IN A CHAPEL OF SORTS

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Nazi, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry

IN A CHAPEL OF SORTS

I dreamt I was in a chapel of sorts
outside the stars were fuming,
blazing crazy

on a park bench an old-timer
was reciting a few lines
from Blakes’ Vagabond
when the Nazis came for him
ones that all through the night
been springing up
like malignant mushrooms

dragged him off to a death camp
which had been prearranged

and so, like the teeth of Cadmus’ dragon,
my dream spawned more and more
horror irruptions that left me
white with fear

and dead, it would seem, because
I woke up to nothingness

just the void
of all existence
and yet
infinitely better from
the world of my dream, destined to appear.

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THIS NIGHT THIS DAY

Tags

poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, Universe

THE NIGHT THIS DAY

right now
the Universe is
experiencing
runaway inflation

lucky we got electricity
so no longer need
to gaslight our lives as
if it were a street

under these orange sodium
fuzz-balls of light

I stagger home a
little drunk

I say home
but these are

University flats built on
the very spot where Engels
hosted Marx
there is

a plaque

still something Victorian in the air
and the ghosts of those
two old dynamos
worshipped, hated there

when those
graves were dug, they thought “finally”
but let’s go deeper if needs be
err of the side of safety

the high-rise shapes of the
Institute of Technology

North of
England can get so cold

these words
coughed, fizzed,
spluttered

shame
there is no flame
cold
as a gaunt Cathedral

let’s not talk architecture
design so removed
from the night this day

THEY

Tags

arrogance, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, pride, Universe

THEY

they came
for the caterpillar
(such an astute metaphor)
for tarantulas
and the great white shark

but, sadly, alas,
for none of us,
not the brown,
the yellow, the black
the white

too much trouble
our day our night
our dark
our light

impossible to
separate them

AT YOUR PERIL

Tags

poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry

AT YOUR
PERIL

The book
is full of
evil energies

dripping
with dark imaginings

do not
open it

but now
you have read it
cover to
cover

how do
you live
with the truth
you have learnt?

NIGHT NIGHT

Tags

poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry

NIGHT NIGHT

my father
spoke at my funeral
told them that
I couldn’t do
anything right
even my death
had been
painfully drawn out

but then he
was suffused with light
as one who has
seen God

at which the mourners
did then rejoice
sang my
father’s praises
in one voice

placed him
on a golden throne
and began to dance

everything
so right
with the world
from that moment
for all eternity

the stars themselves
bucketing down delight
though they
would, of course,
disappear
since no more night

SO

Tags

poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry

SO

so this is how it ends:

I am caught staring wild-eyed
across some frozen or boiling landscape
wondering who or
what is was that
turned this dial
of our being to the extreme

the world not suffused in
darkness to the naked eye

but there are tell-tale signs
of terrors mustering outside
the regular spectrum

and here we are
at the end, where,
by definition
there will be nothing to say

THEN DARKNESS

Tags

poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, power

THEN DARKNESS

light
then darkness

and I am
not talking dusk

I am talking what
went wrong with
the wealth
of a star
in your system

how everything that was forged
got bent and twisted

as you placed your faith in
dust and ash, made it
your religion
turned disaster into the
voice of a
demanding God, whose grace
reflected in the shine of
dead objects, how high
the pile
what they say
about who
you are

elevated that one, two inch
above the rest

light
then
darkness

the book is shut, all books
are shut let us not speak
of what was never read

SYLVIA

a life
turns dark

Sylvia knew this
saw this

the woods
turning dark

her
woods
turning dark

the gas
on

MACHINE

the machine
presses and
folds
presses and folds

but I am forever
in my inner cave
too troubled and
too far away
to hear

here I speak with, listen to
a German voice
who insists everything
must recur, will return

that the spirit (or soul)
can stretch out
across the darkness
feel the power

await the hour
whose time need
be that of the
aforementioned machine

pressing and folding
sheets, pocket chiefs, space
itself, things
for blanketing
(the list
almost infinite)

AT LAST, NIGHT

one night
the lights went out
everywhere
and people were
astounded to
see the
stars

the least well-read
screamed in delight or terror
and those who
knew books cried
“this is
what Professor Hawking
has been
talking about!”