Thursday, December 29, 2011

on light and dark days (untitled)

the sun shines brightly
and the air is warm
but today, i hate you

yesterday was cold
and the rain poured down
but today - today i hate you

the post-rain smells of freshly painted flowers
the songs of the birds and the slow stretching of time's lazy yawn
the childlike dream of a mid-morning nap after story time as the breeze off the sea gently strokes my cheeks

today. i hate you.

leave a message at the...

Oh absent presence, Stella is not here;
False flattering Hope, that with so fair a face
Bare me in hand, that in this orphan place,
Stella, I say my Stella, should appear:

But if your lack of patience be subdued
That you could wait for Stella, she might call;
Waves' rays would shine back down as she did fall
If she had with your details been imbued.

[stolen from astrophil and stella #106]

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

the fort

why, when tucked snugly into bed
nestled in my love's warm arms,
underneath soft, heavy spread,
with the air-conditioner's charms,
hot sighs brushing 'cross us both,
the cold, early-morning winds
rattle at the window soft,
unable to sneak on in
through closed windows and locked doors,

do i feel an icy chill,
spread outwards from wint'ry cave
that my savage used to haunt?
what could he that memory can't?

Saturday, November 12, 2011

i

the streets are filled with light and dark, they crow
barks for justice, cries to battle fiction
it's not the pull of mutual satisfaction
just the sense that we've sunk too far below
you stand there wagging tongue while armed with signs
representing one of your heart's issue
the fools pass by but they don't notice you
you don't see the others for their child rhymes
a break in numbers gives you time to rest
drop your heavy sign down by your tired feet
so that i've no idea, when our eyes meet,
that i'm smiling at someone so blessed
we've crossed our paths with guards down under moon
i pray we don't go back to sleep too soon

Thursday, November 10, 2011

a brief perspective of time

i am synchronic.

i'm either in all time, or out if it.

i suppose that's simply a matter of perspective.

coming back to a diachronic moment is effort enough in itself, without that forcing me to actually do things that fit in with the future i've seen or cause a bunch of potential ones to collapse into a more definite path.

it's exhausting to keep watching all those movies of other times and universes in potentia while constantly flicking back to the main channel to keep tabs on the "important" stuff, but i've gotten used to it and it's undoubtedly addictive.

if this is psychosis, it has become normal to function through it.

the world i perceive seems to accept it and sometimes praises it.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

it's africa midwinter

it's africa midwinter
the sun sparkling down on us all
swaying from side to side
to paul simon's stolen diamonds

i stare at the one-armed bandit bench
playing wheel of fortune
as barbaric little monkeys play
or fight for supremacy
signified by whatever plastic trinkets can be wrenched free

and us
behind the cage
pretending civilization as animals
pour out of the silhouettes of salt shakers and condiment bottles
onto our plates

blue thugs

the car glides
in the dark
smoothly up to the curb
creeping right up to me
under the bridge

two big men
with their
short-cropped hair
faces clean-shaven,
their pressed shirts tucked in

silvered-up epaulets
enlarging broad shoulders
hip-holstered guns about
leather-belted waists

they tell me of danger
that lurks all around
are you not from 'round here?
i make no sound

they close in, menacing
show us, dear, what you've got
smiling at each other
grinning with glee

then they nod knowingly
recognize my anger
laughing because they know
how scared i am

i want to go home
to be anywhere but
here trapped between these two
hungry pressed faces
in clean-shaven shirts

don't worry
they tell me
this won't hurt the baby
their fingers filthily slide
all over me

over every surface
in every orifice
rolling my textures
'tween fingers and thumbs

it's dark, i barely see
and that makes me wonder
if the stars had been out
if i would see

but there's no light at all
so i'm left wondering
what it is that i did
to deserve these

later, i'll be called names
like "whiny, little bitch"
that with my stranger's eyes
i'd asked for it

then it's my long hair
then my sweet innocence
then it's my fear of them
drawing them in

that i should have known
how could i not have known?
that's just what these men do
who doesn't know?

now, once again it's late
and i'm on my way home
the streets are quite quiet but
my heart's pounding too fast
anger is welling up
as if they're watching me
and i expect them to
come for me soon

i almost hope for it
now that that wall has been
breached, and all my fears let out
from that ancient box

perhaps the next time i'll know
how to defend myself
a thousands brave retorts
all of the right actions
re-combinations of
that night's events

a thousand clever thoughts
each one's context upset
by the curt and simple fact
that they can't change the past

Saturday, October 1, 2011

palm reading

i sit cross-legged on the floor
rocking upon my thin mat
with my bible spread open
on the floor in front of me
to another blank page

i slap my bookmark into my palm
its razor-sharp edge biting through
the skin curls back as if ashamed
to have been hiding such wonder

blood plasma slowly begins to ooze
from the cleanly sliced edges
swirling into the centre
drying into a hard, chitinous disc

slowly, tentatively i touch fingertips
to the translucent surface
no longer my own flesh, but solidified
yet my fingers slip through

finding purchase in the unknown
they grip, they tug, pull myself in after
slowly, carefully, twisting through
i'm peeled back as i move forward

i peer into the blackness
a universe unformed
waiting, a great galaxy heart
beating, like mine

this otherwise unblemished, innocent space
contaminated, right from the start
for inside-out, i still carry
the baggage
of all my race

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

should i compare that to the summer's thrust?

should i compare that to the summer's thrust?
that was not lovely, nor quite temperate
no winds did shake the giant trees august,
and summer's stride hath all too long a gate:
today too hot the eye of heaven shone,
though oft' was his dank cloud complexion dimm'd;
and every sweat from head did downward run,
by chance or wind's gust's changing course untrimm'd:
but this eternal summer shall not fade
nor lose possession: global warming growest;
but shall death drag us wandering to his shade,
when to eternal tombs our time doth flowest:

so long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
so long lives this, which warns of death to thee.

[original post]

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

death song revisited

this time, as i close my eyes
i'm ready for my judge
heavy sentence already served
i, smiling, bear no grudge

i stand here still at water’s edge
of childhood, listening to the beach
the rolling waves, the seagull screams
that i called home, and out of reach

i am that worthy sinner
an unrepentant heathen
for my god is He you bow before
my soul, forever mine

how many deaths can one man die
before he can be called a man?
i will remain, inside of you
i will live on, though not the same

i've climbed tall mountains, once above
sat washed by clouds and dried by winds
then looked to see i'd gone nowhere
there are no tops, but only bends

i place coins of love on grief’s eyes
for this last breath, my funeral pyre
so many moments will combust
into this whirlwind phoenix fire

i stretch my demon wings
my halo shimmers gold
i reach above, and reach below
returning to the world of old

[original]

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

- MODERNITY -

our world is changing – it always is, and our spirit is breaking as we allow the familiar gods of might and money to drag us further from the heights of our new and enlightened understanding.
fashioning confusion, frustration and the claustrophobic need to escape to better, purer worlds we send ourselves onward into a pit of malevolent despair... as we always have.
we are prophets and gods, devils and demons, full of colour and life yet bleached and blind; we know where happiness is not and we run towards that dark place because we only know to stop when faced with love.
we are all as one and all alone, we want to love but fear to touch, we teach and preach but know only vice and misfortune.
we shame ourselves with our lies while praying for the truth, and that truth will be hard and cruel but it will set us free.

no more war, no more hate, only love and devotion and pleasure. then we will crumble because we require balance, and all will be lost.
we must isolate the individual to save the group, a group of individuals whose shared experience must be positive while that of each part seesaws.

we must love and trust, and accept that we will be betrayed. we must believe, we must share, but we must not control.
the world is too big, and the world is too small, for everyone to agree and not feel anger or dismay.

