Wednesday, June 15, 2022
in the old days
Tuesday, May 10, 2022
This is what we chose
if they ask
you should tell them
that we could have stopped it
but we chose not to
you should tell them
we had the tools
the technology
and the time
but we chose to enjoy our comforts
a little longer
those same comforts we have now lost
and so we rake the leaves
the autumn leaves
the leaves of our history
our poetry, our learning
we rake them all into piles
and then we burn them
we burn them to forget
for to remember
brings too much pain
and all the leaves are burning
for the forests are drying out
and the coral reefs are turning bone white
the storm is coming
but there won't be much snow
and so the glaciers retreat
and the seas rise to drink our cities
and this is what we chose
this is what we chose
Friday, April 30, 2021
the poppy
i saw a poppy in the field
waving its bright red head in the air
one fine summer afternoon
and i said
'the storm is coming
dark on the horizon
it will tear your petals
from your face
and crush your body
bend it down into the earth
'why can't you be stronger
like the thistle over there
with its spikes and firm flowers
no storm will worry that one'
and the poppy replied
'my beauty is inseparable
from my fragility
just as the thistle's beauty
comes from its daunting strength
'when the storm comes
we will all do as our nature requires
and afterwards you will remember us
for the truth we embodied
and not lament us
for what we could not be'
Sunday, December 27, 2020
The Pacifist (long version)
they killed my father
they killed my daughters
they killed my son
now I must avenge every one of them
The police have been disbanded
so the law of the land is in my hand
and in my hand is a gun
Some call me a partisan
There is a tree in the square
I cannot say what was hanging there
but we will take the fruit of their deeds back to them
So if you are free and you want to
you must join us we are many
but the fight must be faught to be won
Some call me a partisan
There is a cancer, it is spreading
we must cut true, we must cut deep
if we're to save the country that we love
So don't turn around
don't look back
don't doubt
and don't fear
for the march
is to the heartbeat of the dead
Some call us the partisans
but really we're pacifists
and for peace
we will do what must be done
I kiss my mother
I kiss my father
I kiss my daughters
I kiss my son
and now I must avenge every one
Saturday, January 18, 2020
the black poem
filled with goop.
a black panther.
eventide (even= evening, tide=me time) troop.
great green (like the roof of my grandparent's house) overalls.
half wit pike spill trident {obvs. neptune reference}.
]the coal lump[, coated.
to keep the black out. {this is a reference to an incident in the Australian Parliament where some member brought in a lump of coal to demonstrate its harmlessness however it was first coated with a clear protective resin to ensure that it didn't leave black marks on the hands or suits of members}
fast forward.
a gigantic spleen {nod to Baudelaire}
brief frenzied gope (invented?)
a big baked bean,]
({})a black nugget
small dark and soft (a mouse)
resting in the hand
plucked from the earth (an emerald)
a form like folded cloth
resinous, with a snake's skin
tight and light (beryl)
absorbent
lines (lineations) folded on one another
a complex knot of meaning
raw, drawn straight out of the ground
still with a crust of gangue
a blinking eye
gazing up from the deep well
or a reflecting star
or my own reflection [ just imagery to try and capture it --
(for how can we know
if time came to pass
the size of her cope [there is a band reference here i forget exactly..{oh yes camp cope!important band!(brilliant early dayz gtr videos on the bed)}i made one the other day but less sweet]
the pleasure of grass{yes that grass})(i am a gardener, and so of *course* i gardened)
]
still wanted you
didn't cope well
[i made a decision it was {wise [saturated fat palm oil
we're all being scammed] (that was a conversation nugget i overheard while trying to pose and so it got into the poem but is completely unrelated (rose was reading some article about palm oil is oil))}]
the big century {the soft pulse of meaning, quietly drawn into itself, like a creature}
opening wide {i am still thinking about her, most days, i doubt she knows}
take in the plaster {she is younger, so has the whole of her life in front of her}
fake it abide {don't ruin everything, (fool)}
open penelope {not her real name}
open for me {[her () heart]imagination}
don't walk away {she never did, it was I(or rather, nor did I{just a sentience(a sense)})}
keep it all free {free as her voice in the air}
ghost poet writing
upon a dark ground
the winner has frozen
the loser is found
how happy it was
the old burra day
remember it baby? (addressed to wife)
it's all flown away (sadness)
now grinds in the future
a train to nowhere (certainty of death, soon too)
the driver is stupid (me)
i've not paid my fare (also me)
hold out your hand
we'll spin once again
i'm not even sorry (i am)
i don't have a plan (true)
the endless tide rising (this poem is a test. an experiment [the rational way-non-continental])
drink in the days (freezomint!)
