Threading through the forest of memory
the thickest of the branches clouded ways that would
otherwise be the fuel for the fire in your heart.
The hunters way is dampened, but the hunted
he makes a light of integrity and justice.
If only the call of knowledge was easy to decipher
for between the fore fathers and what they didn't know,
to our parents, and their children’s children,
who stare at the new generation: Civility a thing of fantasy.
Blame is thrust around upon majestic sticks of glory,
in metallic and frivolous pink armies storming the streets.
For the sake of nothing. Nothing is the brightest star
the one with lesser than the least of the evils
to understand is to wander through the darkest forest
even if you can not ride upon the lusty horse.
Shout as you want to shout and scream as you want to scream.
The tree's will hear you, divinity would be broken when uttered
so childhood deceives you in the memory of a darker time.
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Monday, November 5, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Said the thief
The secret life of life (working title)
You hate thieves and spit at their feet.
But I have swum in the bay of Bengal.
I am not seen when I walk down the street.
Though I will be the only one who helps your mother when she falls.
Disgusted faces will be worn by your friends,
when I clear the table of your cold money.
You can't know me because you are not me.
You have learned to read words, not people.
Lightness of foot carries me on and off trains
We are both at the top of our game.
Yet still you try to pity me, so I steal
from your deep and stupid pocket
Because you too are too ignorant to
recognise that I have lived
and seen far more of the world than you.
You hate thieves and spit at their feet.
But I have swum in the bay of Bengal.
I am not seen when I walk down the street.
Though I will be the only one who helps your mother when she falls.
Disgusted faces will be worn by your friends,
when I clear the table of your cold money.
You can't know me because you are not me.
You have learned to read words, not people.
Lightness of foot carries me on and off trains
We are both at the top of our game.
Yet still you try to pity me, so I steal
from your deep and stupid pocket
Because you too are too ignorant to
recognise that I have lived
and seen far more of the world than you.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Ares
The fast paced youth drove on the black town
painting his lusty masterpiece of trust
still proud as the cock of crows.
He did preach to protégé
‘see the townsmen, stiff as the walls surround’
He fancied a different fate, why draft?
Who could guide him and thrive, no longer hide?
Beasts rave on, scratched, red up his back.
Family lapsed bearing cross his tree snapped.
The pendulum would not make him throw down.
On hand, specious, far from depressed.
Born in arms he had been caressed.
A task attained in happiness found
a cool concrete core. He crashed car and kid.
Affinity wound up smashed in spare parts.
The burnt soul walked free, to turn of age,
to drink and smoke his mothers heart thirsty.
The river blood burst, but his eyes were closed.
‘From what source did you loose your eyes’ she cried.
‘Hark’ he cursed mocking his mothers tears.
‘Preach of self worth, but you too are broken
the black spider spins her web strong and
you are not the fly who flew from Mars.’
The public house would no longer take him.
The curbs and foxgloves whispered through dusk hours.
‘I didn’t want this solvent rodent path’
The city coughed accepting concession.
He could not drink to drive her away.
A slug found his shell, a new black spider
spun the next web and hands lifted pave stones.
Two children he fathered in a haze
arrived though arms open the guts beheld.
Raised eyebrows softened with kneading down.
Tea became lunch became summers day,
he realised that cardboard was ok.
Gasoline ran his clock, zero was his hour.
Soul and body failed to catch the hand.
Daughters now found white wall for their heads.
Fantasy told them he knew they were there.
Grieving for justice to grow them a branch.
painting his lusty masterpiece of trust
still proud as the cock of crows.
He did preach to protégé
‘see the townsmen, stiff as the walls surround’
He fancied a different fate, why draft?
Who could guide him and thrive, no longer hide?
Beasts rave on, scratched, red up his back.
Family lapsed bearing cross his tree snapped.
The pendulum would not make him throw down.
On hand, specious, far from depressed.
Born in arms he had been caressed.