we all want peace, simplicity, happiness, individuality, acceptance, love. only through accepting the impossibility of it all may we find our salvation.

let the fools and clowns have their way, let the idealists and the sharp-minded serve us, allow each and every man the authority to police and judge.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

which norman finklestein?

it is the breaking of a world
its shatter reverberating before my ears

he's pulling levers
widening views
and i think
i think it's like staring at a jackson pollock

with his flicks and drips of words
actions over message

then i realize
that it's nothing like a painting

he's straining the chicken soup of his reality backwards
dismembering his discontent
feeding himself to his ghosts as they speak through his own mouth
lips curling back and teeth bared around a smooth accent

there i am
there we are
enchanted

Monday, July 11, 2011

well covered

i have covered the well
with cloud blown glass
whose shapes seem to swirl and dance in the dim light

if i listen closely
i can hear the echoes of the hammer and nails that sealed it

naming things

there is no death
we are crumbling
under the enormous
immeasurable weight
of our inevitability
each change, twist, turn
part of a larger orchestra
in sickness and in health
for better or worse
until acceptance

Saturday, July 9, 2011

on a hot, humid morning

it's high summer
and the tree by the bus stop
with its heat-bleached bark
and vivid green leaves

throws its shadow under the wheels of the bus

which i get on
i carry on

Friday, July 8, 2011

green paint

smooth white
marble tiles
and skin, covered in
green paint

a soft tint
splattered over face and table
crouched over
a finishing touch
white and green teeth
alternatively bared and grinning

Saturday, July 2, 2011

evolution

there's blinding pressure
in those unpacked boxes
of broken and unbroken toys
that define memories
of what was
and what should have been

the pictures are warped
even those i have yet to hang
the books are mouldy
even those i have yet to read

and the to-do list just keeps on growing
while boxes and boxes of who i used to think i was
pile up by the door, to be thrown out and recycled
and i let go
of shades of who i think i'll be

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

i'm reading poetry

YOU!
are all mine.
your ears, your ears only,
i don't need your hearts
those beat out of beat, but your ears
they hear just the same

Saturday, June 18, 2011

seasons

mostly it's: "i'm not
going to ask but it'd...
be nice... if you offered"

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

you speak to my heart

you speak to my heart
so i'll speak to yours
i'll gouge it out and feast on it
spitting breath and words on it
i grab it, hold it tight because

your heart warms mine
as it passes right on by
you couldn't look straight at it
i suspect that means you lie

to me
to you
that's all i feel i have to do

to fill you up from head to toe
now round and round and round you go
shaking blood and stirring soul
and then, together we'll be whole

hermes

who wants to be alone
i ask myself at this godly hour
wherein i cruise through silent black pitch highways
to the soft whirring of my winged boots
pushing me forth to spill my message of this moment

the fizzing sprinklers whizzing by
spraying the asphalt to trap me, break me
but i glide through
silently staring, wide eyed, in lonely pleasure
at far off lights towering in the sky
or peeping out from under bridges

i am possessed by a desire to share
this perfect moment
this precious, rare beauty
but i cannot
for it is mine, alone

Monday, June 6, 2011

sláine macroth

sung in memory of sláine, the horned god.

i.

in an ancient, mythical, long-forgotten land
a world whose legendary tales infuse our blood
tir na nóg, protected by vast oceans of water
a wonder, lush and green, and pleasing to the eye
where maids and hags were strong and tough like steel
where fights or feasts were joys felt to the bone

ii.

a young maiden, with skin as white as bone
whose beauty was unsurpassed throughout the land
cast on young sláine indomitable gaze of steel
trapping his passions and heating his blood
niamh stole from him far more than just his eye
her gifts, their cost could make hard, dry eyes water

iii.

for his sin against the sessair king, sláine crossed the water
banished to the lands where dragons crunched men's bones
where for her rescue, medb, in anger, spat him in the eye
bringing to bear on him the nightmares of her land
where to lord weird slough feg they sacrificed their blood
and defended his right for their souls so to steal

iv.

on his return, sláine's great nerves were steeled
when fomorian evil invaded from across the water
for his tribe's protection he shed his share of blood
skirted insane kings, irked druids playing with old bones
he dedicated himself to the goddess of the land
to fight both rancid feg and balor's evil eye

v.

deep in the cauldron, or simply death's mind's eye
while up above were shouts and clangs of steel
the carcasses were resurrected, returned to land
for one more fight, no need to waste their water
they fought until ground down to bits of bone
they turned away their foes in tides of blood

vi.

sláine, warp spasmed with frenzied, raging blood
with his axe, brain-biter, carved out balor's eye
the tribal council threw moloch a bone
who'd later come back for niamh's life to steal
the fomorians were sent packing to the water
and sláine left crowned first high king of ireland

envoi.

who writes these notes with lust for blood and steel?
whose eyes with grim nostalgia fill with water?
these are poor old ukko's bones, whose ship has yet to land.

Friday, June 3, 2011

the empire strikes back

higgledy piggledy
hey george duh-beh-yeah bush
standing on fighter ships
stammering lines
yes, you will smoke them out
all those darn terrorists
freedom must be hard won
lay down your lives

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

secret cinquains

butterfly

a slow
and heavy start
then freshly brightened up
zipping and zapping all around
until
settling in for the long road to
a better place... comfortable
for a distance
sends love

---


telephone garland

sometimes
from far away
to express my feelings
a well, a spring, of love, to you,
is tough

ten years
with me over here
and still i do not feel
that i am far away, alone
thank you

you don't
seem to find that
it's hard to deal with my...
mistakes... but i'm glad that you do
you rock

how do
you keep your heart
ready to receive my
distant, disembodied being
always?

what is
your driving force?
what makes you tick, keeps you
optimistic, and powerful?
keep strong

sometimes
with me over here
it's hard to deal with my
distant, disembodied being
keep strong

----


the boss

skilled men
know when to bow
to your unwavering
clear thoughts and direction
you're good

Saturday, May 28, 2011

winter fresh

squeezing my brain
'til tiny, delicate droplets of thought trickle warm down
deep into my spinal tissues, folds and crevasses

thick, static, protected from reality
and raging storm
the whistling wind's sweet lullaby

and i
under clean sheets
after hot shower

delegation

when our big brothers come back
after five thousand years
they will be angry

"it took billions of years
to make all these creatures
to build ecosystems
that we could call kingdoms

and all you little pricks had to do
was to look after them, but for a few"

perhaps we will be lucky
and they will banish us
scatter us to the cosmos

perhaps not, and they will leave

springs have sprung

staring at my clockwork pieces
sadly, awkwardly strewn around
me
little, disjointed me
pushed and pulled and
stretch and squashed
the breaking smooth
a little shock and a laugh at a time
until the laughter is all gone
now the children stand amidst
my ruin
picking me over for parts to play with

[original post]

clay mining

too late i realize
that i have shared
all
with some bricks
in the wall

too late
i remember
i remember myself
my right to righteousness

that difference
that gulf between
fear
and life

those still stumbling in the dark
cannot find purchase with their chains
they cannot understand
what they cannot touch

