poetry – Page 43 – poems 2 die for

COME TO SHOVE

models of obedience
you had
your orders
to the letter followed them

down
to what
was said but
not written
down in
the ghost print

at the trial legalese triumphed
no one replayed
the footage
no jury there
to hear the screams

these were Patriots
sons of God without whom
the city falls the Duke
is breached
we
all get tortured in our beds

and so
canonized
that pure memory
floated up to Heaven

who would have thought
history could be so photoshopped
the picture edited
truth in the cuttings
left
on the floor?

the barn burning
what
beasts of burden herded
crammed in earlier

silent now
ss they pack up shoulder
arms
bust through to
the highway

push
come to shove,
innocent for all time

BITE OF THE APPLE

BITE OF THE APPLE
“I don’t like cities,
but I love New York.”
Madonna

Men have
been blown here
before

wandered
off course,

many
(akin to Odysseus)
into the Aegean
across
the Mediterranean

so much of that culture
alive on these streets

and whilst
(slice
of life) they
while away time whittle
down the hours

Patti Smith is going
full barefoot channeling Rimbauf

someone one there too
Christianized Jew
mournful
singing the apocalyptic signs
all along the watchtower

everything with soul
heading for this harbor

cataclysm of Europe
strongest of
land breeze

what is the supreme
text that we have faith
here gets
written

skyscraper high
scrawled on every wall

PROMISED LAND

succubi
could not keep their
claws, feelers,
hands,
tentacles (the whole
caboodle) to themselves
or whatever

and she
of snake coronet and
stony glare

stood as an edifice
rock
of ages in
a desert of desire

inclined if for just
a foretaste, foreshadow,
to prostrate
herself before him

there to find her, fix her, frenzy her, feed
her,

fashion her into
something the gods who
thus condemned her
might not
fully comprehend

running those serpents
through his fingers

sifting for gold through
her every
grain of sand

turning her click back
way before history

right to the border
of all (so-called) promised land

SHADOW WORLD

like a
shadow on
a bridge in
Hiroshima

some things
are destined
to
remain

FIRE

hardly poetry
in motion

I slip and fall face-first
the ball dribbling away from me

the goal at my mercy
the very gods of association
football
begging me
to score

before that over
the bar
past the post, every
shot off
target

something askew
with my sinews
what
it just has to be

one day I shall write this
as if it were just
bad
dream
not painful reality

drafting like a maniac
on my mobile phone

I may just
out of nowhere
bring into being
a cannonball
of a poem

artifact smooth and deadly
with that force that
be the product of
mass and
acceleration

crack open any
defence readers
might prepare

(ultimate answer to
so many misfires)

CLEAR

it is the cracks and crevices
that one must probe, be eager
to peer into

willing to follow to
whatever logical conclusion
it lead to, even if this
be a crevasse

or deep marine trench
such as some
oceans be renowned for

and here I am
in that liminal space
between parking
lot and Mall
snacking on Sushi
as I stroll towards
a fast food joint

no need
to name them, they are
a household word

and there in a crack in
the new pavement
a leaf green
grasshopper
minus
a few legs getting
swept up
by a broom

same green that be as
the Kawasaki racing green
of my old
cafe racer
motorcycle

such out of
   the everyday stuff
not difficult to
spot if
   you take
a look.         can see

and me
always on the alert for
glitch in the program, mis-
quote
in the subtext

the Zen of the mindful
from
the stupor of
all that is
empty, hide bound and
mindless

razor edge thin, which
is why
we stay clear

LIKE A BILLIONAIRE

LIKE AN BILLIONAIRE

I’m shopping
like a billionaire

the app
revolutionary
the benefits fabulous

am in a digital paradise
buying whatever
I desire
purchasing everything

bonds and stocks
trusts and shares

my house full to its limits
stacked floor to ceiling

rsilways, hotels,
airports and harbours,
vast tracts
of underdeveloped land

got me feeling like a billionaire
carving up the world
on this
unbelievable app
full
of such radical potential

hundred dollar
sandwich
as yet unbitten into

there to fix my hunger
should I get round to eat.

IN THE FLESH

here’s a feast
for the ages, for your fingers,
for your life, for
all times
for
your heart and soul

in the flesh
carved from
the bone my dear
carnivours
where all is sweetest

some thing left
for you to pick at
that is quite outrageous

panopolies of cauldrons
spawning
much smoke
and music

Hell crazy indeed
these mountain landscapes of food

full sausage processes
meet off-cuts of Heaven
meaning
all you can eat

but where
would carnival be
without its underworld

the darker whose secrets
liberation
the sweeter
the taste
(and as much vice versa
as you are
willing
to hear as much
outright contradiction
as you came for today)
.
harvest, autumn
seeds and leaves
all is in cycle
all
rise
must fall

precarious all this plunder that
speaks words
of wonder

whips up
pudding praise, storm
salad of words

buffet
smorgasbord
release
your inner Viking
dormant marauder

still spinning
what gives, is this
not
eternal engine simply
infinite machine?

those modernists of yore
clattering away, force-
feeding
their typewriters

fry
what is
deep frozen (deep
fry, twice
the ice fry in batter)

prove
food for thought as to
how revolutionary
one can be

meat of an idea full
of succulent goodness something
paid the price for

off cuts and fillet
what nestles close to
the heart
attached to
the bone

a sea of food rendered
an ocean of flavour

all that is sweet bitter sour
full savoury indeed

all in the garnish, style
of the spices

the street in your food
pushed to its class
limit
stretched to
haute cuisine

feel it
in your marrow as you
ride the wild rides
eat
the squid
counter the octopus

take
a last bite

drink your last sip

time left to cure and

let
the stew brew

the rich liqueurs percolate

here’s a feast
tosink your teeth into

MURAKAMI

MURAKAMI
“you must have big rats
if you need Japanese steel”
Kill Bill, Volume 1

I read some Murakami
that we might
be on
the same page

if not
dance together
at least be able to
whistle
the same
tune

which I hear now
floating over old Edo

before
it got firebombed to death
turned to ash

rose again as fresh colossus
spreading its fingers
into how
we picture our world

GOLD STANDARD

you are
the gold standard

best
touchstone

asked for a handout
you chopped
my head off

split
the atom

stole
several body parts

oh my staccato life subject
to this debt slavery

roll over credit
what was now
roll over
play dead
or actually die

all for a few scrappy
coins in the offing
kind of
smaller
than atoms

and me
under such pressure to
edit down
this poem

get it in tune, right tone
sufficiently complicit
in every single way