AGAIN

Tags

connection, division, Humanity, metapoetic, philosophical, poem, poetry, postmodern, poststructuralist, Reader, Separation, wordplay, writing

AGAIN

poem is
thing that
unites
us

thing that
divides
us

finds the
point at
which
surgically
we
were
separated

tries to sew
stuff back
together
again

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LESSON

Tags

BREXIT, Britain, British, Einstein, Ending, Intellectual, loss, philosophical, poem, poetry, Shakespeare

LESSON

it started as gut feeling
then intellectual exercise:
draw ever narrowing circles

on this same blackboard
where the dust itself
magically transposed
into telescope looking
into ever-expanding galaxy

into tiny equation
that said everything

how human being is
light might
be turned to fire

no one reads those blackboards now
the world they were portal into
simply run out of everything
except billboard idea

the change so fast
that dust so volatile

a country that has wished
the worst days upon itself
rushing towards
its gorgeous nemesis
like a meteor

let me
try the virtue of patience
staring deep into
that chalk

iconic chalk you
might
add in, your fivepence worth
wishing to caricature

once there wax Empire, for all its deep sin,
this place concentric, its thinking radial

now nothing crosses
to these shores, we have made
ourselves taboo, insufferably precious

that poet whose words they wrote in chalk:
now there was a lesson!

ALIVE

Tags

Consciousness, philosophical, poem, poetry

ALIVE

I don’t have much sense
if a history before
I discovered this thing
“the Universe”

you showed Mr a picture
and I assumed it was
far, “out there”

later I would figure, crazy
paradox, that it was
also inside me

that the sheer expanse of space
was there to be filled by
the imperial imagination
of a growingly
science fiction child

yet, when I think about it,
as I looked at the picture
I may have not had
the philosophy to ask
why it
did not look
back at me

or, if it did,
why would that recognition
take so long —
all these years to
be born, come alive.

WHAT YOU DO NOT KNOW ABOUT THIS POEM

Tags

poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, Reader, writing

WHAT YOU DO NOT KNOW ABOUT THIS POEM

what you do not know about this poem
will not kill you,
at least

for now
not
in the normal course of events

we can keep
the dark of the imagination
in full abeyance
or commit to
the ludicrous chemistry
known as sublimation

writer, reader
imagining both
are now gold
equally in
the grip
of some
alchemy

what you do
not know
about this poem

see in this image
what is in truth

light from a stellar fusion reactor
skittering across surface
of ocean, stream
and river

water
the element
that laughs at
has no
place for time

has dissolved
its memory

so we
are here

in this sort of virtual space
where no hope
for exchange, true
social intercourse
shared
meaning

that shadow that intrigues you
the one that penned that
very word
yes, it is I

cypher-creation
of shared language

and this is the door
up to the light
down to the darkness

choose well
as you navigate

the ocean already here
to absorb what I must
assure you
are (I suppose)

my best shot at
expressing these now lost human feelings

OR NOT TO BE

Tags

being, death, philosophical, philosophy, poem, poetry, Universe, writing

OR NOT TO BE

at last
the Universe
is letting me
out of my box

in which I
waited my
whole life
waiting
for you
to open

something no
doubt to
(be or
not to
be) do
with
the wrapping

STORM

Tags

death, meaning, philosophical, poem, poetry, value, writing

STORM

why if
life is
lesson

do you
rub the
blackboard
clean

the dust we
were
truth

we said

the entire classroom
there to learn
gathered
in this
storm

that we
might forget?

FAT BOY

Tags

Ending, entropy, media, philosophical, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, satire

FAT BOY

tide is out
the boom
gone
flatulent

stuck between
gears freethinking
freewheeling

just got to
spit-balling about
the usual
binaries between
good and bad

figured
it’s the winking, blinking
lights you have to
worry about

as opposed to
those that being
constant
prove
an example
to us all

tall boy
I’m telling you
you got to get
back to
first principles

the boomers and their boom
got nothing more
to say
they all finished now

started to
feel the pressure
turned
to compression

something nasty, short and
selfish about their
former cosmic selves

it’s the winking lights and
Doppler sirens

indexes of world gone
wrong, gone
shot to hell

the roads gridlocked
arteries blocked
penitentiaries and
correction centers
full to overflowing

sky
gone cirrhosis
bad
blue liver
colour

TV on fast forward
gone 360 head-spin full surreal

political power to
demolish like quarter pounder plus donut

got to
scan and mail

my plea bargain

ask for immunity
on my knees

TEMPLATE

Tags

Consciousness, death, Metaphysical, philosophical, poem, poetry, soul, spiritual

TEMPLATE

is this thing soul
inner
essence

or just
a template?

what will I recall
when
as joke

of consciousness

I stride and slither
from life to life

looking for
meaning, truth
beauty

still
(forever
and ever)?

in this feeble
last bit of
here
and now

managed to
convince myself
it must
be you

IF I SAY SO MYSELF

Tags

meaning, Mirror, poem, poetry, postmodern, poststructuralist, semiotics, value, writing

IF I SAY SO MYSELF

there’s pollution
in my poem
too deep to
remove
without damage
to the text

this, of course,
means it
fails the
acid test
of perfect mirror

fails to
perform
as any
kind of
mirror
at all

just is
what it is
thing mistaken,
conflicted, polluted

trying
and
failing

(so beautifully, if
I say so myself)

not to
be, like you
and like me,

anything so
truly and deeply
polluted at all

METAPHYSICA

Tags

Humanity, identity, philosophical, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry

METAPHYSICA

was eating food
then I became the good

or, rather, the good
became me
(since I am
not actually shaman
Native American)
just a thing that digests
sometimes understands

but your mind acrobatics
about God and Universe
sets something buzzing
in my brain
like a hive of bees

which little creatures
contrive a chemistry of identity
have no time for separation

not much between
them, when you come
to think of it, and a
pile of rustling leaves

was thinking this thought
unless, daft as Descartes,
the thought was thinking me