the pathos the pathos (references another poem)
it's all washed away
the endless tide rising (cc)
drink in the swell
i feel like i've swallowed
a 40 foot whale [must be said in Edinburgh accent, like my gt grandma]
be brief don't unpick it
there is no true story
a feast for a forest
a possum of glory [possums are misunderstood here]
the autos the path
don't think but do write
the meaning is hidden [of course]
inside the dark night [this old trope is tiresome but what else can be said about it? perhaps i lack the agility of old days to make more of it than this. but drawing my brush out of the well the fact is that it is black and i just splash it over the page as simple as that, no more to say]
a grass snake (makes me think of lou reed [shiny, shiny])a fit
a pumpkin to ride
a spade is a spade
and i'm ready for five [rather than a hundred, say {eh eric?}]
be giggling a moment
i'll undo your dress
in haste and in youth
the taste is the best
a hole in the wall
i kicked it i'm sorry (when rowan was born i had frequent rages
and once kicked a hole in the wall. I felt i was inhabited by demonic beings
but it was just me, just me and my demons. One time he was crying, i put him down on the floor, he was very little, i put him down he was screaming, and i just screamed back at him, roared, i was
kneeling over him, it was the deepest rage i've ever felt, i roared right into his face, and his screaming just intensified. I had at that moment the impression that a demon had jumped out of my soul and into his. I've felt a deep guilt about that moment ever since. For some reason i never had the same rages again, it was just those first few months of our first child, the most trying time for most people.)
be empty my true one
i'll tell you the story
forthwith forthwith
unkind and unfriendly
emptying my mind
of the posturing telly
i can't scribe so well
got caught in a rhythm
it's taken all over
like butter and clover
will empty into fast days of plagiarism
i must give my poem to the people
it is not good enough to know everything
the mundane poisons me, i need tragedy
but don't give me what i want
frightened people do dark things
Rousseau explained it well when he said
"this sublime reasoning
soars above the heads of the common people"
(so give them god)
inexplicable writing nonsense
is this my own mind now?
a nonsense machine?
i feel like Coleridge in the later years
which gives me more comfort than it should
Carthage was a mere trade town
Rome burned
Paris was like a beautiful flower
London is a warm hearth
i used to have a frission
but now after years at home
being a father and working in an office
i have nothing to say
except -- here at the centre
here at the very heart
it is cool
madness does overtake the world
there is likely going to be murder
the spin dryer is speeding up
but here at the heart
it is cool
in the garden of the heart
it is cool
at night i like half awake
and cross my legs in half lotus
lying on my back still
and visit arunagiri
^*/
Friday, January 17, 2020
2020 vision
notwithstanding
there is something going down this year
the money now collected into the fewest hands
according to a system which has rewarded the biggest lie, ahem best marketing,
and the lie it spins and spins faster its tale
the liars tale, to create the great confusion
this is going down now like sewage into the throats of the commuters
the great smog of the lie
the great normality gas spinning "everything is fine"
while the world burns up
"everything is under control"
naked humans glued to their screens holding their pizza boxes
as the world spins and burns and the guilt of the lie
will burn bright purple like sulphur and smoke will fill the air
making every eye weep tears of ash
my oracular inner eye spies into the smoke--
sees the learned leaves of civilisation come fluttering down
nature folded into black ruins, the oceans turned to acid
choked with plastic debris, its feeling creatures dying slowly
while the rich eventually from boredom turn on each other
eating each other, crushing the proles underfoot as they fight
like toddlers with world-destroying bombs
unleashing the chemical means to an inevitable end
logging off twitter, i am sitting in the kitchen
the nice smells of a biryani rising from the pan
through the window, green leaves and a cool breeze
and the chatter of local children, making their plans for the holidays
all of time stretching before them, endless days of play
as if life is just a dream, and it is
we need to give over having and keeping the nice things
forever and ever, clutching our 'wealth'
our hands covered in blood, our memory creased into our brow
not knowing the very fact of air.
everything i now do in this life
is about delaying the collision of these three worlds
for as long as is possible.
Sunday, December 15, 2019
does dog exist?
There is a coalition of dogs within the universal 'dog', a cadre of puppies.
Or if dog is merely the letter 'd' in close proximity to an 'o' and a 'g', then it resides on the page here and there.
Perhaps you had a particular dog in mind? or perhaps you were looking for the ideal dog? Do we include the ancestral dogs? the primitive doglike animals? do we include statues of dogs? Do the individual organs of a dog constitute "dog"? How many parts of a dog is sufficient to be a complete dog? can we take away one leg and a tail and and ear and still have a dog?
Likewise also, what is the point of 'exist' - exist like a physical being?
There are plenty who go about life as if dogs exist. they build dog houses, they buy dog food, they make pilgrimages to the dog park. We may have never seen their dog, but their actions are real, so the source of their action is a reality also. Let's not quibble over who or what has actually seen or been 'seen'.
Here is the question of 'exist' for if this means 'i have seen with my two eyes' then lots of things don't exist, atoms don't exist, emotions don't, scents don't.
As you add senses why not add one more - the 'dog' sense, which allows the presence of dog to be felt.
What are we really getting at with 'dog'? What is the whole matter of dogness? Can we really get away from this? Would life be essentially the same without dogs? Do alien civilisations have dogs? Can dogs be gods?