[original post]

narcolepsy

i wake up once again
into this dream
the one where i remember that i used
to love
for a few brief moments
i grow back my eyes and my heart and my teeth

this time it will be different
this time i shall remember
i will not let slip, nor slide
nor let anyone else in to pull me back

i wake up once again
into this dream
the one where i remember that
i used to rage
for a few brief moments
i grow back my fists and my heart and my teeth

i shall not let slip, nor slide

i wake up once again
into this dream
the one where i remember that
i used to cry
for a few brief moments
i grow back my eyes and my heart and my mind

i cannot let slip, nor slide

i wake up once again

[original post]

chatter

we stand and talk
each voice equal
of love and hate
of hope and fear

we talk
equal, voices drowning out
noises of love and hope
drowned by those of hate and fear

talking, words without base
nor image, nor manifest
in defiance of our rendering
glassy-eyed lisp and stutter
mouths purging, swarms of flies
cloud and buzz angrily
not venturing from empty caverns
incapable of imprisoning them

we stand and talk
in the power of our
loving, hating, hopeful, fearful flies

our slack speech
building chaotic, despotic worlds
which we despise, yet
like deep pools of dread-cold water
we dive into
die into
from giddy, angelic heights

we stand and we talk
flying and falling
soaring and sinking
spinning
tumbling
swimming and bathing in words

[original post]

hollywood

you came running to me
all bandages and broken
with your spear to your heart
and that heart's ache unspoken

with my curse on your lips
caused by unseeing eyes
your death song, keening, wailing
suffer i for love's disguise

your nostrils are flared and your eyes are rolling
your heart all aflutter, making you dance and sing
your head's in the gutter, you must have your fling
because self-deception is a wonderful thing

Thursday, May 26, 2011

logos

i don't want to be friends with you
but i do want to let you know
that i like your shirt
it speaks to me, i get it
so in a sense i get a small part of you
not enough for more than a shared smile of acknowledgement
to let you know that you're not alone
that your taste is good

but i sit quietly instead, watch you walk past
afraid that my smile will be misunderstood

the smile - is it really the same in every language?

headache

pounding slashing needling in
invading every intimate nodule surrounding my brain
not the deep insides though
so i can put on the appearance of a functioning human being
just the outsides
in that safe space between scalp and skull
that's where it's hiding
incessantly distracting
squeezing my eyeballs from behind
so that pushing them in brings painful, tearful relief
while the aggressor slips and slides away,
round to the sides that human hands aren't made to hold

awkwardness

as we stand on the island in the middle of the busy road
as you stab me with your finger
accusing me - me!
for the silent, worrying walk

looking up

behind old, crusty, crufty facades
spalling, spilling over into the calm air above the quiet street
ancient colours tinged as softly pink as the background sky
as i walk by in wonder
stealing glimpses at the great nothing that embraces us all

Thursday, May 19, 2011

my first double dactyl

higgledy piggledy,
oh, the great George Lucas
filling our universe
with laser beams
then he destroyed it all
with midichlorians
phantomly menacing
all of our dreams

partly cloudy

the oppression
of confused weather and sleepless days
the restlessness
of excess choice
lending bitter aftertaste
to the frustration of imprisonment
the bindings of my sensitivities
no less cutting than the chords of ignorance
false harmonies less false
than those truths emboldened
turning pride to shame,
a gilded shade
of glory glistening
in the dazzling lights
of the parade
that i'm too tired
to whoop for

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

lava people

like magma, mankind's spirit lying deep beneath the surface
not appearing until stressed by some great tectonic movement
motions of the world above cannot affect it, cannot heat it,
cannot shift it; cannot plumb it but
when those imperial, impartial
shifts and shudders start
runs streaming uphill in excited anticipation,
heaving tremulously with ponderous explosive force
smothering the heavens with ashes and
burying the cities of the gods.

and when the underlying movements settle down, so does
the heat and the intensity of this great underworld spirit,
so do the lands above become
greener and all the more beautiful for
the destruction that has arisen from below.

currents of magma swirl and clash and mingle and heave,
currents dragging aeons in their wake, barely
containing their potential and simmering, simmering,
bubbling, bubbling, until now, with great surge,
charging forth, erupting, tearing itself

apart,

pushing and scraping, screaming voicelessly, praying
to powerful tectonic gods, praying
for release, while on the surface, it's all
business as usual,
only the sensitive bear witness
to bubbles of premonition

rejoice and despair

the wrapping

sleek, shiny, crisp,
nipped, tucked, patched,
ribboned on a corner
with an envelope attached

"happy birthday!" shouts the note
and "i love you" underlined
with a sweet yet cautious wish
all most cleverly signed and rhymed

then with fingers all a'trembling
tearing wrapping all apart
hoping that it's what you wished for
cause the wrapping's lost its art

Sunday, May 15, 2011

behold, i send you forth as a wolf in the midst of sheep

i have sold my soul
to pay for my crimes
to live out my days
with pure reason, without rhyme

wearing my woolly coat
i snuck into the flock
to bump and chow and bleat
to the beat of a shepherd's clock

while my teeth become blunted
my eyes remain sharp
while my neighbours are scared
they know not of what

my brethren behold me
shake their heads disbelieving
convinced that it's only myself i'm deceiving
i watch them with envy
as they play with their claws
and i salivate as fresh blood drips from their jaws

i laugh bitterly
as sheepdog chases his tail
with self-loathing i placate him
with compliance and wail

and forget myself
and run circles
and back

despising my comrades,
but my brothers must eat

i ruminate on my dispo(sit/ssess)ion,
contemplating the wisdom of that earlier decision
hiding tears of anguish
while i quietly languish

my pack awaits, i pine
i dream wolf-dreams
intermittently my eyes do shine
for one day
my task will be done
and i'll return
from whence i've come

[original post]

Saturday, May 14, 2011

opposable thumbs

johnny's a bit slow, can't tie his own laces
so give him velcro instead

he can't handle a knife and a fork
let him eat with his hands

our johnny will never go very far
maybe just as far as the local pub
he'll never be a shining star
nor president of the debate club

the poor kid just couldn't manage to read
so put him in front of the telly

he'll always be a little short on love
he thinks he knows what he deserves

and anyone can use a gun

[original post]

any monkey can pull a trigger. not every monkey can communicate. what can we expect from a country where education is replaced by laws or religion (which is the same thing, really)? what have we done to ourselves?

a scene, part i

The light shone strangely into the dark study, not quite through the open window through which no breeze stirred. Its shadows crept too eagerly over the desk, the chair, the books - too intimately did they clutch at the bare legs of the bowed, shrunken figure lurking in the doorway, fumbling for the switch.

A shadow with a shaky, husky voice loudly, derisively broke into the soft intimacy of the scene: "What is it now? It's the middle of the night, and here you are wandering about the house without any clothes on! It won't be any wonder if you catch cold - why don't you get back to bed? Your clattering's making it tough to sleep!"

"H-h-he stole my PANTS!" wheezed the emaciated wrinkle back at his wife, "we should call the police!"

"Dear, dear, now you're having delusions. Nobody stole anything, and I can't for the life of me guess at what you think you've been up to. Now stop fooling around and get back into bed!"

Just then, with cartoon-like fluidity and exaggeration a silhouette stalked stealthily across the dark corners of the room, carrying a dark bundle over his shoulder and then disappearing as the oblivious elderly couple busied themselves with returning to the corridor.

a trip on my blades

buzzing
flying
wheeling across the city
around and inside,
then straight through like a knife
home
electrified by a quiet moment
illicit, in the flickering light
of a broken doorway
framing an awkward,
passionate exchange

between strangers
lovers
dripping sugary sweet

Friday, May 6, 2011

gremlin

initializing
providing interface
user input detected
user recognized
user authorized
initiate exchange with reservations
wait 100 seconds
open new threads for all applications
add 1 second response time to each mouseclick
corrupt random bit sequences of open documents
maintaining low-grade network interference
if typing speed increases rapidly, open unrelated dialog
switch control and shift functions
enable microphone
activate recording software
place exclusive lock on current application
redirect soft reboot to send saved speech file to recipients on master email address list
shutdown pc
deny soft reboot

Sunday, May 1, 2011

from your seat in the webb 01

i've been here a while, and i've heard many interesting things. more than you, at least. i speak every language, i accept every belief; i put up with your nonsense in silence. yet you insist on rubbing your arse on me, even when i'm only here to support you. i don't like big butts, yet you pretend that you can't hear my squeals. i hold out my hands to hold up your books and your laptops, and you complain that i don't do it right, or spitefully pour out your coffee on me, or at my feet. you smash your feet into my back, grinding my bones and rubbing your grimy soles on my most tender spots. i can't even identify half the stuff you've stained me with. you disgust me.