A task attained in happiness found
a cool concrete core. He crashed car and kid.
Affinity wound up smashed in spare parts.
The burnt soul walked free, to turn of age,
to drink and smoke his mothers heart thirsty.
The river blood burst, but his eyes were closed.
‘From what source did you loose your eyes’ she cried.
‘Hark’ he cursed mocking his mothers tears.
‘Preach of self worth, but you too are broken
the black spider spins her web strong and
you are not the fly who flew from Mars.’
The public house would no longer take him.
The curbs and foxgloves whispered through dusk hours.
‘I didn’t want this solvent rodent path’
The city coughed accepting concession.
He could not drink to drive her away.
A slug found his shell, a new black spider
spun the next web and hands lifted pave stones.
Two children he fathered in a haze
arrived though arms open the guts beheld.
Raised eyebrows softened with kneading down.
Tea became lunch became summers day,
he realised that cardboard was ok.
Gasoline ran his clock, zero was his hour.
Soul and body failed to catch the hand.
Daughters now found white wall for their heads.
Fantasy told them he knew they were there.
Grieving for justice to grow them a branch.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
The thief and the trickster - reviesed
Spit on a thieves
feet to show
them how you care
little for the fare.
Play cards, deal,
teach a boy
a lesson.
You do not
know he is a thief.
A thief is he
who shares his spares
and cares.
His winning hand
disgusted. Tight.
Clothe yourself
and he, for he
can take all
straight from
your hand.
Stay up straight
feel the liquor burn.
Do not have haste,
thriving little teeth.
One, two, three,
no four, keep up he
says you'll never
learn if you don't take your turn.
The smile seems wry
and taught, limpness
eyes drag you down.
Hoist your chin, lest
Lest you see,
you shall and now you
have missed it, pay up
the trickster has won.
feet to show
them how you care
little for the fare.
Play cards, deal,
teach a boy
a lesson.
You do not
know he is a thief.
A thief is he
who shares his spares
and cares.
His winning hand
disgusted. Tight.
Clothe yourself
and he, for he
can take all
straight from
your hand.
Stay up straight
feel the liquor burn.
Do not have haste,
thriving little teeth.
One, two, three,
no four, keep up he
says you'll never
learn if you don't take your turn.
The smile seems wry
and taught, limpness
eyes drag you down.
Hoist your chin, lest
Lest you see,
you shall and now you
have missed it, pay up
the trickster has won.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Old Hope - an idea from a conversation
2. Richmond Dryad
As the sun still rode
amongst the bark in the hollow
deep inside her truck
sat with the shaman. Shaman?
In a dead tree. No,
She was not dead, she grew leaves.
And we sat inside her, in the hole.
He chanted his verse all to hear
He was loud and we followed.
We asked and we laughed
willing her spirit to give us faith,
then I slept immersed within her folds.
Our lust for greatness
came thrust upon us from the city.
A moment in touch with old selves
elusive and just, we were in control.
Please dear dryad, help us be vast?
Departed and gone, I did
return years later she was there.
Still strong and I shallow, both burnt to the core.
We cackled long into the night.
A tree is a tree, alive
and not dead, but she cant change
what goes on in the beyond.
1.
I sat in a hollow tree with a shaman
if that is what he was.
To ask the dead tree for help
she wasn't totally dead, true
she had leaves.
But there was a hole big enough to sit in.
He chanted his verse all to hear
He was loud and we followed.
We asked and we laughed
willing her spirit to give us faith
Then I slept within her folds.
Departed and gone, I did
return years later she was there.
Still strong and hollow and I
cackled long into the night.
A tree is a tree, alive
and not dead, but she cant change
what goes on beyond.
As the sun still rode
amongst the bark in the hollow
deep inside her truck
sat with the shaman. Shaman?
In a dead tree. No,
She was not dead, she grew leaves.
And we sat inside her, in the hole.
He chanted his verse all to hear
He was loud and we followed.
