power

all that remains of that
great wisdom, great
human
      knowledge of
such apocalyptic potential

reduced to ash, molecules,
scraps

GUITAR

GUITAR

my telephone beeps
it does
not speak

it tells me
her message is here
was
   holding my breath

but now
I can breathe

this is what she wrote
fingers that once
tippy-
toed now

dancing across
the keyboard
         express
delivery

heart to
      heart

(would those nimble
fingers were
here

plucking my strings
                   playing me like
a rock guitar)

HONEY

HONEY

do not presume
to tell me
what
is forbidden

is the sky
forbidden?
the sea
the Sun
you

yourself
    forbidden?

are all the things
in your book
of prescriptions
             ultimately forbidden

what of honey
is that too,
forbidden

bees may sting
but the make it freely

as is the case
with honey, your honey

it is the sting
itself that makes it what it is
defines it as honey

and so please
before you
close the gates
shut
   the hive
lay the mines
      string the wire

as a matter of gentility do
tell me what is forbidden
point to
     what is forbidden
in all this honey

that I might discover
taste
    and judge

decide for myself

EDGE

EDGE

edge is always  brutal.
cutting
    like a blade
.
this we know, how
it has
   proved to be
.
in your history, my.
history
   all our history

the blood on our faces
our hands.
    what we have to share

there, look see!, the cossr
and beyond the cost
the lie
    of the land

let those voices speak
they have
    to speak
can tell a tale of what  was
said promised proclaimed
and how
   that all panned out

those with the feathers
and those with the powder
fire
   and with steel

those with feathers dead
lost
  before the war began
.
and we who do
   believe we
have studied violence from
when it
   first began

have the calculus of slaughter
down to a fine srt

fear
   not a people alive but
a people’s demons
rising
    with their death

displacing our demons
ot teaching
     them a darkness
we
   cannot defend

GOSPEL

GOSPEL

gospel be
someone will find me

piece it all together
with metaphysical sellotape

some words here
proferring their services
as hooks
to hang things on

put you in the fabled position
to decide if it
is not
without value
perhaps worth saving

keywords here
      in abundance
(but there again,
etymologically, what
is
   a “bun dance”)

sounds erotic
he said
     little fellow entirely
who speaks in my head

so much we
might call outerspace in
its ethical nexus

sun rising
    wrong way round

something way way off
beam
  on the horizon

the pages
fading (you thought
that stored
in your heart
your
   digitized brain
they would
last all eternity
.hallmark

of a stupid
utterly dominant species
to get things
wrong
   again and again

every thinker first
name Karl
      harping on that thesis