Tag Archives: poetry

STICK

STICK

stick to atoms
it is what
you are good at

how can you
escape being
miniscule
if this
is what
you are?

but
big bang too
your soul
ready to mushroom
in power and
glory up
to Heaven

shimmer of light
and
   no one
is home
connection
is fried

but something even
smaller
    hard tp pin down
stick (that
word again) a
detailed
label upon

this smaller that you
dissolve into
gives
    me a
crazy map
down into your
possible probable
sides

and what binds us
has us
    moving, swaying as
one
   in the wave dance
of all that is
suspended between

so-called real and
          so-called unreal

idea
   and its every outcome

we quietly, despite
ourselves working in this

the pieces
             finding themselves
in place

chaos
       and perfect
symmetry
      

SAME PAGE

SAME PAGE

sorry reader, nothing for
you today
     I’m om strike with
the other poets
over fair treatment

do you not see the barrier
here in the middle of the text
where it
         says “picket line”
and begs
you not to cross it?

not just pens
and paper and AI assisted
wordprocessing programs

we have
to seize
the means of production

without
      full autonomy over
the forces of creation

where would we be
where
      would we be?

not between
here and the deep
             blue sea but

right
at the bottom of it
just like drowned Percy
Bysshe Shelley
     pretty much a saint
in this trade

so
deadly serious (that
you convinced yourself was
all about
    markings and meanings
whiff
    of ink
     on a page)
 

FLESH OF THE FAITH

FLESH OF THE FAITH

some buffoon
they call and
who calls
himself
a philosophy
slipping between
jokes
   and profundity
fires away

name of the game
dance
    of truth, not
so easy to work out
the steps
   world and self what
they want to say
for themselves
despite themselves
so damn intricate
so hard to
    pin down when
in this labyrinth every
level brings
fresh layer
  of deception

and why
must he always
touch
   his nose?

is that some
kind of tic, sign of
secret brotherhood or
silent spiritual homage
to H and L and
M his
   forebears and yes,
masters

meanwhile I am continuing
this badly scripted
life story
   my tale of desire
full of
twists and turns but
no story to speak
of itself

an iron wall
    dystopian stuff with
digital chip on
the shoulder, chip
in the brain patriarchal
body guards
stretching between my
heart and its object
wherever that
object, whenever it
should
   come into being

that the motor, engine of
everything should
be loss
   and distance, incompleteness
and sadness

great for Slovenian
thinker, South African poet,
though
    getting it down in all
its harrowing
complexity
      could be an industry
might
not
    keep your warm at night
(flesh
    of the faith to
deeply
    hold on to) may
not even pay the rent at all

JUST MAYBE

JUST MAYBE

maybe
if was just
bad juju

maybe you ran
into an electronic storm

your SUV cartwheeling
from zero to eighty
in two
     point seconds

one day
we should sit down
put our
   heads together
talk
   about it

that is if the Fates
let you live
your soul
      neither ascending
or descending
to
place of absolute rest
in a mind-
blowing shower

of hideous,
deadly,
fundamental sparks

MADAME FRANKENSTEIN

MADAME FRANKENSTEIN

hi Madame Frankenstein
you were
bolt out
of the blue

jolt
to my system

electricity is life:
     well our skynet cyborg
future could
not have proved that
more conclusively

and there you
all agog, in state of
supreme sublime horror
to see the face
of your
our
science fiction

of which you are
thd undoubted queen

BEYOND BELIEF

BEYOND BELIEF

poetry
is carbon footprint

it is my
considered impression
                            that

whichever way
you elect most carefully
to slice
     and dice it

Mr Wordsworth Wordsmith

poetry is truth
            raw heart-
beating truth

and so
     carry on regardless,
living your life of forge-
and-foundrey, lathe
and plane,
hammer and
chisel
       metaphor

I’ll stick to my position
close my ears to your
never
      gets new   no way
open to revision
(with
      surgical aural faith
grace and
precision)

stamping this on
all that I rhyme, all
you
   cannot recall,
still
   fail to see:

poetry is
truth
   
true
    imprint

poetry is that
        thing with

power
beyond belief