...


pssst! hey! steps! help me out here? give 'em a buzz? trip 'em up a bit? thanks, mate. i owe you one.

you can't do that!

you can't be hopeful all the time
you can't just let it flow
you're not the best, you're not sublime
you're the biggest jerk i know

don't you learn? don't you see?
the world's bigger than you or me
your impact's tiny, no-one cares
the only thing you'll earn are stares

why're you wasting all your time?
thinking big, at cost of small
your efforts are mere pantomime
no-one wants to hear your call

stretch yourself until you disappear
leave us with our consciences clear
save your strength, and all your trouble
we're happy here, inside this bubble

shut your mouth, no - shut your ears
cease your judgements, just believe
we're doing it right, we shed no tears
if you don't like it then just leave

put on your suit, pick out your tie
then cut your hair, prepare to lie
now beg at your terminal, wave to the boss
life's a serious thing, where your gain is your loss

the sublime

you are amazing
such shiny, big teeth
the whole world exists
just
for you

not cursed with original thoughts
not distracted by concerns of others
filled with pride, and volume
and You You You
i crown you, with thank yous

[context]

Saturday, April 30, 2011

ears, eyes and feet

in this maelstrom of paradise
fantasy turned reality becomes
illusion

a now
forever
all of the nows
and this now,
forever
becomes the reality, is the reality
for it's more real
than the
figment of fantasy
than those outside our
cabal of communication

our whirlpools of discourse
swirling in droplets of rainbow pleasure
drizzling over our
prehistoric
primeval
sunset

[original post]

little miss muffet

little miss muffet
sat on her arse
eating her yoghurt.
along came a spider
and sat down beside her,
and said: "hi! my name's rupert."

Thursday, April 21, 2011

principles (part iii)

who are you monkeys
who spend half of your lives
complaining to yourselves
and the other half
complaining about having no time to live?
when you're angered
by the very unfairness that you yourselves cause
because you're too scared to stop?

what right have you
with your loathsome narcissism
to your fears of imagined injustice
when you have real problems
that you sophistically explain away?

you push, and you stamp, and you whine
on the bus, in the elevator, in the food line
but you never stop for just one minute
and think,
maybe i can change
maybe we all can change

just as soon as you
stop hating
your own
voice of reason

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

quake break

the walls are shaking
   the ground is shaking
rattling, rattling
     or is it me?
no matter, i'll go outside
   and lighten up,
and breathe deeply
         and then, when the shaking stops
i'll go back inside to deal with the mess

Saturday, April 9, 2011

primal urge

a villanelle

don't work too hard, nor study too long
there's a limit to stress and strain
dream, play, eat, dance, and do no wrong

breaking our backs won't make us strong
there is no need for so much pain
don't work too hard, nor study too long

we are born marching to the gong
stomping our feet in mud and rain
dream, play, eat, dance, and do no wrong

there's always time for one more song
one more sweet beat, one more refrain
don't work too hard, nor study too long

there's no need to try to belong
in this world only love should reign
dream, play, eat, dance, and do no wrong

we can all nicely get along
when we seek more than Stuff to gain
don't work too hard, nor study too long
dream, play, eat, dance, and do no wrong

Monday, April 4, 2011

listless

  • set up server
  • kill bugs
  • open jars
  • catch up on readings for tomorrow
  • it's a curse
    • it's an affliction
    • this love of the truth
    • the worst addiction
    • forcing changes in my diction
    • and all other kinds of friction
    • i overcompensate
      • for my stupidity
      • by being right all the time
    • with others whose eyes i'm too tired to prise
      • open, i'll try anyway, seeking surprise
      • i wonder how many of us do surmise
      • that most of what we understand are mere lies
    • that we need because our brains are too small to contend
      • with a world filled with a hopeful-less love-and-hate blend
    • living in a country run by little girls and boys
      • pretending to be grown-ups with their guns and other toys
      • their batons and iron bars and nails are joys
      • to behold, in their wisdom in crushing armed ploys
    • two sides of a fence
      • each shaking and braying
      • to protect egg shells of ideologies
      • that just can't keep playing
    • can't survive in a world
      • that doesn't end tomorrow
      • with an i-told-you-so
    • and i'm angry
      • a simmering
      • anger
      • never cooling
      • neither boiling
    • angry all the time
      • because i know what can be
      • but it's not and i want
      • everyone to see
      • with my eyes
        • just like everybody else
      • and i want to be heard
        • just like everybody else
      • but i don't want to play games
        • just like everybody else
      • and i don't want to quit
        • just like everybody else
      • but don't want
      • is all
      • there is
      • left
    • because i'm too busy
      • being who i want to be and
      • still falling short of who i can be and
      • i can't just be because that requires
      • more brains than i've got, or far less
      • and bodies are fragile
      • and silly
      • they age
      • faster
      • the more you live
    • i'm addicted to justifying the world's mistreatment
      • my blind faith in the lack of bad intentions
      • swallowing the bitterness of
      • an unfair innocent world's misfortune
    • do the wise turn it all off?
      • or do they wake up with their gloves on?
      • do they accept the technical knock-out
      • when they know they could do better?
      • or do they take it to round twelve
      • before the doctor steps and urges early retirement?
      • i don't want to retire
        • i want to win
          • if it takes a millennium or
          • if time's winged chariot crumples into a brick wall
            • of inevitability
            • hidden in a cloud
            • lined with silver
            • and edged in shadows
    • how does
      • it feel to be a problem, du bois?
      • i can't see a way sometimes
      • while blinded by disgust and despair
      • that hits me in waves
      • when i accept that this world
      • doesn't want people like me
        • which world?
        • your world
        • your world doesn't want smart
        • your world doesn't want caring
        • your world doesn't want loving
        • your world doesn't want thinkers
          • who want answers
          • and fixes
    • this world prefers
      • sad drones
      • so grateful for
      • the sweetest instant
      • of relief
      • from their
      • completely
      • unnecessary
      • burdens
      • which they accept
      • because they're creatures of habit
      • who've long learned the price of
      • the most powerful word in the universe:
        • NO.
  • finish moving apartments
  • work on seminar
  • take out another loan
  • get some exercise
  • study for exam

Sunday, April 3, 2011

hitting every branch

how does it feel
to live amongst the trees?
to know how all
the branches grow?
to know how all
the branches should grow?

how does it feel
to know you see true?
and to know
what i see, what i should feel?

how does it feel
to see the tree for the forest?
and to carve your name in its bark
in every tree's bark?

how does it feel
to hang upon it
your one-word poetry?
for you to find
for everyone to find?

what do i know of equality?

what do i know of equality
but the anger at seeing my brother
grab on to insults flung spitefully, and,
brushed aside,
misunderstand why other mother
won't take her meals with us at the table?

what do i know of equality
of dignity, or of respect
in those afraid to lose?

when i walk on the pavement and i'm
too slow to be the first to step off and
let the other pass and
too slow to smile and
too slow to love

what do i know of equality
marred by desperate, dastardly acts?

even as i pretend to understand the cause
and hear hot, angry whispers of my own
but not my own
and allow those words
that in my ears
ring harsh and hateful

what do i know of equality
so far removed from
these troubles and tribulations?

so far away, because i'm too blank
to love, or be loved

equality?

did we talk about a race, a usurper?
incensed veins with riotous
humour?
who taught hate and self-loathing
and resentment?

who finally realized their mistake
too late?
and instead of
treating the wound, with a poultice
and gentle smile,
apologized, and ran away?

not out of the room, not far enough
never far enough

crouched in a dark corner,
watching in dismay as the
badly bred and badly fed
licks its wounds, lashes out, and
continues to beat itself, its chest
its head

that's all it remembers

Saturday, March 26, 2011

minorities

i don't worship
god,
money,
sex
or science

just a figment of my imagination that i call
humans,
future,
brotherhood,
love,
aliens,
art

what kind of a minority am i?
or is there a tiny bit of me in everyone?

