HOLE

Tags

black holes, cosmos, poem, poetry, science, singularities, stephen Hawking, Universe

HOLE

Oh the Universe
the ever expanding Universe

Professor Hawking disgorging
the beauty of its
cosmic secrets

leaving us in an all
swallowing, ever more forbidding
state of singularity
following
terrifying white
rabbits down philosophical holes.

PUNCHLINE

Tags

black hole, cosmic, Parallel universe, poem, poetry, singularity, wormhole

PUNCHLINE

crushed
like a beetle

popped
like a balloon

something is out there
creating fissures, holes
in space-time

tiny perforations
in the fabric of the Universe
so that they might
ascend the dais
speak the
singular truth of
their wormholing from
one
to another
parallel reality

whilst you and I
sink into that swirl, disappear
from view totally beyond
the event horizon

take a selfie of yourself, photoshop
your identity out
of this predicament

the darkness laughing at us
we are
joke’s punchline

THIRTEEN

Tags

black hole, Capitalism, heart, Hell, poem, poetry, satire, singularity

THIRTEEN
(atomic number 13)

when a black hole
opened in my poem

I determined
to follow it

whether it lead
to the centre of Hell
or heart
of capitalism
(not so much
a real, human
beating heart
this

as thing
of aluminium)

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

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.

ALONG THE CAM

Cambridge has
to the best of my
knowledge
nothing to do
with camshaft

but much, infinitely
much more to
do with nothing

the ultimate nothings that,
as Stephen said,
swallow whole stars
in space.