LEMON LENNON

Tags

corporate, Creativity, imagine, John Lennon, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, rock music, satire

LEMON LENNON

imagine there
are no
universities
no art schools where
you can
grow your hair

put your ideas
through a synthesizer

just iconic brick or brutal
concrete spaces fully integrated
where you can study
fully work-
interfaced synergistic modules

on people management and other
resource regulation,
power-station fastbed-physics
and
other delightful

unless
called to the high
carbon-fiber pantheon
of true economic truth

imagine

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THE SKY BUCKLES

Tags

Consciousness, Creativity, Humanity, Language, meaning, Metaphor, Metaphysical, metapoetic, philosophical, philosophy, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, power, Reader, semiotics, time, wordplay, writing

THE SKY BUCKLES

The physics Professor
cabled the poet, said

you writers have no insight
into the nature of things
(once the great Lucretius passed
that great understanding gone
sadly lacking)

told him off sharply for his deployment
of preposterous verb after preposterous verb

dragging the no sense
down into nonsense

dim place
without true knowledge of processes
(“the sky buckles
the Earth speaks

what nonsense is
this”)

such false pride, devious ego assumptions,
same as with the climbers who
stumble in the death zone descent
die like flies
(not that flies can reach them
or decay ever

the minus sign that withholds
the fair redistribution of their atoms

so great an outlay on
the right to die without real dignity

whilst I can (here we go with these verbs again)
sink into the soft demolishment of self
the loosening, untethering of all memories
that the
winds might take them blow
them from the summit like
freshly-fallen snow

subtract me from that consciousness
that is little more than
delusion of matter, philosophical
abstraction

deploying to this end all
your verbs rigidly Newtonian, constitutionally-approved,

there to
beat all the sympathy, empathy
out of me
hard Nature in

that the course you have charted (calculating
mass as opposed to energy)
might bring me to
the mirror of the truth that
governs all
seemingly evolving

get those selfish, time-denying atoms, to speak
only when
spoken to

adamant in their madness
that they
are here (voicing as collective)

to
speak what
needs to be spoken

and so will,
must speak

perforce express

(and if the sky buckle fearing the
fake power of this medium

let these verbs have
their way

let each
do its worst)

TREE

Tags

Consciousness, Creativity, History, Humanity, identity, Language, meaning, metafiction, Metaphor, metapoetic, Narrative, philosophical, poem, Poet, poetry, postmodern, postmodernist, psychological, spiritual, transformation, Universe, writing

TREE

asked a tree
if it — we — had
a history

or if we were just fictional beings in
a simulation, as Buddha
did
in fact suggest
(struggling to incarnate as
Keanu Siddhartha)

possible to
efface as
glitches in
the system

characters to be rewritten
(structural flaws
to correct)

making for something that
lends itself to
deeper analysis
better
viewing, reading
in mode
lyric, comic, tragic

or postmodern self-
reflexive that somehow
narrates itself

and so,
I asked a tree, am
still waiting in quandary

nothing as it
should be
(as many as leaves, all
its thoughts
waiting to
be
signifier signified connected

spliced and grafted,
assessed, processed)

BILLIONS OF MAN

Tags

Creation, Divine, Humanity, poem, poetry

BILLIONS OF MAN

he glared
but
the anger faltered

turned to love, and so
caressed the darkness

the deep-space darkness
as yet
unwritten

before the
explosion of law
into life

before band faintly present
not yet escaping
all that remains
hypothetical

before he would take one of us
found still faithful, yet exasperating,
out on Grand Tour of all
that is and
is still possible

from beginning
to end

much turmoil in that mind
consonant with creativity

a future
worth speculating on

riven between
horror of war civil (so many
golden fallen) and
the music of marriage

where did
they disappear to
that supreme host

creatures of the ether
of energy and light

whose great displacement
leaving time, leaving space
in its many dimensions

more than enough
way more than enough
to house
the billions
of man

INDIGO TOO

Tags

arrogance, blue, Creativity, Ending, god king, Humanity, loss, male, narcissism, Narrative, Patriarchy, poem, poetry, power, satire, Sexual, sexual symbolism, writing

INDIGO TOO

blue sky
so blue
every vein in
my brain bursts

until the Universe
is like shot with a
red filter is
like Doppler receding

my hair
my life
red shifting out
of nowhere

and I do love
spontaneous combustion
creation
ex nihilo
(my ex is
a nihilist
after me
she became a nihilist)

but deus ex machina that
almost my logical
definition not
my true love

the idea that the Universe
(slime-ball it sometimes is)
should contrive to
send down a chariot
teleport, use the
Led Zeppelin escalator

to save some golden god-Emperor
whose life is all
about

reflecting the light

save him from crude
poetic justice, rewrite
his history airbrushing all flaws

this after caught flagrante delicto
in act of
swearing my
true love into
absolute self-slavery and
sexual submission

until she is but a discarded, blissful shell
of a character,
item of convenience

sacrifice most divine
(echo with me
always: her last delicious
licking of lips)

blue sky then
lots of cool blues to choose from
ice to cerulean
turquoise, indigo too