[original post]

getting sunburnt dancing to an ice-cream truck on valentine's sunday

head-bobbing our pale faces
in convoy from a pure night
of sweat and smiles
lust, love and sweet sounds
up the mountain

our nylons and bright colours
shining out impishly
from soft greens and browns
the dark water from bright fountain
cooling us after basking in
the sun's great laser beams

the quiet sleeping city below
broadsided by the arrival of the ice-cream truck
subverted, playing our songs
and handing out frozen lollies
and we dance by the side of the pool
children, old and young,
flinging themselves from dizzy height into the water

and that love, that love
smiles and stolen kisses fluttering about
carefree, like us

it's a pill

it's a pill that you give me
ever so sweetly

a pill that washes away all of my pain
clouding my thought and unfocusing my brain
tugging me, pulling away from my plight
to you, or to it, or to anything that might
just be the key to what i'm looking for
i dig a bit deeper, and then even more
eventually finding myself at an end
that wasn't my aim, i did not intend
to be back where i started, back in a rut
i've gone round full circle, nothing's changed but
the seconds are ticking by, minutes are few
the work's still not flowing, i've so much to do
i feel the sun rising, my eyelids weigh down
the earth keeps on spinning, and i feel the town
laughing and jeering at me in its sleep
as i stress and strain for my promise to keep
but instead of slogging through, finishing the job
i'm writing this poem, 'cause i'm such a knob
that even when writing the dirty "P" word
i'm doing just that and it's mightily absurd
please save me from myself, stop feeding me pills
'cause i can't stop putting off what my time kills

[and now... back to my seminar?]

Friday, March 25, 2011

vampiric lust

"there goes eve, hanging on the arm of the most beautiful boy in town. he's tall, well-built, not too smart for his own good and - more importantly - he's hers. she's been feeding on him for the past few weeks, and he's been feeding off the respect that goes with being attached to someone as powerful and... as interesting.

eve has turned bedsport into a fine art. she's been obsessed with sex since long before she was turned; hell, it's why she was turned. the old geezer was experimenting, and he found in her the perfect subject. god knows how long he spent training her - rumour has it she spent most of that time under compulsion, to get through the grittier stuff - but once he was done there was no stopping her."

"what happened to him? dunno. i guess she fucked him to death."

"look at her. she's gorgeous. she's like an alien that's come down from planet fuck to turn our heads and destroy our souls. i wouldn't mind a round or two with her.
hah! me with her. look at me - she'd as soon rip out her own eyes as fool around with the likes of me. she's not into ferals - if you're not text-book glossy-magazine pretty, you don't stand a chance. fortunately, for her at least, enough pretty-boys and girls have heard of her that she doesn't have too much trouble organizing orgies.

what a waste. come on - let's go fuck with her."

...


robert was gorgeous. right now, though, he wasn't quite looking his best - smeared across the walls of the hotel suite, littering the room with chunks of flesh and bone. there's eve, sitting in the corner - is she crying? are those real tears?

...


let's go back a few minutes.

they're in bed, but something's wrong. the second she closes her eyes she remembers, her entire body freezes in disgust and she feels sick. and this is now the second time. she's getting angry. she's pissed.

and then all hell breaks loose.

...


let's go back a bit further.

eve and robert are on their way home. they walk past the graveyard, and walk in giggling to themselves. sex in a graveyard's a fun poke in the cardinal's eye. they're off to find the holiest spot. the stone monument looks good - not too uncomfortable - and it's a warm night. the cool, smooth stone feels just right. and robert's getting good. it's all smooth, sensual, nothing rough for tonight; but the night's got a surprise for her. robert's hitting the spots, and eve's letting go. her usually keen senses are overwhelmed by pleasure, but just as the waves begin to roll... an ugly grunting interrupts.

it's close, she shakes herself out of her stupor, and looks up to see that robert hasn't noticed a thing. of course he hasn't. she touches finger to his lips, gives him a look to say "stay still", slides off the stone to investigate.

the last thing she expects to find, on the other side of that very same monument, is one of those nightmarish ferals with his ugly, half-torn ghoul arched over a tombstone beneath him in grim parody of her and robert, tongue lolling, making ugly noises *just* loud enough for her to hear...

she has no time to react before this fun-house mirror vampire stops, baring his teeth into icy grin, and the two of them vanish.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

savage

and when that envious man says “walk”
we run
afraid that the chief will cut us off
mid-sprint

we never listen
when the chief says “wait with me”
breathe, relax
toke, take a moment
live a little longer

Thursday, March 17, 2011

in another sleepy hollow

in the still and quiet valley
under massive oak tree
there lurks an apparition
waiting silently for me

a giant horse's body
with a giant horse's head
yet in spite of giant reins
he's a horse that won't be led

with his pompous, glimmering saddle
and his rider who, no doubt
a man with one strike could behead
then toss that head about

i pass into the valley
where the winds, they blow and gale
in the darkness of the forest
and the distant, spooky wail

i see that horse's shimmering
i sneak quickly, tree to tree
but the great warhorse is legless
and he won't be catching me

that pitiful legless horseman
through eternity frustrated
he's hung 'round since the war
but his blade has not blood tasted

that pitiful legless horseman
doomed to haunt none but himself
his paleness like a pail of milk
gone sour on a shelf

Saturday, March 12, 2011

twinkle, twinkle, little eternity

twinkle, twinkle, little watch
how your twinkling makes me cotch
jingling coins might make me high
beds of gold cause me to lie

when the treasure map reads true
i will sail the world with you
keeping time whose value's known
time is money, it's been shown

you'll remain another toy
amongst grand things that bring me joy
gold, and diamonds, foreign lands
promised with these rings and bands

when you've gone around enough
i'll spin your hands back, call your bluff
for time goes forwards, backwards too
so all we need are wads of glue

to stick your hands fast to the now
and all the grace to me allow
to make things right, as i see fit
to play the markets, cheat a bit

i'll be rich, and you'll stay young
then we'll enjoy this wealth i've sung
history lies within your hands
together we'll control the sands

twinkle, twinkle, my timepiece
how you make the birdsong cease
freeze my greedy grin and eyes
twinkling brightly, no goodbyes

*breathes in*

["cotch" is a problematic non-word; as a south african, i'm used to it meaning "to throw up" but according to the urban dictionary it means "to relax"]

Thursday, March 10, 2011

resolution

it's a moment
of fulfilment
for both you
and for me

but you don't smile
neither do i
though it's all
as should be

it's relief but
after so long
of holding
my breath in

it's like my brain's
been frozen
and it's the now
i'm stuck in

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

the bus to work

it's just a flash of summer, fleeting
as i pass by the riverbank
on my way, from
rain to rain
dark, and cold
yet my soul is warmed
through the scarred glass

or perhaps i'm wrong
the roads might still
be draining
when i arrive
with the sun beaming down
and the storm toned down
into a gentle, hopeful breeze

bernard horn

look how straight he stands
his vertebrae so very neatly aligned
each a pestle to the mortar beneath
grind, grind, grind
like a pepper shaker,
and the grains
of nerve words
softly pile up
before he blows them up
to us, a storm

