Tag Archives: poetry

BUNDLED

BUNDLED

and so I bundled
it up
my
lost soul

in some
old cabbage leaves
we (as a family)
could hardly scare

still somewhat green
they were
   and likely to remain

though by no
means as green

as blossoming orchards,
rich fields or
(real
   or counterfeit)
stacks
   of new money

AJAR

AJAR

white smoke
blank smoke

suddenly stymied
something is ajar

or it is just
that it seems so
need to
    turn true scholatic
to question its quidity

and then habeam
everything geared to go

clocks
                bells
and whistles

rerum
   novarum      this will
               be no re-run

the new Vicar
    (born under
the virgin at
least
stellar sigh of)

critically
testing the steel of a halberd
with his shepherd’s finger

new light in waves incarnate
as particle
          this city within
a city
dovetailing itself into the heart
of the city of cities

paradigm for everything
we admire, everything we fear

first as myth
then as bad fairy Tale

the one where
a door is denied and
we
   are prisoners of time

black smoke white smoke
a city
   so divine must
find room for confession

that old river flowing
forever recycling the great
shapes of
     virtue, obedience and power

dawn
a thing
      we need
to
conduct as experiment

old medieval truth
not without fire

OFF THE MAP

OFF THE MAP

you lovd to frustrate me,
fire at me,
play sexual politics
strike true anti-colonial poses
revolutionary stances
in the bedroom
and pretty
much everywhere else

slide of lathe
recoil of the typewriter

hostile gestures of
a body
at large

naked in its knowledge
stripped of all pretension

the cement set to
seal the concrete of
your foundations
still
   bottom of the harbor wet
as absurd
  a lockstep as you
might
   manage to get

Oh, you say, Medusa eyes
fastening upon me

we are that absurd
complete creature whose
permanent state of ecstasy
no god
    or goddess could withstand

absurdly un-Platonic in the
daft contours of its beauty

and Aristophanes (for
it was he) rueful
of this
    surgical separation even
if carved
by divine hand

at one stroke a lost comedy
and hydra of philosophy

from Socrates to Nietzsche
the words of
the mind to
     bring merciful spin
to
   the painful ontology
premised upon

that forever division
distinction

chasm
   in the heart of desire
between woman and man

****

SMALL

here be
magic mirrors

reality killers
things Harry
Houdini found
in the book
of Thoth

magic they are
mirroring their means

but your inner
weather being stormy
heart
    cloudy
they show only shadow
an
  essential condition

and here we have
halls full, a glade
mirrors
   covering, mapping
an entire topography

every mirror
giving room
for reflection, a room
a boudoir that
is a reflection upon
all
that is
hidden perspective

room within
a room
tesseract mirror
containing its
own reflection

and you
with pencil and paper tasked
to sketch
   this truth in
myriad dimensions

all
  unfolding
in real time

tiniest of spheres, indeed
infinitesimally small

yet
  containing the Universe
containing every everything

****
DOWNSIDE

feel I am
going down

bound to get
relegated

have already fallen
half the distance
of any
  dark angel

down a division
in fact
   every division

imparting a whole
new meaning to
the word
“relegated”

but if
jury is already out
and what be
must be
   (to the tune of
Helter Skelter no
lesser
   lovey-dovey tune of
Messers Lennon
         and McCartney)

into that place far from self
from the centre
from
   the presence of
God (here I go with Augustine,
father
     of Bishop Prevost lately Leo)

but not
     for pride or for wrath
or envy
    (or my worst, sloth)

but simply, honestly,
inescapably
     for lust

for lust is hardly the deadly
to destroy the world

hardly the deadly of
the prince
     of darkness (once light)
his
     most precious self

and
   in my defence to all
those who

never felt
your touch, ever cast
eyes upon
you

and yet
    so quick to cite text

an eternity of torture worth
every second spent
                                     

SUN GIRL

SUN GIRL

what is it
about these lionesses?

this one pitching up
late trashing my party
all because
           by right should
not
   allow myself to
feel depressed on this day

by immortal decree can
only be pure
ray
    of sunshine

Gil Scott-Heron cassette flashing past my ear
             hurled
with such
     aggrieved force

birthday present saying
the sender she so pissed this
not
    (however revolutionary)
   going to be
televised

such an apt and thoughtful
sought -out gift

thrown with much
malice or
       that thing called
love
I had failed to recognize

COME TO SHOVE

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