We asked and we laughed
willing her spirit to give us faith,
then I slept immersed within her folds.
Our lust for greatness
came thrust upon us from the city.
A moment in touch with old selves
elusive and just, we were in control.
Please dear dryad, help us be vast?
Departed and gone, I did
return years later she was there.
Still strong and I shallow, both burnt to the core.
We cackled long into the night.
A tree is a tree, alive
and not dead, but she cant change
what goes on in the beyond.
1.
I sat in a hollow tree with a shaman
if that is what he was.
To ask the dead tree for help
she wasn't totally dead, true
she had leaves.
But there was a hole big enough to sit in.
He chanted his verse all to hear
He was loud and we followed.
We asked and we laughed
willing her spirit to give us faith
Then I slept within her folds.
Departed and gone, I did
return years later she was there.
Still strong and hollow and I
cackled long into the night.
A tree is a tree, alive
and not dead, but she cant change
what goes on beyond.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
re-write 3 of Magpie poem - editing is key
Magpie I beseech thee!
A quick salute
suspicious, you see.
The magpie swoops
above the roof.
Where is your
partner, dear magpie?
Remove your sorrow,
leave my world.
The washing is hung.
The children gone.
Why make me clear
all this away?
You think my litter
will keep your mate.
Materialism,
I know my fate.
Chiseled coins,
chincy wrappers
seen in your eye.
Please, be at bay!
Where is your
partner, dear magpie?
Cackle less, you
might hear her cry.
Try to mock me
from in my yew tree.
I’ll have my
treasure back.
See this there and
that. They are mine!
Where is your
partner, dear magpie?
Is it not ample
to dance on my roof?
That you must grill
me when I’m calm?
Look! We may part
For there, aloft
upon the roof is she;
your blue and white mate.
A quick salute
suspicious, you see.
The magpie swoops
above the roof.
Where is your
partner, dear magpie?
Remove your sorrow,
leave my world.
The washing is hung.
The children gone.
Why make me clear
all this away?
You think my litter
will keep your mate.
Materialism,
I know my fate.
Chiseled coins,
chincy wrappers
seen in your eye.
Please, be at bay!
Where is your
partner, dear magpie?
Cackle less, you
might hear her cry.
Try to mock me
from in my yew tree.
I’ll have my
treasure back.
See this there and
that. They are mine!
Where is your
partner, dear magpie?
Is it not ample
to dance on my roof?
That you must grill
me when I’m calm?
Look! We may part
For there, aloft
upon the roof is she;
your blue and white mate.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
This is beautiful - discovered via BRB from OU
Eidolons
by Walt Whitman
(1819-1892)
I met a seer,
Passing the hues and objects of the world,
The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense,
To glean eidolons.
Put in thy chants said he,
No more the puzzling hour nor day, nor segments, parts, put in,
Put first before the rest as light for all and entrance-song of all,
That of eidolons.
Ever the dim beginning,
Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle,
Ever the summit and the merge at last, (to surely start again,)
Eidolons! eidolons!
Ever the mutable,
Ever materials, changing, crumbling, re-cohering,
Ever the ateliers, the factories divine,
Issuing eidolons.
Lo, I or you,
Or woman, man, or state, known or unknown,
We seeming solid wealth, strength, beauty build,
But really build eidolons.
The ostent evanescent,
The substance of an artist's mood or savan's studies long,
Or warrior's, martyr's, hero's toils,
To fashion his eidolon.
Of every human life,
(The units gather'd, posted, not a thought, emotion, deed, left out,)
The whole or large or small summ'd, added up,
In its eidolon.
The old, old urge,
Based on the ancient pinnacles, lo, newer, higher pinnacles,
From science and the modern still impell'd,
The old, old urge, eidolons.
The present now and here,
America's busy, teeming, intricate whirl,
Of aggregate and segregate for only thence releasing,
To-day's eidolons.