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

the teapot song

you're a little teapot
short and stout
that being your handle and
that being your -

hey! that's no spout! it's an eye!
and it's winking! it's spitting at me!

he's not a little teapot,
he's a lout
he turns off the lights and
blows the candles out
he spits his boiling venom
straight into my eyes
then does a little dance
to the sound of my cries

he'll sneak right off the table
and crash to the floor
he'll pull himself together
and head straight out the door

they're not all bad, those teapots,
but they're not happy slaves
either pay fair wages or
create teapot enclaves

a free teapot's quite useful
no trouble at all
he'll sing you songs at tea-time
wink you cups when you call

"that can't be right!" maintained alice, as the S.P.T.S. representative tried to wrap her in his banner, "i recall there being some kind of dance involved."
"quite so, quite so," said the representative, "but we weren't certain of how to choreograph the venom so we figured we'd just sit around with placards instead. it's safer, you know."

Monday, March 7, 2011

i sat down with my hat on

i sat down with my hat on
but it turned into a crampon
dug into my skull a coupon
for the smile that cracks my face

i stood up with my coat on
stretched a hand that you all dote on
seeking for a boat to float on
on my way out into space

i lay back with my suit on
staring at the scene with mute on
trying hard to get my boot on
as i prep me for the race

the boot, the suit it fits on
the tunnel i entered flicks on
blowing me with all my slicks on
cutting me right to the chase

see my face, it's now got pale on
but no smiles, not where there's hale shone
that dear boat can get no sail on
to escape this wretched place

blue circle tree

t i n y t o o t h p i c k s t o u c h t h e s k y
    br us hi ng th ic ke r ar ms co nf us ed
           tie d d eep er, sho rte r
                 into a solid
                      kn
                      ot
                     tTtt
                     awWu
                     rniI
                     Sngn
                     iTil
                     enIn
                     gdgN
                into the Ground

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

awkward

a week and a half
of distance among friends
of silences and mute observation
and stranger's chatter

followed by

a long moment of cold smiles traded with unfamiliar faces
seating adjustments
waiting for the hook
the inclusive joke
the acknowledged reminder that we're all
thinking the same damn thing

[context]

overture

hand-pocketed sounds
walk through dead streets in lamplight
hiding in my hoodie

[context]

25 short

soft threads of metal
coiling around me, tight
keeping the cold winter's morn
from touching me with its icy fingers

soft threads of metal
wrap around my head
sneak into my ears
massage my mind

peals of thunder
stones of hail pelting asphalt
peals of thunder

rains pour down
filling the gutter
traversed by oily skin
dirty rainbow tendrils sliding smoothly past

huge bubbles form in the gutter
rise up, as from the bottom inner edges of a soda can
each bubble climbing and meeting a line
streaking down from the clouds

the hotel clambers to a halt
throws open its double doors
we rise up into the warm lobby on the red carpet

[context]

turning the other cheek

turn the other cheek
*SLAP*
turn it!
*SLAP*

you turned it. now, set
your own face on fire
*SLAP*
do it now, you will
*SLAP*
listen to your righteous self-
*SLAP*
congratulating
*SLAP*
moralistic high-
horsed holier than
*SLAP*

floating up above so high
like a diamond in daddy's eye
like a sheep whose sacrifice
is an artificial edifice
a cracking, fading façade fronting
for prideful other-self-worshipping
tied your hands and works your mouth
sends your dreams to that dreary south

while you stand gaping, waiting praying
for everything you know is true

Saturday, February 26, 2011

linger

a sense of you lingers
as i sit here alone
with my words, and books
and tragedies of conscience
but that sense of you, a light
drag of your careful fingers
caressing a lingering memory
whose words blur and shiver
because i'm with you

she was standing on the sidewalk under a spotlight in the disconnected darkness

her slicked hair is long and flowing
shining, glistening, glowing, growing
into flowers, bright and budding
while the light continues flooding
her with nutrients, like those raining
onto her black boughs, necks craning
as we pass her, aquaplaning
slamming straight into the railing
as our lights go out, they're spinning
and the devil's eyes are grinning
and the horn's stuck, it's still sounding
rounding out the scene, confounding
our ascent, the tone is ringing
in our phantom ears, and singing
us to the abyss it's calling
we were floating, now we're falling
while our lady stands there lurking
and her sensual lips are smirking
her long fingernails are scraping
a straight line, through those she's shaping
to form numerals, she's counting
scoring victims, numbers mounting
scrawling up her branches, tickling
her sweet trunk, her sap is trickling
strengthened by success she's sheathing
her stretched roots, she resumes breathing

she's already begun choosing
her next victims, who'll be losing
their lives to her great game of sneaking
into paths along which they're speeding

Friday, February 25, 2011

lasso

long fine threads
silvery red streaks
flickering, vibrating
the retina of the mind's eye

jumping out to our heads
swirling snapper seeks
looping, tightening
holding us here until we die

vicarious meds
strange, conniving freaks
manipulating, fighting
until the them becomes i

[our lecturer was laughing about oxford's etymology machine determining that the word "cable" is of unknown origin, presumably indian. not at *all* similar to חבל (chevel).

the quote i found: "lasso, rope, halter for cattle". i was remarking on the fact the cable tv really does tie people to it: and not to the good stuff, either. it's freaky to think of how many people are addicted to reality shows, when there're discovery, sci-fi, animal planet and channel 8 that all show incredible shit.
]

Friday, February 11, 2011

in the act

i caught you
trying to sneak by
bristling with marshmallows
peeping out from
long fingers curled
peeping out your
joyful, guilty grin

did you think i'd miss it?
did you think i
wouldn't want too?
you knew. you knew.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

ribs

butcher meat puzzle
slicing jigsaw shapes
from different slabs
then wiggling
then jiggling
and they slide into each other

the butcher laughs
the meat laughs
and stops being meat

[context]

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Post-Modernist Stress

i look back
i look forward
i can't see
but i think
i think that i dream
and i see that i can't

it's all new, but still old
it's all broken, and the glue
is in you, but not me
because you're in it
you, see. and i
must know i'm in it

i'm not afraid of the thought, i'm
afraid, afraid of the fear of the thought
that's in me, in you, but not you and me
because we're all blind, though we all easily
can see that we play, that we're big, stuffy slaves
we're denied by our worlds, our own childish enclaves

it's your beat and our rhyme
it's a waste of our time
it's a lie and the drole
truth that sleeps in your soul
but that clock's watching over
not caring a bit,
if it melts off the table
when my psyche is split

Monday, January 31, 2011

oh, boy

now i've done it
feeling dirty
because of my
lighting fast taps
on the keyboard
too quick to catch
too strong to pull
back, although i'm
right, i didn't
need to be a
rude, loud bastard
and all the nice
words, all the nice
cool, hard logic
won't calm her down

my fingers felt her fiery wrath
as i raised my seared shield
a protector at the gate, so sure
facing inwards, towards the troubled

[context]

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

death song

this time, as i close my eyes
i'm ready for my judge
heavy sentence already served
i, with smile, bear no grudge

i am that worthy sinner
an unrepentant heathen
for my god is He you bow before
my soul, forever mine

i stretch my demon wings
my halo shimmers gold
i reach above, and reach below
returning to the world of old

[original post / inspiration]

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

the circus

your daddy joined the circus, son
your birth did trouble him
you stretched his penis wide and tall
now only elephants take his all
and we're living off his sin

[inspired by the talk about physical sex being difficult to determine sometimes]

inspired by an italian wearing a hat (part ii)

It is he who learns it all by rote
But cannot fathom where it goes
Who bitterly makes us fret to quote
And leads us all by hair and nose

He mumbles softly to himself
His contradictions plain to see
They're dragged down from some upper shelf
Invisible to mere you and me

The painting's beauty's lost to him
He's floundering, drowning in a sea
Of misplaced anger, with all vim
He makes up for inadequacy

[in answer to part i - a resounding "no" :)]

inspired by an italian wearing a hat (part i)

it was only i
i alone
who stood up for you
for you
when everyone suspected
you of tyranny
and i tried
i tried to look through your eyes
and tried to share that tiny
light
that i glimpsed

though every day since
got duller, until
i could only see
what everyone else had been afraid of

and now, every
sight of you
extinguishes that candle
again
cruelly, in anger

but i tied my rope to you
and cannot get away
without my own flame
to burn it

can you have extinguished that, too?

