Tag Archives: poem

13.11.15

but it’s no use
he thinks

to count among the friends
and relatives
who were lucky enough
to walk through the hinges of
someone else’s history

it’s no use
to live the life
as if the life
was the only life

it’s no use
to be afraid

it’s no use
to spill coffee on the floor
to break a pencil
to drink a can of oil
to claw at one’s shoulder
to picture Yeats’ tomb

it’s no use
to live the life
as if the life
was the only life

it’s no use
he mutters

but
is there still use
for a clogged throat

is there use
for a mechanical heart

is there use
in yellow saliva

is there use
if we still find the poem


The Aftermath

I yield.
Lay down your weapons
Take back the songs – for they are yours now
Release your promises from my house
And mine shall retreat at once
And if one should be found
helpless and discovered
It should be returned to neutral ground
And left there.

I yield
As should the kings of a definite stalemate.
Your terms and conditions shall now exist
outside of me
And wherever met should
leave the premises immediately
Or be actually annihilated on sight
– I do not doubt that such measures
will be enforced as well
Under your now different law.

I do not mourn or regret our law
Nor will I fight for it
Nor will I regret it
But do not ask me to now abide
by any of your decrees
However slight the coincidence with my own ruleset,
My coldest winter, my law of relativity
May be.

Let it come to pass that we now are orbit-free suns
Nailed to our own correct centres
Spinning our own correct ratio of existence and emptiness
And all that’s in between
Around us

And it is of no consequence to know
Which one will burn out first
Or outburn the other
In whatever way a star may decide to go

Given that as I burn out
I do actually burn
In all allowed radiance
And that shall be enough.


01.07.2015

today
I have no words
on offer
to offer

there
are so many of them
words everyday
but today

there is but only
no key holes
for any one
to strap onto

and turn
your arm into a wound
of importance a wound
of actually being there

no wound to tell
if some one bled
no wound to tell
if some one bred

no wound
to tell the living
from the dead
today

path words lead
no where not
even dead ends

words uncovered will
help covering
the burial

but
not today


Poem – a poem.

This is a poem.

It is so because I say so.

Therefore I say so.

Therefore it is so.

It is made of sentences.

These sentences are all simple.

You can understand them.

You can even write them down.

But it is my poem.

It is my poem because I said so.

Sometimes it has rhymes.

Sometimes not.

It is straightforward.

It is what it means.

It means what it is.

You will make it yours after the first reading.

(It will still be my poem.)

It is simple.

It is straightforward.

So I ask you then.

What

is the point.


Story Cubes Poem #4 – Laying Out + Audio bonus

Start by dividing the field with
a neat line of no colour,
straight – the only way – man-made
and focal it becomes – horizontal
Horizon, immanent, basis.

Give appropriate names throughout
your new found land (so as not to
discover a backwards sky)
then have lines perpendicular cut up
and shape a city scape

(and if mirrored in water – a heart beat)
Discipline is your only friend – intricate
designs with no heads or tails but
glass warnings clearly embedded
– Discipline your only frame

Discipline your only frame.

***
The dice gave me a plane, a tower, a hand, a falling star

BONUS : The text to speech version of it because it fits.


Story cubes poem #3 – Attic poem

The child hoards marbles into his lap blind
to the number in piecing between
his palms – it only matters
the in-numberness
to be taken up

Up and close (and personal) he goes
to see where, where in the world
can the treasure be hidden
on the sweet cusp of
no light

(for the grown-ups not to find it ever)
and not enough dark for the
monsters to settle there –
his own devious spot
to be invented

Unknowingly walking the filament line,
the child weaves and loops his
way into bigger things, the
marbles falling off
one by one.

***

The dice gave me a lock, a lightbulb, and an abacus


Day after day

Thoughts laid bare severed on a plastic tray
Duly labeled – mine, yours, unattached, other,
High, low, cruel, boring,

Tagged, hashtagged, enclosed for better conservation
Between high walls in tick boxes
– we have to make it easier for satellites above

Doesn’t verticality feel like a dream still ?
And yet we do not ever speak above ourselves
As outer space seeks revenge after its ruthless colonization

I look up, and only see my workmate ogling down at me
Only to see me ogling down at him
Thumbing through twitter holding a cup.


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