THE LOOK

Tags

art, Dali, Fashion, Jackson Pollock, love, Miro, Picasso, poem, poetry, Tattoos

THE LOOK

Mr Jackson Pollock
dripped paint
on my shoes

Joan Miro
did my tattoos

Dali
cut my hair

Picasso
tailored my suit

you got
to
spend
some

of your
life with me

who better
got the look?

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LITTLE CORNER

Tags

arrogance, Ending, Fascism, macho, male, narcissism, Nazi, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, power, pride, Reader, satire

LITTLE CORNER

I cook
I sing

do everything
I can to
paint my little
corner

for here
it will my pleasure
my joy to
have my
last stand

for outside so
much fake
sunlight (industrial
neon) and
golden hypocrisy
delusion
of being

at a moment, not of
abject decline, but apotheosis

and more and more
not just surrendering, but
openly embracing
the gorgeous godhead of
the monstrous leader

who teaches them
to see afresh, as if
with new eyes

to
accept his word
and the
faith will follow

and money pouring in
a molten river

they
will wait and see
he said
wait and
see

whilst I scratch together
hopefully enough to
afford this
daily museum

monthly rent for
my place of beauty

though
no beauty really

as you
say

if he
does not
agree.

PALACE OF SLEEP

Tags

afterlife, Creation, Creativity, death, Dream, Keats, Poe, poem, Poet, poetry, Rebirth, writing

take me to the Palace of Sleep
where the air is hashish-heavy
as thick with dark autumnal cloud
as anything written
by Poe or Keats

sky dragging itself across
as if stuck somewhere
and out to test the winds

but let me
sink into that darkness
night so perfect, it is the null equation,

there
where words are absorbed, lines, phrases
disintegrate, are so carefully dismantled
scattered like leaves
on a river, like momentary
phosphorescence on the ocean

no dream here, at least
none that
is remembered,
only the blending of
currents, change,
reconfiguration

she said that I reminded her of Keats once
this before she got married
but after we
were lovers

perfect sleep in her arms then
no thought of
darkness, any kind of
renewal, rebirth, re-
definition of self

as figure who writes
not figure who loves

the gates to every Palace
secretly open
unbeknownst to me
at that
most lost of lost moments

WHAT THE THUNDER THEN ADDED

Tags

art, Fascism, fascist, poem, poem poetry political moral, T S Eliot, Ted Hughes, The Wasteland, Universe

WHAT THE THUNDER THEN ADDED

It may sound like it but
it was not a T.S. Eliot creative moment

reading Ted Hughes whilst
a fascist was playing Franz Liszt’s
Duo Sonato, solo on violin,
without piano, without
a friend

on the TV (or maybe it was one of
those old 1930s radios) a politician
from the English Home Counties
was assaulting Europe and
the very concept of
the good European

I was almost waiting for Nietzsche
to miraculously pitch up, grab
him, shake him,
throw him into the abyss
by the scruff of his neck
along with that fake Boudicca
who masquerades as his leader
(how she
could lead anything
so totally beyond me)

and then came the flashback to
my Matriculation Certificate English Examination
some serious nutjob choosing
a piece from “What the Thunder Said”
for our unseen poetry analysis

and here I am meeting
this ocean of reference
for the first time

scrambling through a hostile burning desert
in the company of unknown hope
unrecognized resurrection

whilst
the sea rises, swamps
drowns the coast

despite itself, despite all the auguries
maybe a line
can be drawn

maybe the poem can embrace
understand everything
in its own
limited, incomparable way.

SOME CONSOLATION

Tags

art, death, Life, poem, poetry, Reader

SOME CONSOLATION

poof!
we disappear

Houdini
could not
do
better

sometimes no “poof”!
just go
disappear,
arguably (no
proof)
forever
and ever

and me (clock
still running)
thinking the art
and life thing
(as per
normal)
at such
critical juncture

think (try to get
my Plato-Descartes brain
around)
stepping
off the page

leaving the
stage

hero’s journey but
with unfinished chapter
(some consolation
reader
that you

live
forever)

TALKING RODIN

Tags

poem, poetry

TALKING RODIN

you wanted to
model yourself
on me

thanks for
the flattery

but would prefer it
if you would
help to
mold me
whilst I’m
doing my
level creative
best
to mold you

as single sculptures go
the best we
two can do.

ARTIST

Tags

poem, poetry

ARTIST

the artist
only cares
about form

the politician’s
sole concern
is power

look what
a caricature they
have made of you
how reduced

the one
to control
to fleece
you sick

the other
to cut away the fat
the dross

have you
speak
your
basic truth

in
sad, shattered,
most human
voice

SHOW ME

Tags

poem, poetry

SHOW ME

let me out
show me
the door

or better,
draw me a window
where I can see
all those things that poems
are supposed to
be full of

Nature like a garden
a garden like Nature

streams whose murmuring
remind you this house
you have entered is
pure sound has
been constructed
out of words,
beautiful
words

a synonym for
these strange,
cryptic squiggles

ON AESTHETIC PRINCIPLES

it’s hard for
a poet caught
in bed doing
something with
someone somewhat
illicit

should the full
weight of the
moral law be
forgone

and he, she,
be purely judged
on aesthetic principles

FISH (for David Butler)

FISH (for David Butler)

it’s just a fish

not like
for a dish

and it involves
a ship
we call
“craftsmanship”

a fishing vessel
we call
metaphor

David though
in a small boat, actually
more a coracle

somewhere beneath the surface
of that dark, rough sea

a bite
waiting to happen

to be
pieced together

frame by frame
bone
by
bone

moment
by moment