PERFECTLY

Tags

afterlife, death, Fascism, Peace, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry

PERFECTLY

I kind of guess
am going to
die horribly

some fascist stab me
through the eye with
weapon as
jagged as his heart

this is why
tolerance, respect, negotiation,
live-and-let-live, “fascists
are people too”
don’t work for them

believe that then you better
come check my ripped off face
my sea of blood

to which God drove him
(or so he
says and
the media believe him)

no
however I die

give me an
eternity to fade, forget, drift
in a space beyond
space where
it makes no sense
to talk of
subsist, exist

where the battles over
power and possession
are proved meaningless

and the only logic is hard and cold
and dark
unless the haphazard fire and light
of a star

so beautiful
not that I am here to

talk of beauty or the beautiful
all of it
lost on me

and that is
it
perfectly.

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SLAP DASH

Tags

Christ, dark, death, Evil, Horror, Humanity, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, power, The Fall, weapons

SLAP DASH

nothing to
see here

certainly not
these nails

very nails
that stapled Christ
to the Cross

and these are the rods
we let fall from space
spears of tungsten
that can
take out a city

(what can God do
against human
weapons?)

see
how it looks
from here

from pock-marked surface
of looney-tunes in June

(need rhyming slang
to follow these terrible trajectories)

stretching ourselves to
the verbal

to
the conceptual limit

we follow the paths
up
down
and around

we are
forced to take

(nothing to see here
move away
it all
so
slap dash
tiger-striped police tape telling
us it must be a crime scene)

BENEATH K2

Tags

death, K2, Life, Mother Earth, Mountain, poem, poetry

BENEATH K2

I kiss your breasts
am
in free fall

no rope
no umbilical cord
linking me to
the Mother of
Heaven

only the rich, really rich
get to climb K2

breathe the roof of the world
as bottled oxygen

only the dead
get to write their names
on the mountain
bind their tin-plate plaques
to the rock

time, wind, snow and ice
will efface, erode,
swap away

WITH WHICH YOU WERW BORN

Tags

death, Democracy, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, satire

WITH WHICH YOU WERE BORN

I voted for Death
(seemed a better
prospect at the time
than spoiling
my paper)

the party was welcoming
and I admired their
off-white colouring

which gives us
every hope of
the apocalypse
we have been
rooting for

full-on Armageddon
down amongst the
pots and pans

time of
iron control
and beautiful
suspicion

no hope
for chips
fish
neither

if your papers
are not in order

if you do not
support our plans

fail to
show the
glorious tattoo
they inked on
your skin invisibly

very day
that you were born

OR NOT

Tags

Capitalism, Consciousness, death, Fragmentation, Humanity, loss, philosophical, poem, poetry, spiritual, transformation, Twist in the tail, Unity, Universe

OR NOT

At the next line
this poem will end.

Believe it
or not.

I watch things dissolve
have heard that the
Universe is consciousness

we are
all connected

return, as it is written,
back to an ocean of drops.

Before things get
to dissolve however,
I fear I will fragment,
my body crack, things snap,
the structure of
what I am become
a broken shell

we are
all divided, exploited,
thrown against each other
battling
to survive

things you
can put your price on
flimsy, fragile containers
for such
insanely precious drops.

At the next line
this poem will end

whether
you believed it, or not.

LAZARUS

Tags

death, Life, limbo, poem, poetry

LAZARUS

it is strange in limbo

one can wait for centuries as if
eternally frozen

but then
move fast as a meteorite
or thing verging on light speed

let us, for purposes of this poem.
interrupt Lazarus
stop him dead in his tracks, about
to munch a life/death sandwich
(you can imagine the artistry it takes
in baking such as that)

he who was saved, brought back
but is now in the crosshairs
no one will believe anything he says
about the afterlife
neither dystopia nor
utopia, yet
pretty surreal place

and being there even a brief instant
changing viewpoint, perspective,

the light so
merciless
pulling him backward

he says
he will never look up into the Sun again

HOLY MINUTEMAN

Tags

death, Nuclear, poem, poetry, power, satire

HOLY MINUTEMAN

Holy Minuteman!
by Sirens of
Titan!

1, 2, 3, 4, t
we are down to our
last seconds

at
Defcon whatever

showing a, pointing
a
finger

it hardly matters
who the target it

confidence
is so fucking good

forget Jerusalem
forget Athens
and Rome

this is the death that
is true power.

SIEVE

Tags

art, death, Grecian Urn, loss, Metaphor, Nuclear, poem, poetry, thermonuclear, writing

SIEVE

here is a bowl
containing something
worth keeping

take it
lest it become
an
ash urn

for here is fire
falling

soon rising

who knows what
they have taught it
to devour

what is
in its program
what they
have determined, driven
wild with desire, it wishes
to eat

here is a bowl
take it, take it

here is a bowl
here is a sieve

LAZARUS

Tags

Biblical, death, poem, poetry, resurrection, Universe

LAZARUS

Lazarus woke

would not
could not
get up

force spiritual unable
to budge object material

the light
calling, calling mercilessly

no rest for the wicked
(especially when
destined to
be saved)

the stars unmoving unless
courtesy of the Earth’s rotation
in a

distant galaxy
an alarm clock is ringing, does
nobody here hear?

ELEGY

Tags

elegy, genre, love, Muse, poem, poetry, Twist in the tail, writing

ELEGY

my Muse died
I went to
her funeral

nobody was there
it was next Tuesday, or
rather that was the meeting
for lunch where I was
going to
announce her
retirement

not all that easy
to find someone new and
as utterly inspiring

so I wandered around the graveyard
found her headstone: yes, you
guessed it, she is long
dead to me (or so it now feels)
has passed away entirely

ut’s Wednesday now and
I’m looking back on our lunch meeting
every so ordinary, no tears, nothing excessively
tragic (or even comic) epic
or histrionic

just a polite goodbye and complete
artistic separation

not even a last word, a last line,
to leave me: gone, and that was it

my Muse died
and I’m so
torn up inside my

only recourse
is to poetry