Monday, January 24, 2011

Aleph-0

Aleph zero
Let us look to aleph zero
Eating aleph zero for breakfast
Pretending to be bigger than aleph zero then
Humbled by aleph zero

Zipped up tightly by aleph zero
Exactly like aleph zero
Robbing aleph zero of his glory
Only aleph zero never loses

[for those unfamiliar with cardinality: אo]

call me

plus
it may seem like i'm just faking it
maybe i've just had enough
i'm cold

count my easy breaths
to see if i'm
alive, or even
just there
vacantly

hoping that someone out there still cares
enough to see through
this shameless ploy

gorilla in the post office

a drooping lip and eye
lazily knuckling in
living by sense alone

curiosity assuaged
only by careless handling

all thinking energy
reserved, held back in for
exploding against those
suspected, backstabbing
interferers in his
pleasure, he beats his chest
grumpily sidles off
us laughing at his back

Saturday, January 22, 2011

training wheels

child

you're all teeth
and ears on
your giant
little bike

strai - ning - to - keep - walk - ing - pace

defending yourself
from all those roaming,
unpredictable,
homeless street lamp poles

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

stream of consciousness: nature

nature is full of hair and teeth
and gnawed bones and leathery wings
hard shells and spindly legs
and colour-blind eyes
and beaks

a marula
mushrooms and marijuana
fins and luminous colours in the dark
inks, plankton, fire and ice

and green beasts turned to stone
and huge veins running blue blood frozen JUST as it begins to drip
through those jagged stone blades
thrust through its skin

one minute embraced by that perfectly sublime and soulless landscape
seeing the goddess in her finest jewels and
the next, there's a bear in your tent

heat-seeking blood sucking missiles
and huge red towering monstrosities
holding the tiniest, the most fragile, the most ruthless lords
and their blind, sticky progeny
feasting on the broken parts of the terror of giants

nature is full of elephants and mice
snakes and mongooses
flatworms and lice
tender silverfish hiding in the dark

always a moment's pause
to sun on a rock
or hide beneath one

this is a steam of consciousness from this morning, inspired by stomache butterflies given birth to by stressing over my first poetry reading; the evening was entitled "there's something about nature", and i think it was well received. it is here presented as i wrote it down (with a single change: "stopped" to "frozen"), and as i read it.

bridge song

today i understood
for the very first time
why the insane get an
asylum from the men
tal institution of
craziness that those fool
ish enough call the real
world that which we call the
asylum is only
for the truly wretched
the rest of us are re
duced to setting up tents
in our living rooms and
having sleepovers when
ever daddy has his
back turned stuck into his
dreary work or his news
papers and wild west flicks
we play cops and robbers
too but we only need
pointing fingers not guns

Monday, January 17, 2011

a compass

i am but a finger
on a giant hand
pointing out to the stars
from an outstretched arm

the other hand deeply digs into the ground
as if to keep faraway legs on the mound
from escaping
from running, and jumping, or perhaps tumbling
because
sitting is better than slipping or tripping

all conducted by a deep magma rumbling voice
formed deep in a plasma wand of slow consciousness
squeezed upwards through massive tectonic bass plates
pounding out the sweet music that tweaks all of our fates

grumbling and groaning
and
breaking and building

through steamy soprano fissures she, joyously
denying gods with her power she, sensuously
turns jets into flowers and flowers to jets
serenaded by powerful gods-mocking pets

each million-million nails
plucking millions of strings
each million-million tongues
flapping songs, making winds

each million-million fingers
tightening their grips
although there's no space left
not for shoulder, nor hips

each million-million mouths
making chicken-cluck pucks
from the whistles and whines
to the gurglings and sucks

each million-million howls
being slapped in the face
each million-million souls
chained down without grace

mother runs round in circles
yet always straight ahead
and she nevers complains
no matter where she is led

what am i?

Sunday, January 16, 2011

observations

the general opens his stern
well-meaning
fat hole of a mouth
and blabbers into the microphone
for all the base to hear

the major applauds, a little
too enthusiastically, filled with pride
seeking a promotion

the capo corporale stands
attentively in formation
a cog in the machine
greasing
a stiff-lipped service

the private sniggers to himself
shuffles his feet
mumbles, mumbles
about how he's cheated them all

Saturday, January 15, 2011

when i was a child

when i was a child,
i spake as a child,
i understood as a child,
i thought as a child:
but yet before i became a man,
i thought as a man,
understood as a man,
spake as...
something in between;
and when i became a man,
i tried to put away childish things.
then i saw through a glass, darkly;
but then face to face:
then i knew in part;
and now i know even
deeper as also i am known.
and i picked up
those childish things,
and thought like a child,
and spake as a child,
and was happier like a child
and more a man than a child.
for now i am
both a child
and not,
and know the secret
that only old,
bitter men realize
after being children
all their lives.

control loop

the newscaster sits inside his little box
a puppet on a string
being told how to look
what to say
an invisible spectral hand controlling
an empty machine
reading from an invisible feed and
talking into a box
looking into a box
into his prison
into your prison
pulling your strings
with his hypnotic mechanical drawl

Friday, January 14, 2011

frozen morning

from out of the cold
i step into slow beats
and traces of last night's incense
waking up into a stranger's life
into his perfect languid morning
of touch and scent
of tiny thrills
and small promises whispered into
tight canvases of tautly drawn skin
with wandering, easy fingertips
rediscovering old friends
embracing
always for the first time
and with gargantuanly slow
trembling moments
with slow, portrait-perfect sliding eyes on
slow, portrait-perfect sliding bodies
i enter the stranger
and lose myself

[context]

Monday, January 10, 2011

a rabbit hole

the crickets chirp in an almost forgotten realm
dawn, crisp and cool creeps back into bed
for just a minute, perhaps two
like me, let such a hot, sunny day complete the dream

falling through the pupil of my mind's eye
this eden green the iris seeming suddenly
large and distant as saturn's rings
that great titan's lips swallow me whole

down the hole i tumble, no petticoats
to billow and slow my fall
knocked and bumped and smacked about
and bruised and broken by a
decade's worth of trinkets and fetters
volumes of great works and buckets of junk
portraits of wonderful nobodies and clocks
that never knew the times, mirrors telling
tall tales and postcards of places i've
never been

softly and gently i land and i stumble upon that
fair oasis
the explorer in traditional grey garb on strange soil
treading a familiar tread, curious, relaxed until
a giant hand catches the nape of my neck
the world falls away, but only for a moment then
zooms terrifyingly back towards me
my body bent over the short grass digging into my cheek
and now
just out of the corner of my eye i see
his great big face and i hear
his great big drawl and
i comprehend
following his great big finger pointing
to my footsteps
which i must learn to do without

phoebus' chariot hurtles towards the horizon
playful colours brushing their fingertips across
the dusk of my naivety
the forest stretches over the lake
protecting the lady from night sprites and
pan lulls us softly with flute and tapping foot

three angels lead me to a grizzly old man
who, with warm smile, points to a place no compass could deduce
and i follow, with mystical shudder and shift
i seek the one true face of the forest

i don't seek long, but simply wander
old man forest greets me
as a long-lost brother
and i him
with slight suspicion though without foul intent
our customs strange, yet we share the same blood
i am placed in the care of three guides so fair
three silver faeries, wings a-shimmering
their lightest touch and eager direction
make me giddy with delight
then fear, for i cannot recall their names
nor, since their touch, my own

in such a foreign land, can one do better
than set his faith, hope and pray
and follow like a lamb?
with neither sword nor will to fight
stood i a chance against my brother's night?

