poetry – Page 5 – poems 2 die for

LIVE YOUR LUXURY

live your luxury
your life of luxury

would strongly advise
(were it not so
flagrant a contradiction)
that you
live
it deep

and so then, on the other hand,
let me warmly recommend
that you indulge
it shallow

revel in its shallows
as extravagantly as
can possibly be

no need
to feel the edge
anyway, anyhow

best repudiation
of that stupid FWN idea
of living dangerously

ALL OUR CURRENT

All our current
antichrists

happen to be worse by far
than the archetype back there
in the Book of Revelation

all our latter-day demons
more demonic in essence
than any cast out
in holy parable or
Biblical Tale

and these in
plain view or
under government top secret

but truth
will out
so just
scratch the surface

with flesh-cutting scalpel
used in sanctioned
medical experiments

on the maruta of
Pingfang, or the Polish women
at Ravensbruck

or, closer to home, the
hypodermics used in
the bastion of democracy

to inject the other with syphilis,
give people
their plutonium shots

hunting for the mirror
in which to see their own depravity

the immunity given
to these pioneers
true
demonic complete redemption

all our current antichrists
God bless them all this Easter.

EASTER POEM

despite the presumed blasphemy
sending the Sadducees
into the Mother of all spins

he did not deserve that
enemy of the State
spectacle of completeness
in both power and extinction

for what danger ultimately,
were you to Rome

history would show
you were
a great fit
for each other
the helping hand by
which all things dovetail
all is reconciled

and
yet

that time under the flail, feeling
the nails
the body crushing itself
under it’s own weight
and death
the luxury that poverty
might long for, slavery absolutely
craves

foundation of power
too integral to be
profferred freely

having to be
teased out as only torture can

that time upon the cross
when first we heard
from those who
saw
at the moment of
expiration, time itself gone
beginning of beginning
ending of ending

IF DONALD TRUMP HAD WRITTEN THE ILIAD

nobody knows who is losing
who is winning
where the battle lines
actually are

before the actual fighting started
the plan was to sneak attack
using the power
of the gods to
assassinate heroes and leaders
leaving (great for epic)
only the cannon fodder

but bigly will be
(we are promised,
and it is already in the blurb)
the epic
similes

the thousand ships
that sailed
to take back
Helen

assuming they
were headed to Mar-a-Lago
via Epstein island

across
a bubbling orangeade
bright sea

a poem for not just
all times
but way beyond eternity

the Nobel
Prize for Literature
a certainty

ON GOOD FRIDAY

Too much oscillation
for conviction

too much division, diversion,
for anything like unity

even so, I think this day of days
is the one to preach
a need for resolution

day we,
not just symbolically,
supremely symbolically,
died
and were reborn again

so much that is secular
to think and say this day

for those
not at Mass

not watching the final scene
with Bob Hoskins staring
at Pierce Brosnan’s
pistol
Irish Republican and
Gangster Empire

have to wonder this
Good Friday
when that twain
shall ever meet.

MASTERPIECE

those meticulous lines
so clear under
the desklamp
in the light,
a masterpiece

nothing at this high level
possibly frazzled,
sublimely repressed

I wonder
how they look
8n the shadow
what happens to
that cross-sectional
perfectly angular shading

when in state of shadow
things leak into each other
diametrically blur

one step away
from the beginnings of
the jagged the wayward,
the ice-engineered,
the downward spiral

and me
playing chess against you
crushing you in a few moves
even when my
game is
inadequately considered,
too unpolished, simply linear,
absence of
tactical wizardry in
my pedestrian play

Oh fathers, wish it were the case
that sons
caught in deadly duels
with them in
the underbelly of
cloud cities (which
some architect had to
dream up
ex nihilo)
knew as they traded
blow for blow
what lay behind
that steel mask

to give you your due
you were the master of
everything out there
in here
that comes in three dimension

new how the tools cut
to your drawn specifications
could make
the thing conceived of
exactly

when it comes to you
and I however
no worse joke
than the one of tooling
to make
the one of match of object
and its conception

how could you have got it
so wrong fucked up
every single
measurement

and yet
think me grateful having
been produced this way
your masterpiece

STRONG STORY

it’s said you have to be
Julius Caesar
or Genghis Khan

to dissuade the world
from trampling you

chaining to a post
dragging by a collar

when the law
is twisted,
both big
and small

and not
to your advantage

unless
you change
the plot
write story strong

take Gaul
for yourself, and
fabulous wealth

if not
the whole of Asia

THIS WAY

those meticulous lines
so clear under
the desklamp
in the light