These with the past,
Of vanish'd lands, of all the reigns of kings across the sea,
Old conquerors, old campaigns, old sailors' voyages,
Joining eidolons.
Densities, growth, facades,
Strata of mountains, soils, rocks, giant trees,
Far-born, far-dying, living long, to leave,
Eidolons everlasting.
Exalte, rapt, ecstatic,
The visible but their womb of birth,
Of orbic tendencies to shape and shape and shape,
The mighty earth-eidolon.
All space, all time,
(The stars, the terrible perturbations of the suns,
Swelling, collapsing, ending, serving their longer, shorter use,)
Fill'd with eidolons only.
The noiseless myriads,
The infinite oceans where the rivers empty,
The separate countless free identities, like eyesight,
The true realities, eidolons.
Not this the world,
Nor these the universes, they the universes,
Purport and end, ever the permanent life of life,
Eidolons, eidolons.
Beyond thy lectures learn'd professor,
Beyond thy telescope or spectroscope observer keen, beyond all mathematics,
Beyond the doctor's surgery, anatomy, beyond the chemist with his chemistry,
The entities of entities, eidolons.
Unfix'd yet fix'd,
Ever shall be, ever have been and are,
Sweeping the present to the infinite future,
Eidolons, eidolons, eidolons.
The prophet and the bard,
Shall yet maintain themselves, in higher stages yet,
Shall mediate to the Modern, to Democracy, interpret yet to them,
God and eidolons.
And thee my soul,
Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations,
Thy yearning amply fed at last, prepared to meet,
Thy mates, eidolons.
Thy body permanent,
The body lurking there within thy body,
The only purport of the form thou art, the real I myself,
An image, an eidolon.
Thy very songs not in thy songs,
No special strains to sing, none for itself,
But from the whole resulting, rising at last and floating,
A round full-orb'd eidolon.
by Walt Whitman
(1819-1892)
I met a seer,
Passing the hues and objects of the world,
The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense,
To glean eidolons.
Put in thy chants said he,
No more the puzzling hour nor day, nor segments, parts, put in,
Put first before the rest as light for all and entrance-song of all,
That of eidolons.
Ever the dim beginning,
Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle,
Ever the summit and the merge at last, (to surely start again,)
Eidolons! eidolons!
Ever the mutable,
Ever materials, changing, crumbling, re-cohering,
Ever the ateliers, the factories divine,
Issuing eidolons.
Lo, I or you,
Or woman, man, or state, known or unknown,
We seeming solid wealth, strength, beauty build,
But really build eidolons.
The ostent evanescent,
The substance of an artist's mood or savan's studies long,
Or warrior's, martyr's, hero's toils,
To fashion his eidolon.
Of every human life,
(The units gather'd, posted, not a thought, emotion, deed, left out,)
The whole or large or small summ'd, added up,
In its eidolon.
The old, old urge,
Based on the ancient pinnacles, lo, newer, higher pinnacles,
From science and the modern still impell'd,
The old, old urge, eidolons.
The present now and here,
America's busy, teeming, intricate whirl,
Of aggregate and segregate for only thence releasing,
To-day's eidolons.
These with the past,
Of vanish'd lands, of all the reigns of kings across the sea,
Old conquerors, old campaigns, old sailors' voyages,
Joining eidolons.
Densities, growth, facades,
Strata of mountains, soils, rocks, giant trees,
Far-born, far-dying, living long, to leave,
Eidolons everlasting.
Exalte, rapt, ecstatic,
The visible but their womb of birth,
Of orbic tendencies to shape and shape and shape,
The mighty earth-eidolon.
All space, all time,
(The stars, the terrible perturbations of the suns,
Swelling, collapsing, ending, serving their longer, shorter use,)
Fill'd with eidolons only.
The noiseless myriads,
The infinite oceans where the rivers empty,
The separate countless free identities, like eyesight,
The true realities, eidolons.
