Q and A

Tags

poem, poetry, Universe

Q and A

why are we
in a
poem

why can’t we
just take the world
as it is?

with the Universe
there is no
outside
versus
inside

creation and creator
are not other then me

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MEDITATION

Tags

poem, poetry

MEDITATION

I can go,
do,
Cartesian

can Descartes
myself from
something
to nothing
(opposite of
God, opposite
of Big Bang)

place all my faith in
a false-teeth man
who said he was God

told me
I could never
get anything right, never
amount to anything.

IN THE TAIL

Tags

female, poem, poetry, Universe

IN THE TAIL

wanted the
secret of
life
so I looked
under a stone

smooth, possibly
semi-precious but
there was a
scorpion home

she stung me
deeply right
next to the bone

and as
I lay dying (world
Faulknering about me)
sang a tune
a most

sexual song
about how all
my ideas, indeed my
entire philosophy

was wrong

SQUARE ROOT

Tags

poem, poetry, science fiction, Universe

SQUARE ROOT

in the shadows
no one sees me

they have to
second guess

and the monsters
if they scream when I
write their bloody end

no one hears them
in space

no one can hear
your horror cliches

let the cell do its thing
split, divorce,
contest
best space

to do what best
biological beings speak
of being fruitful, multiplying

and what
is monster
but the Universe, Nature
at its most
feminine (you say), at
its come-check-it-out-yourself-Job
most creative

monster devouring
monster
ad infinitum
(give or take a
square root
or two)

this is the picture, my mosaic at best
constantly changing, amending itself

asking, demanding
you

second guess

THE ALIEN POEMS: WHAT THE ALIEN POET TOLD ME

Tags

poem, poetry, Universe

THE ALIEN POEMS

WHAT THE
ALIEN POET
TOLD ME

an alien poem
is like
your Earth
football all
about first
touch

setting you up
as you
are seduced into
the soft dialectic of
inner and
outer
high and
low
beauty
and
terror

same
and other

for what is this poem
to you but impossible other?
(so much
you miss
as you
scoop the surface)

and what is
terror of the other
to this poem but

you its
reader

who should not
probe it’s horror
to deeply or

it will mimic your shape
become a terrible mirror

for what you
dare not face

your
exact self

BEE-LINE

Tags

poem, poetry, Universe

BEE-LINE
“… but just Ourselves
And Immortality.”

I thought I saw a bee
flying
to infinity
and in a race
with Ms Emily

who was in a horse-
drawn carriage or
perhaps Europa-
style on the
back of
a bull
or

between the operatic
gull-wings
of a Italian
devil,
an insane
Diabolo
of internal-
combustion power

and yet,
classic Achilles and
Tortoise, could
either
ever win

so much in this
true tableau
we
cannot tell,
must wait
and see

the picture shifting
this way
and that

so much in this
physics not
mass times
acceleration
times
what-what
(measured against
time which
we

now know
is not real

so much in the physics of
life

and of
this page

down to
conjecture, much uncertainty.

KILLING ME

Tags

poem, poetry, Universe

KILLING ME

It is killing him
writing so fast
to change
the world

erasing inhumanity, injustice
and suffering
things moving so
fast it is
a blur outside

just colours, shapes and
forms flowing into each other

and this, as he loses
any sense of anything individual, sees
nothing but the complexities of pattern,
must be
he realizes

how God sees the world, and beyond
that the Universe, Himself writing
everything at blistering
speed
the speed

of evolution, of
thirteen billion years
collapsed into a second

of this moment
in my poem, his poem, whoever
is writing
whom
at this moment

strung across the fabric
of space time
stretched out
to infinity

and yet
here we all are, twenty-four frames per second.

PENNYWISE

Tags

poem, poem poetry political moral

Pennywise
is a cruel philosopher

clowns around
about taking you down
(sinking like a market
in the throes of depression)

to where we
all float safely, after being
politically dismembered,
hollowed-out
with fear

that peace in living-death
worth all the war really.

FIGURED

FIGURED

was watching Arrival
when I figured they would need
police to patrol every
two-slit experiment

untangle every entangled
human and alien soul

who together, unbeknownst
to each other
are writing stars in collusion
on a massive plasma screen

THE MAN

The man rants and raves.
What dare I do
but accommodate him
as the TV is doing
as the TV is designed to do?

Tweep! A message arrives
on my phone: it’s her
wishing to cheer me

but the words (as those so very different ones
spewed out on the TV)
have lost their lives, their power, their meaning
they float past me, before me,
devoid of anything that can help
anything to bring a positive change

O, my caregiver
what dream have we lost, seen collapse into
electronic whisper, media fantasy?

your beautiful face
floating before me
as I turn away finally
uncouple, unlink, detach
from your orbit

my paper though, no nearer to completion
writing on radio during apartheid
and the strangely challenging, alienating
alternate-sounding world
of the science fiction programme

otherwise mirror on that
abhorrent, obnoxious
dehumanizing world

where racial logic collapses
in the face of strange conjunction, limitless possibility

possibility that
I just walk through this mirror
(in which I so often
imagined
our worlds colluding, colliding, collapsing, combining
together, if not forever, then
but for a few
delirious hours)

away from her, away
from the single-eyed, raving
racist Cyclops god, nay demigod,
of the television

into a parallel, if not indeed
universe, then at least
some stable, ungenocidal, alternate realm

where someone is writing,
is writing me (as I stand ghostlike,
peering over his shoulder
her shoulder
reading my story
being written, my tale
being told

hoping against hope
he does it differently.

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