SAPIR-WHORF

Tags

conceptual, Language, linguistic, love, perception, philosophical, poem, poetry, Sexual

SAPIR-WHORF

need to invent
re-
invent

so much: perhaps
I should start
with a list

bullet-point it all
my need for
a new language
a new
poetry

in order
to express you
linguistically
caress you

all the better to
love you with
my little red
riding
wearing that
scarlet dress I
bought you in
Johannesburg

new modifiers, qualifiers,
participles (dangling and
non-dangling)
concepts so
conceptual breakthrough
they are the likes
of which
ain’t ever been
seen
(likes of which
the world
never seen)

SONG OF INDIFFERENCE

Tags

apocalyptic, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, Romantic, William Blake

SONG OF INDIFFERENCE

some mad poet was ranting
after they cashiered him
out of the pantheon

sounded to me like
William Blake on steroids

even as
the antichrist and a
horseman of the apocalypse
assumed the position
on the street corner
(the exact same
situation
on every street corner)

and so
in some monstrous harmony
we all
began to hallucinate

saw gods
ancient and modern flock
to the streets in search
of fresh followers

being gods of our
creation

so eager
for sacrifice

whilst the powers that be, politically speaking,
cut and carved to excise all infestation

nothing alien allowed
to compromise homegrown
visions
of madness

a priesthood already founded
to make much of old bones
needing to
erect Aztec-style pyramids
to fuel the furnace of
the sungod

only hope at this moment
hypothetical chance of escape

that the insanity might reveal
secret door, or indeed portal
for which
all codes are known or
which we
have strength to kick in

such as we
can only believe must lead
to worlds
more rational

alternate universes, parallel
realities

more stable
and coherent that
anything we’ve seen

MY ARMY

Tags

poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, resistance, William Blake

MY ARMY

my army
for the cultural
liberation
of the British Isles

has only two legs
only two
eyes

the William
Blake Division
(in which I
currently reside)

has no weapons as such
and the uniform
is a bitch
to sew
in the night

when you’re homeless
and hungry
and the colour and
pattern just
won’t
come our right

SHELLEY CLAIMED

Tags

metapoetic, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, Romantic

SHELLEY CLAIMED

Shelley claimed
we are lyres
and legislators

but my poetry
less like a lyre
than a
rusty
old pipe

nothing in that conduit
for the spirit winds
to pluck magically

nor
anything like a
legislator being
dunce
before the law

and as
for my Muse
the one I had
sharpened (charged
harassment, my
“getting far
top personal”)

the current applicants
to replace her
hardly of
the
stock that
threatens to
absolutely inspire

INTERLOCK

Tags

Beauty, Desire, erotic, female, innuendo, Language, love, Metaphor, Metaphysical, philosophy, poem, poetry, poststructuralist, relativity, Sexual, Sexual innuendo, woman, wordplay, writing

INTERLOCK

let me walk you
through the procedure

no need to run
we can go so
so slowly
watch the snails
zoom past at
relative speed

no need to
use that hard Newtonian
word “velocity”
later physics Newtonian
notions of freedom,
friction and resistance
opposite and
opposing forces
will all have
their place
all have their say

speaking of which
let me talk you
through everything
devise a poetry of
delay and deferral
to celebrate
every centimeter
indulge (in measure imperial)
every square
inch of your body

I say inch, but I am of course,
measuring in circles, and ellipses
and one-sided Möbius strips
that perfectly interlock

BODY TELLS YOU

Tags

Beauty, Creation, Creativity, erotic, female, Humanity, identity, innuendo, Language, loss, love, male, meaning, philosophical, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, postmodern, power, psychological, semiotics, sexual symbolism, the body, transformation, woman, wordplay, writing

BODY TELLS YOU

body tells you
are entering
dark world

no
uncertain terms

this body
you reject as
foreign virus, want nothing to
do with, can’t conceive
of anything to do with

Oh for a Universe
where we are all networked, we are
all reiteration, repetition,
we do not mince words
every sentence
has an
exclamation mark and
we stomp through the future like
sexual cyborgs
whose passion is
pre-coded in
each nuclear fuel cell