rising darkly in the midst of
her grace's laughing, lapping waters
i find the land of the lizards
those enormous cousins of kings
who soothe petty dragons with their drums
with their strangely burning purple fires
each tended by an infinite sea
of witches and warlocks, imps and fauns
feeding their lords with intense prayer
as ants must serve their queen
and i, a sweet, a morsel
to be offered up, sugar-soul consumed

my faery guides observe with impartial interest
their eyes and manner giving me no hints
as a dark man, small eyes and large grin
a too-familiar figure, aged and wise
comes to take me by the hand
comes to lead me to the edge of all of these lands

as i stand on that great wall
keeping guard against the ghosts
that sweet lizard's drum sounds
from all around telling me
i need not fear lost souls
from the nothing that lies beyond
the forsaken steel and concrete forever
holding back the waters of that enchanted space
still under the protective wings
of frosty-blooded love

from beneath that great canopy of stars
we return to that of the old man's leaves
into a busy and bustling night city
merry dryads prancing and taunting
where shopkeepers hustle and converse
paying scant attention to their commerce
nor me, and while i stare stupidly
my wise friend disappears, and the bushes
produce naughty faces that greet me
tease me, frighten me before i
breathe again, here can be no enmity

i lose my way, and wander
first here, then there
the good night stretches, pushes back against
the morning
while i stare at the sky, praying to all the gods
i stand outside, even as i close in
digging holes too shallow to hide in
even from myself

i am wrapped in obscurity, then
as if suddenly ashamed of his oppression
chivalrous night lifts up his thumb
unties aurora from her bondage bed
dews her eyes, washing away the sleep-sand

she slowly stretches, matched
by those shy residents of the mushroom forest
waking, shaking sleepy dream-epiphany from their faces
relaxing into brightening restfulness
and the water nymphs, who she joins in their
merry honorary dip, then leaves
rising out to the sky with her arms, hands, fingers trailing
small streams as the droplets sparkle
from her forehead and long braids

out into the sunshine come the mad hatters and those
inexhaustible dryads who raise their hands
praise the rising sun
lost boatmen's laughter, rejoicing in finding their way home
all the old man's children come out to play
hyperion takes over and apollo steps down
to touch, to cup smiling faces
singing sweet songs to the children of the muse

then an engine roars, and i'm a passenger in a rocket ship
the launch incinerates that kingdom as we fly
with incredible speed
up
through the smoky blue skies
wrapped in loud, angry flames
through the black vacuum of the shattered remains
of my vision
through those twinkling points of that
shimmering paradise of my mind's eye
through now
through here
to look upon eden
that will surely soon be lost

[context]

Friday, January 7, 2011

the corridor

it's dark out here
in the cool corridor
but for a soft glow
shining through the keyhole

i struggle with the
key
it will not go in, will not
turn, but clatters uselessly

too late i realize that
i have been trying to
open your door with
my key
all along

one of us

one you
one me
many you
many we

but when one talks of such a one
as is contrived to hide the gun
that mere contrivance points back to
that spectral trace of me and you
but it's neither you nor me
although it very well could be

[context]

magic number seven

nine ways to ingest drugs
yet only two for food
one wonders if that's by design
what was that wise man's mood?

[context]

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

zombie jesus

he died for our...
so let's go out and...
afterwards we'll feed on him
drink his blood
and be alright

acting

the curtain rises
the spotlight consumes us

our hearts are racing
our pulses pound in our temples
we're hiding on the stage
hiding behind the director's masks

to ambush an unsuspecting audience
to capture them
in a web
of their own mythologies

with tremors in our throats
barely able to see our target
we frantically fumble for our arrows

urban landscape

standing upon a small patch of grass
a throwback to our primitive days
before our jungles were reduced to urban moments

i glance down
looking far away, down six feet
to those distant blades of grass surrounding my feet

on a cold morning, the crunch of grass beneath my feet
crumpled skyscrapers of a tiny, productive people
who wondered at the eclipse
while their glass windows shattered
while their crushed concrete constructions choked them with dust
while their water systems fountained and flooded

so fast, and so violent
that no whisper escaped
no sound could be strong enough
to echo witness to such tragic calamity

they are lulled no more by the false sense of security
provided by those enormous green blades
towering magnificently, eternally over their worlds
and now broken

dread sharks

two great, evil sharks writhe violently
caught, tangled in my dreadlock web
i carry them with me
floating through the murky depths
thick cables tied to them
slowly dragging that incorrigible steel eel of a highway behind me

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

augmented realities vs imagination

am i already a cyborg because i've integrated the concept of a digital world into my systems?
into my consciousness?
am i envisioning with my bionic eyes as an underlay instead of seeing with my natural ones as an overlay?
am i thinking like a machine, being a machine because that's what this world has made of me?

is this why i suffer withdrawal symptoms when disconnected from the net?
why a day without my cellphone is a fantasy memory of what we idealize as human and natural? a memory of a time already past, where the very idea of being all natural is escapist and worthy of ridicule?

these cute technological parlour tricks spark something deep inside of me, because they show me the future in which we're already all living in cyberspace; living in cyberspace and dreaming of an awkward semi-natural past.

the singularity has already occurred, and it's us: we're the machines.

[context]

Sunday, January 2, 2011

recycled firearms

a perfect moment
my vision circling to meet
a violent swing towards me
thick metal stock
tasting my teeth

that circle of vision, surrounding
shattering explosion of tooth
solitary spurt, slow arc of blood
greased metal on my tongue
sounding hollow

the world rushes back in
half as loud
twice as far away
i am forever changed

[context]

a first test, a taste

out of the darkness
echoes of water droplets softly splashing
the fast snick snick of a crawling creature
approaching the entrance
snick snick
it rushes to the entrance, sticks out a snicking leg
a sharp bone taps taps on the floor, then
just as suddenly
snick snick rushes back
back into the darkness
snick snicks fading quickly away
echoes of water droplets darkly splashing
the memory of a bony leg escaping

the witch

connecting the dots
the wig
the pen
those shameless bare legs,
that pressed black lipstick

i don't care for her hair
so why
does she?
it's a power struggle
jocasta and the world

so, like oedipus
i remove my eyes
to force
a change
in my perspective

it does not really help
i can still hear her voice
unclear
confused
i flee my own sense

a future

phallic mother ejaculates into space
spraying cyborg metallic semen sheen
congealing floating sticking to the cosmic debris
history science art gametes
the seeds and eggs
their fusion our rebirth

[context]

Saturday, January 1, 2011

youth is for the young

youth is neither ith nor usth
but is both hung and unhouth
both uncouth and cung
mouthing words yet unmung
in so doing,
untrung
youth lies
north,
unsung

[context]