SCARCELY AUDIBLE

Tags

afterlife, death, poem, poetry, spiritual, writing

SCARCELY AUDIBLE

I died
and found myself
in a vast auditorium

a debate was raging
between, such as I could gather
since the voices were scarcely audible
someone arguing for
the moratality of the soul
and someone that consciousness
was not real
just a kind of false mirror
a epiphenomonon rooted
in our biology

and so
wondering how long the
debate might last, and who
was the more likely winner
I figured this
must be location transitional
a kind of way station
place to
take time out
put me head in my arms try
to catch winks surreptitious

but

do

the dead
sleep

do the dead sleep?

Meanwhile it appeared someone
was trying to
get hold of me
my phone was ringing (yes.
I did have a
phone

and tattoos written
in Hebrew and Latin and
Sanskrit and Arabic

were
appearing
all over my body

whether
good thing or bad thing
I leave it to you to tell

ANGEL

Tags

corona virus, covid-19, death, Humanity, identity, meaning, Metaphor, philosophical, poem, poem poetry political moral, Poet, poetry, power, Reader, satire, spiritual, thermonuclear, Truth, wordplay, writing

ANGEL

the angel
of death
(is there
any other?)
aligns
himself
via the stars

attaches via minuscule
spines
to do his
really insidious cell
manipulation
potent damage

and this
for our
Sins
the big seven deadlies
(like me
to list them)

or just, yunno, as
part of
evolution
or for no
damned reason

just on a whim
a fleeting whim that
got consolidated
into a
strategy

and why should we
take issue, have a
spiritual or
metaphysical problem

it’s our science
we see
reflected in that mirror
in the fingers
stretching out from
that dark sleeve

to press
the button
press the goddamned button

that
droplet landing in
place of
convenience
fatally speaking

Oh, give the angel
a break — what
do you expect from me
wish me to say? I am
when
all is said and done
a fucking poet
of sorts
pretensions of
being a writer

how am I going to allow you
to redact this knowledge, this wisdom
freely censor this

we are all
in the same boat, same pot,
Heaven, Nature’s
death messengers revelling
in every life moment
as absolute
freedom of expression

WARM

Tags

death, poem, poetry, wordplay

WARM

my bed
is warm

and
woman-free

outside though
death is
gaining ground

icy fingers creeping
closer centimeter by
centimeter

like
I got bitten
by some toothless
snake

was a complete
joke and yet
some venom got in

so think
I’ll lie here warm
in your absence
your beautiful absence
(and yes, I am, aware
this is
decidedly ambiguous)

counting sheep or
frozen lamb chops
until I myself
refrigerate

aim for a thousand, then
close to as infinity
as this poison lets

DEATH

Tags

death, poem, poetry, Tarot

DEATH

I passed Death who was driving
on the road
in an Amish buggy
I myself was in
a Diabolo
courtesy of
Mr Lamborghini

but this was not
Death from
Bill and Ted
who played Twister
to win
their mortality
no this was
the dude on
the Tarot card
white rose on
his black knight’s pennant

and
nothing bad
in the tidings there
did his word have
in store
for me

just the
ending of my world and
life anew

which
even at this late, penultimate stage
has to be considered something

LAST TRAIN

Tags

Desert, existential, God, identity, loss, poem, poetry, spiritual, surreal

LAST TRAIN

I missed the last train
the very
last train

for — surreal
just to speak of it —

they tore up the tracks
pulled down the signal box

all around me
the platforms, the station
beginning to disappear

someone told me
(or perhaps I read somewhere)
everything was
being dismantled
in flavour of a new
seamless, instant technology

as I sat alone
awaiting this future

speculating upon
how it might
sound, smell, look

in what
style and form
it would be destined to appear

such thoughts
ringing true
but not sure
whether a C or
D or E or
F or
G

whilst the wind whistled
the desert whispered
how is
aloneness possible
how can
it possibly be

yes
wind and sand
have it in them, carry
the capacity
to ask cosmic questions

never alone

I could not
accept this premise

as I tried my best, but failed,
to refute the
divine, designer logic

of a piece
of burning tumbleweed

CARNIVAL

Tags

Carnival, death, funeral, Humanity, identity, meaning, poem, Poet, poetry

CARNIVAL

turn
it into
a carnival

keep the
whole world awake
an entire night

drink and eat
and celebrate
fulfil the needs
of the flesh

cannot say
I hope to
see you
there

but know
you will be
there
nevertheless

part of the wave
of love as it spreads

sad
just thinking
of the joy of it

BODY OF WORK (POEM MACABRE)

Tags

Carnival, death, macabre, Mexico, poem, poetry, the body

BODY OF WORK (POEM MACABRE)

what a body of work
poke it
and it crumbles into dust
and has not
even aged yet

pull back
the skin and
there you see
bare bones, not
even malevolent skeleton

nothing like those grimacing
Catholic-Aztec wonders from
a life-haunting
Mexican festival of death

they walk
it s alive

how so
when our planet
itself has become zombified

I do not even
know the Spanish for
dance of the dead

and my Latin is so
poor, almost forgotten

far from — perish the thought! —
the eternal or immortal

UNDER LIBRA

Tags

balance, death, Desire, Judgement, Libra, love, poem, poetry

UNDER LIBRA

nothing heavy
when they weigh my soul

so light
almost empty

the balance does
not move

but you
as for your soul
better than
wild guess
I cannot say

for whom
I would have given
my weight
in gold

and nothing slight
about me
at that time

just so
much flesh

seething
with desire

TREE OF LIFE ‘N DEATH

Tags

death, Life, poem, poetry, religious, spiritual, theological

TREE OF LIFE ‘N DEATH

tried not to
get too theological
about the
thing:
tree
of life
being also

tree of death
so I cut down
the tree planed
branches into
cross-beams

happy to
erect an
instrument of
punishment
but the child
in me
settled
for a swing

which
has more
than enough
room
for you

LIBERO

Tags

Beauty, Consciousness, Creation, death, Fibonacci, Freedom, Humanity, Italy, liberation, Mathematics, meaning, Metaphor, metapoetic, perspective, philosophical, poem, poetry, postmodern, ROME, writing

LIBERO

drunk on the promise of liberation
I crafted this poem whose very premise,
if you would permit me to explain,
does to
this very topic
appertain

insofar as it proposes, argues,
steadfastly maintains,
that words
be the clay
out of which all
was made

not as complete fiat but
slowly, slowly: process
of trial
and error

the code pre-established, all
the systems set in place

(this
as sure as
triangles
are
triangular,
spirals
are spirals)

all done and dusted
tried and trusted
written into the
acid of
our DNA

and so
I salute you
creatures
of truth and beauty

and fib you not
Senor Fibonacci

loving the light in
your fair land with
its paramount city

leaving your own
carefully calculated
indelible impression

and
here is the very book
in which it is written
(the one we
contest, always argue over)

so much
blood in the
sand
of that arena

why is it
that beauty must
always contend with death

again
I hold up my
net
and trident

(or sword: for
pen
best metaphor,
best metonym)

so much
marble and gold
begging the eye
to look upward
redefine perspective, dream
of long-last freedom

drunk
on those
dreams
of
a future
on promise
of liberation

under which
eternal pressure
I do write
this poem

trying to
tie up
loose ends
get
opposites
to meet

square
all circles

such ironic that libero
the word I shamefacedly stole
is actually your own