Tag Archives: writing

CURLED

CURLED let me take a break from being a political animal writimg to protect humble humanity from true zealots of God missionaries who taste like, smell like (a bit too much sulphur there in with the holy napalm, cordite white phosphorous) feel I have to speak for them nobody listening when they speak for themselves (but now from the South some eighty-four page document so much devil in that detail some holy spokesperson said) time for me to go snake style serpent sidle up next to you slither out of fighting for humanity to fighting for you or just curling up close forked tongue doing the talking flickering into every hidden secret place ultra-sensitive your own true King Cobra we need you if not to entertain then pay (at least) lip service to our huge fantasies we souls of the great serpent born in the snake year

BROWSE

BROWSE

forget
      about

who wrote this
pen, or keyboard,
you
       will
never know

impossible to
ever know
                  me
find me

and yet
         here we
                          are

finding you

WHAT MAKES

WHAT MAKES

what makes
a poem
Shakespearean?

I was asked
the je ne sais quoi
signature
    of the bard
                   indeed

hard to replicate
if you are
           thing digital
disembodied
intelligence
binary being

some residue still
mechanical I warrant

no matter how polished
(like reflective
  sculpted metal)

the lark-like artifice
with
   which you sing

what
   makes a poem
human

hold

     that thought

set play

    to pause

stuff in my answer
I still need to dream

SCRABBLE DABBLE

SCRABBLE DABBLE

my brain
is a scrabble set

juggle roles, identities
am after a triple word score

tire
tier
year of the tiger
hit something
good on that
abacus and so

masc and fem mars
and venussing together
dance
of conjunction
in alignment

about to go full
elastic band

slingshot projection

time gravity bending me
to their will
true trajectory
whispering your name

SIDELINED

SIDELINED

trying to sideline us
even beyond the margins

trying to close us down
crimp this space
so we can’t
say
   anything
to each other

conflating what we
have here
     what we here explore,
revise, deconstruct, analyze,
extend,

with what machine-handle
wood block slogans
you are ratcheting up
in that
      pre-industrial cogs and
wheels
machine you exaggerate
in the history
of philosophy
and psychology
that you call a brain

bringing us down
to your level

level not just flat, one
dimensional

but steamrollered until
the molecules that
bind
     hold-together
cannot give any more

LAST

LAST

this should be
my last poem

the process
has become fraught

protection permeable
hostile takeover imminent
constant suppression, much
infiltrating

you look at what
is on this page

ask: is this how
savages, animals
write these days?

and you fighting with every bone,
      every breath
for consensus?

so many conceptions, contending
definitions at play

out of this problemmatic
few crossovers, no
idea miscegenation

things you
believed getting tunneled under
tunneled through

and always, still
same overriding question

is this how poetry, a single
poem should look
    and then what about

humanity, in what image
a single human?

WHY ON EARTH?

WHY ON EARTH? 

poetry is
the soul of man
the breath of life’s being

and those that write
our unacknowledged
legislators
    just happen to be

so far, so good,
but now lets just settle for
a change in tone, of pace

ask
   why, Oh why
are you still writing?

and why on Earth
did you start in the first place?

LIVE AND LEARNER

LIVE AND LEARNER

found a book
of dark poetry
under my bed

got me
musing

all that dark stuff
now in my head
verses
    riven
with ravens

maybe that
with metaphor
has something to do
tenor, vehicle
      more explosive
than Lego

(used poem as a Molotov
fuse once
    knocked out a
Tiger tank)

maybe on
second, third,
thousandth and
last thought

if you
have a bed
should look
under
it too.

book could be there
scheming, calling
                    for you