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]