HOPEFULLY
wrote this poem
to change your perspective
change your
point of
view
rewire
your brain
nothing too
intrusive, nothing
too extreme
nowhere near anything
like District 9, with
what happened to Wickus
though
when it comes
to seeing things differently
hopefully, pretty
much the same
FOUND FOOTAGE
this poem is found footage
stained, bloodied,
claw marks
around the edges
words written
in a strange alphabet,
lost dialect of an
arcane language
nothing in full
focus
slowly building
up the existential dread
until
everything cuts off
abruptly
leaving you hanging
as it ends
WHO KNOWS
who knows
what all humanity lost there
what lights to lead
us into the future
were extinguished?
little lives
unlimited possibility
lost in one fell swoop
i cross the devastated lives
and, landscapes, burning
in the flames choking on
the smoke of war
watch and listen
moving steathily from
video to
video
hear that this
is all about force-feeding
the world the need
to express deliver
the fulfilment
of prophecy
arcane mish-mash
of ancient promise, necessary
alignment,
second coming and
those of exclusive,
brutal faith
sheep and goats, meek
and, powerful
those who hear themselves
called and
those who
believe what the heart
cannot but feel
so here we are
with Mary, and her last
tattered gospel
telling us what it is
that
in this dark, dark
world
keeps
the connection, keeps
us
knowing
who, what we really are
in essence,
despite everything
NEW YORK HAIKU
twenty two years
since was
in Manhattan
since then been
working ceaselessly
on writing
my New York
haiku
nothing bridge and tunnel
something right
out the island
one
hundred
percent city
figure
a year for each
syllable, a decade
for revision
forgetting about everything
extraneous, in
no way conducive
to the
realization of
the dream
I am chasing
the final
stroke of
my pen
distilling
everything
AT THE PODIUM
I talk big
at the podium
for I
have stealth
I have wings
radar guided
and direction findered
I cruise up
onto the stage
explain
that this is war
victory is everything
there are
no laws or
rules
blitz through
everything with
shock and awe
never
seen before
no need for
tactics, intelligence
or strategy
just missiles bullets,
bombs until
we have
exhausted our
stockpiles
busted our store
At the podium
I talk big
look warrior
no one
could be bigger
no one could have more
ABUNDANCE
waiting for something
to reach me
bending over backwards
to get close to light speed
nothing ruffles
gets under my skin
I start to forget
what day
it is
what the names
of the days are
whether I was born
in the year of the microwave
or year of the washing machine
too many levels
my brain fuming
maybe
it is heat
death out there
those gray cells
running low on oxygen
checking my anguished
protein levels
starved of everything
whilst if I remember effectively
we were promised energy
and abundance
the very idea seems
so out of synch now
could kill
to have
this all reframed
SOUL MATE
you asked me if
I were still
looking
for my soul mate
in turn, I enquired
about your ideal lover
and how you
would recognize this
from how
he made love to you
suggesting what I felt
on this score
providing you with
an admittedly limited
graphical illustration
which seemed
to spark something
all cylinders firing
beyond my expectations
as you rushed off
at top speed
to search for a soulmate
to match these criteria
ready
to scour the planet looking
for the rest
of your life
if needs be
TEST SUBJECT
you think
of this as
entertainment
I think of it
as a test
want to check you
out as you
navigate
stanzas
negotiate
words
to find out
whether you
have what
it takes
to read a poem
as
from the
beginning of time
readers have
read
a poem
doing poem
reading things
whether
you be
human
or
are a
poetry loving machine.
RELAPSE
here again
I relapse into
poetry
has to be
a syndrome
think I need
to get it
checked out
imagine myself
in the consulting room
being examined,
waiting upon
the diagnosis
fearing
that this might
just be incurable
a sickness
handicapping me
for the rest
of my life
ending what we
have here
on such
a downbeat
need to
write something
to provide
counterbalance
something dancing
across the page
brimming with life
WINDOW
my window open
rain
thundering down
a bedraggled cat
caught in the downpour
squeezing his
lithe body
through the burglar guards
sometimes it is good
when natural storms
hit epic proportions
takes the gloss of
political storms, global
clashes that lead
to outright warfare
show us
that little in this moment
is worth elevating
our species
lacking the tactics
and strategy
to find peace at all
my window open
the rain still raging
everything thought here
under the shadow
of getting
washed away
poems 2 die for