I digress
hopefully depress

would I could fly off at a tangent
hit escape velocity
and not stop until
I have left the
solar system met

Vega’s blue aliens

and yet
something in how I was written
sure to get me
boomeranging back to you
(aches beyond human understanding
down deep and dreamtime in my didgeridoo)

your pet theory
poet on a leash

otherwise
no ties
to hold me

or matching handkerchief

but
slipping the wire
snaking away

today I’m the dog in the adage
having my day

my energies
to the naked eye semi-
invisible

not yet the sort
that smash, mutate flesh

and yet
almost if upon cue
my body
to frail, odd
to contain
crumbles, falls to bits

Oh that I had that red boiling blood
of the raw alpha predator

not gamma guy
seems to
have the Cain trademark branding of
an entirely different galaxy

Oh
your palace of the self
that you assumed
safe for centuries

is tipping, toppling, enduring
the inconvenience of
slightly more than slight seismic shift

slides into an ocean of
collapsing Moon cards

my body
ever a mirror for
such phenomenal
conjuncture

gone liquid metal to
Mercury-message you

that which the future has determined, has
sworn it will have from us, will
absolutely make of us

would rise from its grave
having won every bet

BEAUTIFUL

Tags

Beauty, exclusion, female, love, poem, poetry, semiotics, sexual symbolism, Universe, wordplay, writing

BEAUTIFUL

Your words are beautiful
but sweep over me
leaving me
thankful and
yet sad, and drained

sometimes grace does that to us
reminds us of the mountain of
which we no longer dream

and so, in keeping, let us
get to my words and
their specific failures

so crazy in their assumption
that they have power to move
if not the soul, then spirit
and body into some
kind of purpose, serious action

or something which, ever so slight,
coupled with, dovetailing into
millions of
moments so small,

quietly shifts
orbits, alignments,
the configuration of
the constellations themselves

and suddenly
the words
yours, mine

everyone’s

have changed everything, created a
Universe of new meaning.

FIT

Tags

Alien, erotic, female, love, male, philosophical, poem, Poet, poetry, poststructuralist, science fiction, sexual symbolism, touch, Twist in the tail, Universe, wordplay

FIT

there is an alien species
swarming in my bed

their queen
whispering sweet
alien nothings
in my ear

telling me that
we are
made for each
other

her wings
are enough to carry me

and that, in spite
of the tricky
linguistic differences

we are
a perfect fit

PALACE OF SLEEP

Tags

afterlife, Creation, Creativity, death, Dream, Keats, Poe, poem, Poet, poetry, Rebirth, writing

take me to the Palace of Sleep
where the air is hashish-heavy
as thick with dark autumnal cloud
as anything written
by Poe or Keats

sky dragging itself across
as if stuck somewhere
and out to test the winds

but let me
sink into that darkness
night so perfect, it is the null equation,

there
where words are absorbed, lines, phrases
disintegrate, are so carefully dismantled
scattered like leaves
on a river, like momentary
phosphorescence on the ocean

no dream here, at least
none that
is remembered,
only the blending of
currents, change,
reconfiguration

she said that I reminded her of Keats once
this before she got married
but after we
were lovers

perfect sleep in her arms then
no thought of
darkness, any kind of
renewal, rebirth, re-
definition of self

as figure who writes
not figure who loves

the gates to every Palace
secretly open
unbeknownst to me
at that
most lost of lost moments

THE TOUCH

Tags

love, poem, poetry, touch

THE TOUCH

you cannot say a
touch

gainsay it, second-
guess it

it speaks without words
connects, is transformative

the words pouring out my mouth
beginning to stumble
but I am
still on track, will
still find all it is
I wanted to tell you

even though
with the
touch

there is a poem
hurtling down the line
it has no rails
would break every rule

it is just full
of the suddenness of
your mouth, your skin
your eyes

my very first
love poem
for you
traveling at light-speed

just one
touch but
it went

very deep
indeed