Not this the world,
Nor these the universes, they the universes,
Purport and end, ever the permanent life of life,
Eidolons, eidolons.
Beyond thy lectures learn'd professor,
Beyond thy telescope or spectroscope observer keen, beyond all mathematics,
Beyond the doctor's surgery, anatomy, beyond the chemist with his chemistry,
The entities of entities, eidolons.
Unfix'd yet fix'd,
Ever shall be, ever have been and are,
Sweeping the present to the infinite future,
Eidolons, eidolons, eidolons.
The prophet and the bard,
Shall yet maintain themselves, in higher stages yet,
Shall mediate to the Modern, to Democracy, interpret yet to them,
God and eidolons.
And thee my soul,
Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations,
Thy yearning amply fed at last, prepared to meet,
Thy mates, eidolons.
Thy body permanent,
The body lurking there within thy body,
The only purport of the form thou art, the real I myself,
An image, an eidolon.
Thy very songs not in thy songs,
No special strains to sing, none for itself,
But from the whole resulting, rising at last and floating,
A round full-orb'd eidolon.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Vanity
'Vanity of vanities, all is vanity saith the preacher' Eceles 1:2
Preachers scream at passers by.
Young girls steal lipstick in their purse.
Lads stroll together blowing smoke
Vain is as vain does
when he prances own the street.
Vain is as vain does
the girls tighten their coats.
Children scream for more
Fathers hide in the apple mac store
Whilst grandmother slips a shirt
in her purse.
Vain is as vain does from
from birth to death
through and through
and round next door!
Preachers scream at passers by.
Young girls steal lipstick in their purse.
Lads stroll together blowing smoke
Vain is as vain does
when he prances own the street.
Vain is as vain does
the girls tighten their coats.
Children scream for more
Fathers hide in the apple mac store
Whilst grandmother slips a shirt
in her purse.
Vain is as vain does from
from birth to death
through and through
and round next door!
The thief and the trickster
Spit on a thieves
feet to show
them how you care
little for the fare.
Play cards
teach a boy
a lesson.
You do not
know he is a thief.
A thief is he
who shares
and cares.
His winning
hand disgusted.
Clothe yourself
and he, for he
can take all
straight from
your hand.
feet to show
them how you care
little for the fare.
Play cards
teach a boy
a lesson.
You do not
know he is a thief.
A thief is he
who shares
and cares.
His winning
hand disgusted.
Clothe yourself
and he, for he
can take all
straight from
your hand.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
MooFairy
As the day has begun and the sun has come up
Auntie Moo fairy, Auntie Moo fairy
Scaring the suits with her well armed lance
The fag we know so well dancing her dance
‘Auntie Moo Fairy! Auntie Moo Fairy!’
The sun is up and you know what to do
There are suits awaiting bid your bed adieu
Are you armed with your lance?
Our fag we know so well
Will she dance her dance?
The city is up and passing the park brings a smile
The day is ahead, you will always go out in style
Will you raise up their spirits?
Our friendly queen knows all.
He even shaves his armpits
I wrote this poem in the early part of 2010 about a close friend :)
Auntie Moo fairy, Auntie Moo fairy
Scaring the suits with her well armed lance
The fag we know so well dancing her dance
‘Auntie Moo Fairy! Auntie Moo Fairy!’
The sun is up and you know what to do
There are suits awaiting bid your bed adieu
Are you armed with your lance?
Our fag we know so well
Will she dance her dance?
The city is up and passing the park brings a smile
The day is ahead, you will always go out in style
Will you raise up their spirits?
Our friendly queen knows all.
He even shaves his armpits
I wrote this poem in the early part of 2010 about a close friend :)
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
What do you do when you no longer know what to do?
I thought I'd be alright
Know what to do and when to put up the fight.
Now ill take your pills,
I'm told I wont be so uptight.
Mr white tails;
with your trimmed tash and piece of paper
Do you really know what i should do?
Broken to the core
just some scribbles
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