writing – Page 12 – poems 2 die for

SPACE

what is different
about this space?

its peaks, its valleys

white
noise, grey silence

the windows and doors
with their secret codes

(beg me, beg me
I may well tell you)

now you have read everything
every smidgen of text
visible or in-
visible

tell me what you have come
to comprehend

so far we
are from the grand muftis
and great principalities

together in collusion
syllable by syllable chipping away at
their stark foundations

sliding door moment for
those believing in change

contriving a space here
where we might

stockpile empathy
dole out kindness
dish to whom-
soever
is in dire need

shelter is needed
shelter is necessary

the song could
not be

clearer on this

come! Let me sing it for you,

then
(change in
tone

different key, switch in
pitch

and so let us
now adopt the pose
of silence

contemplate the world
(if any) beyond
this poem

this poem’s afterlife

so to speak
so to spreak

having this very moment
spoken space into existence.

SLIP

SLIP

sorry

I was writing this poem

and my pen
slipped

the text
spilled

all over
the place

ruining our
time together

wrecking our date

feel I need
to underline, bold font,
how
regretful it all
is

how embarrassed I feel

took out my
pen to write these words

construct
an apology

and the damn pen as
pens do
went all Derrida on me

FIXING

FIXING
“where I’m wrong, I’m right”
The Beatles: Fixing a Hole

let’s
see what
we got here

check if
there is a hole
if so
how to
fix it

if not
why not?

poem need
the right kind of holes
(where would
we be
without holes)

just jokin’
poem got to be
fun
poem got
to be serious

we had some
fun so
let’s go
serious

switch of a sudden
turn on dime
between
fun and serious

truth to power: break
in through the back
leave via
the front

do your dreadlock goldilock
thing
   have your Gulliver
child’s play
                   turn it
          all
upside
      down

seems like you serious
but
can we be
sure to
be sure

that last line
gleams wickedly, such
a look in your eye

and eye need
the light

how else
delight?

bend those bars in
before out

your light coming in
your light
going out

see here: a VOICE

in with

a shout

HISTORY CHANNEL (KIND OF REMEMBER ME THAT SIEGFRIED SASSOON) watched a video on World War One who started it who finished it who went who stayed at home who came back like my Mother’s Dad big gong of a medal around his soft young neck which is just as well otherwise wouldn’t be here myself to waste your time as Siggie’s bishop himself didst poetically proclaim the ways of God being satirically strange watched a video on the channel on World War One same as the last one same people won

SOLITAIRE

SOLITAIRE which way is the wind blowing? empirical, metaphysical equally valid as a question so let me sit here debating whether to play solitaire or show my solidarity writing a poem must not cannot absolutely unable to face the thought that one less casuality one less maimed or broken soul if I had sat playing solitaire rather than battling with each angry bitter word trying to shape them shape of this poem

MAS

MAS no more poems of love only poems of pain, grief, rage controlled hatred maybe no more poems at all who has time for poetry when our world is split, divided, blockaded from truth and vital energy? pray that this humble non-descript pièce of scrawl is not the last poem if it be the poem penultimate let the last poem be a great restorative epic restore our faith and love and desire to embrace all of humankind

THE WORD

THE WORD the scholars are wedded to the death of the author and friend Roland and friend Michel are clear that the word will flow where it wants to go will speak fof itself but you poets under bombardment either casualties or still survivors your words are gated, fenced in have no means of escape, nowhere to go but however softly whispered somehow become targets sought out for destruction, best censorship that can be what is it about these words small words soft words that seem so powerful inspire such hatred and such fear?

LINE OF SIGHT

LINE OF SIGHT

you are
missing my poem
it is
not

in your line
of sight

and dumb ordinance
not guided
no matter how
much you drop,
you fire

not
a single hit

and, to labour
the point,
furthermore,
this is not
the terrain for
attac
at high speed

all
turret
and tracks

and so
always begging
to differ

I feel I must ask
who has the firepower
here mustered
to put a dent
in the word, the living
word

surgically, single shot,
put that light

out
in an instant

make
a confirmed kill
for once

in this rubble

over and above
all that is wholesale
decayed, false flag

lying
through its teeth

not
best
for rebuttal

this ricochet from the truth

HOLES

there are holes in the paper
places of quicksand

the words cannot
traverse this broken landscape

move at pace
across the page

shocktroop you with
tactical juxtapositions,
lightning images

no
the whole nature of
poetry has changed

those books on mechanized modernism
so obsolete (ultimately
so) better
thow
them away

only good
for metaphor

subtext is where
the power now
lies

NO EASY MEASURE

NO EASY MEASURE

there are many ways
to start a poem
maybe an image, a theme
a rhythm
bouncing
around in your head
snake-like
rasp of word

many ways too,
to enter a poem
linear or
non-linear
syntactic
or symbolic

feeling your way
set to full tactile

or up
for helicopter shot
to view
as mosaic
put
everything
in perspective

then
fill in the detail
induced, deduced
seduced
at your pleasure

although
linger on
this thought
if you will, let us dissect
this
dark treasure

only
fair to point out,

to leave a poem, however,
(speaking
of seduction)
is no
easy measure

here is the poem
here is we are
unexpectedly
together

not so many ways down
from that height
this height,
routes
out of the labyrinth
this
labyrinth

safe and
without cost

hardly enough
to count on the
fingers
of one hand

so many surrendered
to the poem, dissolved,
got
absorbed by
poetry

something about
the beauty
of this python still
to comprehend

as it
closes the circle
you now mine forever