RETURN

Tags

Creation, death, Life, metapoetic, poem, poetry, Shakespeare

RETURN

there is a poet
in the cemetery
writing

as if
on cure
things

take
a dark turn

for is it not
this literary machine thing
devolved to pen
and paper

life’s deepest resistancew, death’s
finest achievement?

I mean — check out these stones: so many have poetic couplets
some of them epigraphs
no space for odes or even sonnets
still less
Iliad or Odyssey

this I muse whilst
graffiti on the chapel wall
pictures Sam Beckett tumbling
from birth to grave
signs too
that Nietzsche is back
back with braveface to live a return

Sun going down: convenient metaphor that
for how everything recycled

like these very words, some of them
(like “Caesar”, “dust”) dug out of their fertile grave
back from the worms that
we imagined owned them
still something of that a little less than
ghost attached that once
we might have given a name to and
that name Shakespeare’s

words
inadequate, not doing justice
especially to such names which
deserve not
to be dropped

so I
break that solemn wall

do you
openly address

restore with
heart and
with light

the death and life in all I have said
need your insight to connect

together to make
this accomplishment
(small small jewel being
our return)

DAVID

Tags

identity, King David, poem, poem poetry political moral, Poet, poetry, poets, spiritual, writing

DAVID

what am I?

it does not make any sense to say
“man filled with the spirit”

for if possible to fill
then technically, also, half-full,
needing a top up
and running on empty

similarly, makes no sense
to say, man
delivering poetry

for how, where, deliver?
to whom, by
what means, through
what agency

killing the word itself all
such questions of logistics

and yet with some poems (not
this one, not
this one) there is

a kind of a glow
a lighter-than-air sense of achievement
of belonging, however tenuously to
that great, great tribe
who trace their origin and
path to God through
the shepherd David

READ THIS

Tags

Capitalism, Creation, Creativity, identity, poem, poetry, writing

read this
battery farmed poem

it grew tenderly
sending out shoots in all directions

they struggled to escape my
tiny cage, penetrate the wire

Oh, so many poems am I required to produce
a daily quota that determines
quantity
and quality
of life

BODY TELLS YOU

Tags

Beauty, Creation, Creativity, erotic, female, Humanity, identity, innuendo, Language, loss, love, male, meaning, philosophical, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, postmodern, power, psychological, semiotics, sexual symbolism, the body, transformation, woman, wordplay, writing

BODY TELLS YOU

body tells you
are entering
dark world

no
uncertain terms

this body
you reject as
foreign virus, want nothing to
do with, can’t conceive
of anything to do with

Oh for a Universe
where we are all networked, we are
all reiteration, repetition,
we do not mince words
every sentence
has an
exclamation mark and
we stomp through the future like
sexual cyborgs
whose passion is
pre-coded in
each nuclear fuel cell

I digress
hopefully depress

would I could fly off at a tangent
hit escape velocity
and not stop until
I have left the
solar system met

Vega’s blue aliens

and yet
something in how I was written
sure to get me
boomeranging back to you
(aches beyond human understanding
down deep and dreamtime in my didgeridoo)

your pet theory
poet on a leash

otherwise
no ties
to hold me

or matching handkerchief

but
slipping the wire
snaking away

today I’m the dog in the adage
having my day

my energies
to the naked eye semi-
invisible

not yet the sort
that smash, mutate flesh

and yet
almost if upon cue
my body
to frail, odd
to contain
crumbles, falls to bits

Oh that I had that red boiling blood
of the raw alpha predator

not gamma guy
seems to
have the Cain trademark branding of
an entirely different galaxy

Oh
your palace of the self
that you assumed
safe for centuries

is tipping, toppling, enduring
the inconvenience of
slightly more than slight seismic shift

slides into an ocean of
collapsing Moon cards

my body
ever a mirror for
such phenomenal
conjuncture

gone liquid metal to
Mercury-message you

that which the future has determined, has
sworn it will have from us, will
absolutely make of us

would rise from its grave
having won every bet

THE BIG LIE

Tags

Big Bang, Creation, Creativity, entropy, expansion, poem, poetry, stagnation, Universe

THE BIG LIE

you told us
there was Big Bang
we can microwave
some oats
and see

but no sense of ever-
expanding
self-transcending

just floating in a perpetual
Sargasso Sea