Category Archives: Republished
IN THE LAST MOMENTS OF MY CHRISTMAS CANDLE
In the nest of a speckled thrush
Which contained some good ideas
I swear I saw a lamb
Who are you, heart of the flame
Who stand in grace above a dying light?
Sad endings across the hollow lake
Ducks at evening
A glacier of wax
The glass mountain of Nativity
Urbane as a bustling sufferer
The whole world in a flame
If it grew as a sheet of steel
For the hammer of hard fortune
Embrace the light
Do not flee before fears of your own face
Or a tree
Though dressed like an artist
I have nowhere to go
There is no flame
No flower without bud
No budding without death
Ah love, to know is to be true
Unsure as a bursting sunflower
On a slender stalk
Living to find the sun
I fear the sharp eyes of the wind
Of a spring and a summer gone by
All my life in a locket round my neck
Containing a few friends
I see you pretend to die proudly
Neck as a swan’s
But you will bend your back
Cough like an old man
Spitting in the street his lungs
I am the heart of the flame
The lord of life
Love is all, love is me
I do not need to tell you
Quite uselessly beautiful
You are the cloudless stars
You are the speckled sky
All passages of thought
So if you ever get bored
Your mind …
If you stop
You don’t have to start again …
Acres of space
Bumper to bumper
THE KILGORE TROUT MANOEUVRE
Would sometimes be found
Shaking his head at the clock and scowling
Said: “Logic is a tool
Not a home address”
Called himself a psychologist
Said he was conducting experiments
Said: “Luther said every person is their own priest
And by God if they aren’t their own psychologist too!”
Read Burroughs and Dick; said they really spoke to him
Lucky he didn’t end up on a Section
Said: “The wise use their power gently
And strive in secret to improve their character”
Kilgore Trout is a fictional author who appears in several Kurt Vonnegut novels, where a number of his plots are briefly described. (Check the internet for more details.) This device allows Vonnegut to (a) write things while disclaiming authorship of them (though the disclaimer is clearly flimsy) and (b) communicate some big ideas in a few sentences rather then having to write a…
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MADLY IN LOVE
Her life redrawn as a comic strip … sans comedy.
No longer that dynamic duo. Batteries flat.
Bats in the belfry, robbin’ bewildered senses blind.
And … adrift might best describe it. Hooked, blind and snookered.
…..(He is the one?)
Even lying beside her, not truly here, he lies
oceans away, behind cold fronts, lines of icy bars,
biting winds, squalls of temper, hurricanes of contempt.
Comforts herself with poetry and sweet memories
…..(He is the one!)
that turn to nightmares where he’s drowning, calling her name.
Then she is there, reviving him (mouth to mouth, of course).
Waking to find him gone she recaulks her leaky fancies,
sets her sails for yet another day tacking upwind.
…..(He is the one!)
Eschewing havens, but never her hope, she soldiers on,
soiled sails reduced to tatters, she rows from pole to pole,
trawls the seven seas. Her treasure? Nowhere to be seen.
He has unfurled his true colours: the skull and crossbones.
…..(He is the gone.)
Reposted from long ago.
Unacknowledged this hawk-eyed underlife;
unseen, hovering soundlessly above,
observes our attempts to communicate.
Bars and then spaces, spaces and then bars;
words and then spaces, spaces and then words.
Music, conversation in the early dawn.
My words cut glass, a trigonometry.
Yours a slice of reality TV.
Cutting edge music this, fraught with discord.
Words enfold mirrored worlds; space echoes space.
Uncharted, the space within the worlds;
chimeric, the worlds within the spaces.
You twitter from inside, captive songbird.
I twitter from outside, locked out, exiled,
feeding this bonfire of words to keep warm,
maybe finding among these words refuge,
sanctuary, a hiding place. And then
some note peeps deep within that melody,
tingles in my ear, tiptoes warily
into the light: the song of the phoenix;
lightning bolt sending a shiver up the spine.
The unwatched cauldron at last boils over
revealing us to be understudies,
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Decided to repost this ancient poem. It seems sadly as relevant as ever. 😦
Could be someone
Designated a “world leader”
Or a “captain of industry”
Or just some unwitting contributor
To one in a million on line forums
But on a sudden
That within me throbs and swells
And lifts its eyes to heaven
And bursts its banks
And flows down untrammelled
To see how they draw pleasure
From the chance to cause another pain
With their stiff necks
Their red eyes
And the rightness alcohol lends
And again I am drawn to reflect
Where boundaries can ever be meaningfully drawn
To notions like “nature”
THE MAGICAL ACT
Teaching is love
Which is to give
…..the space to breathe
…..asking nothing in return
Teach me to love
…..and teach in my turn
Paying back to the spirit of man
IN HIS CUPS
A sip of wine
A hint of melody …
Melt into lavaflows
Unleash unadmitted yearnings
Challenge this paltry masquerade
Yelled from minaret or pulpit
Hounded by fatwa and heresy
Across the centuries, this dented I
Which has, for all of that brouhaha
Such shallow roots
Must be why they ban
These dangerous demons
While we for our part
Fight tooth and nail
To retain or else regain
These royal roads
Sly peeps from a foxhole I spy
Which of you though I wonder
Is the least untrustworthy one?
Variations on you taking turns
Flash past the slits of my eyes
Each taking their best shots
Taking their own sweet time
While I too take mine slowly
Ploughing through mugshots
Of women both lost and found
Tacitly playing judge and jury
Accuser and accused alike
Oh don’t make me lie to you
Let’s drop stubborn opinions
Let me lie with you instead
See us gratefully transported
To some other place far away
Yet together here all the time