TO MY EAR

Tags

authors, Blake, digital, identity, Intertextual, new media, poem, Poet, poetry, social media

TO MY EAR

to my ear
a grain of
Silicon Valley

tiniest conch through
which the
ocean roars

wave after
wave
of
text
upon Text

theme music to
Blake’s auguries of innocence

as I hyper in and out of
all that is written now
effortlessly connected

shapeshift from
Iliad to Odyssey to
Swift to Shakespeare

from Snoop to
Socrates to Dylan (Bob
and Thomas) to
T.S. Eliot
blissfully channel surf
find a billion
ideas a
trillion suggestions

myself swollen viral reduced
to mere meme

Kool Aid to drink, strict
pill to swallow

even as I hit this
so getting with the program

INDIAN OCEAN RAIN

Tags

Durban, Innocence, love, Mahikeng, poem, poetry, Sensual, South African, The Fall, The Garden of Eden

INDIAN OCEAN RAIN

they tell me it’s raining
in Mahikeng

the town has become
Venice of the semi-desert

the roads torn up by
the minor flood
but soon
the dust will swallow
it always does

whilst you and I
are here in Durban
standing illicit in
this very different rain

a summer deluge soaks us
and so no
choice but to
resort to skin

perhaps more than
just our bodies, perhaps
our souls washed by
that warm Indian
ocean rain

and he we are
almost like Adam and Eve
in Eden celebrating
their first rain storm

the lightning from
sky to ground
that just
an icon
of the lightning between them

the raw electricity that courses
through them
manifestation
of an innocence now
beyond our conception

so badly, in that great mythology,
did we fall

so completely lost the memory
of those wilder, instinctive pleasures

which we, in our sublime ignorance,
assure each other that
we cannot but feel

TANGENT

I am finding
it hard not
to stick
with the script

not to
lip synch all
that is
prerecorded

unless you
throw

me a ball
that is beautifully curved

have me
break with what was set
following you regardless
off

at a
tangent

(such tantalizing tangents)

PLACES TO CHILL

PLACES TO CHILL

a homeland
for poets and artists
and people who
would walk to
walk around naked
seeing infinity and all eternity
etc etc

and cops armed with feathers
and open-air
prisons which are
just
places to chill

QUAINTLY, BUT NOT QUITE

I love to
imagine you
drape my body
across your bed
hang it
in your wardrobe when
you have finished
with it

almost exhausting its quaint possibilities
though not quite

BIRDS SUDDENLY

Birds suddenly
through his ceiling

per miracle or
since abject state of disrepair
on which alternatives

the jury still out
(though about
to pass verdict on
homeless persons).

WATER BABY

I was never
a chimney sweep
water baby

swimming along in a
stream of tears

surfacing in a
William Blake poem
for critics
to mull over.

MORE FOOL ME

more fool me
all the
words in my
head were
erased when
my programming crashed

and like HAL
I regressed to
singing about a
flower 🌻

FOR SOME REASON

Consequently, I
wriggled out of my
sweet cocoon, but

looking back felt it
did look a bit bad
which was the
very

moment the
bullets beset me
whizzing past, this
way and
that

as if my being fellow human
had me targeted for some reason.