Margret’s long dead. This is what’s wrong with the world. I demand but know no heaven here can fix; that an ideal ultimately falls also. Who restores her to me? 14/04/20
Category: Original Poetry
trump 20/20
as president, trump can do what he likes. he can do nothing; incite violence. deflect blame. murder truth. liberate michigan, minnesota. one masked protester held a sign that said: covid19 is a lie. (dante is right to suggest that fraud is worse than physical violence. more profound)
at the university lakes
i’m also a poet as well as the swine who wrote the shopping list (see above). i like to emulate the simplicity of it (the list). i thought to present ‘milk/bread/sugar/eggs’ as a poem but didn’t have the stomach for it, the confidence that i was saying something worthwhile. i turn my back to…
desk
i am empty. delicate. some user took a knife to me, in some bored or intolerable moment; the interlude between two zeros, a dense nothingness you can’t see thru or wonder at its obliquity, what it is – before the advent of internet. it’s too late, at any rate, to…
colony
men club together for protection. it’s physical, & also psychological. we’re forced together, caught in the swarm & build to be warm & sheltered. i can’t (example) avoid radio; classic hits, commercials; the flippant tone of djs amused by their own eloquence. i mean: do they breed them? because they come in 2…
tyger
come for tea. demolish me. stay for breakfast. complain that the toast is burnt. say you love me. rape me again. let me feel your hot effluence over me. do me in a minute. do me quick.
waves
He lies for the sun smiles & shadows play the waves of grass; & nothing changes. She thinks. Time’s constructed from bits, remnants the river flings; is aware bare paws pad the shore. There are gods here also who know the pull & counter-pull; the waves that roll yr canoes; long…
drive in the country
you too have asked Who am I & not waited for an answer. meanwhile there’s a house we might live in. some rustic shack & the wet asphalt is streaked yellow. there’s danger in the storm-rent sky, on the crest of hill we feel; it exists – in the mind for…
a reading of poetry at the Waikato Museum
I thought to stand on the top stair, check my watch smile for 10 minutes & not talk. it’s pretend, & how do i descend after that sip my drink as if it never happened; digest club sandwiches; delicates; anglosaxon monosaturates &, an hour later, when i’m in-doors & i’m nothing particular… …
The Son’s Confession.
One day I’ll be famous, with power and great wealth, I’d be in perfect body of sound mind and good health. Everyone will like me, I’d be of good repute, If a person contradicts me, my butler will refute Them, and put my reputation on a silver pedestal, No-one knows what else I do so…
dog
I can’t leave a room like you can so no-one notices. i soil the moment blow the candle b/ween us when i’m speaking. no-one hates me not ever. i could step on shit, walk it on the carpet & it wouldn’t matter. i’m only 50 & my cousin’s son is dead…
freedom
commit me. i need like a bird needs the sky to be held, cut short it hurts like & so i say, for instance, let the horses go; dogs also. i’m not ready but i’ve sunk my fists in the vanity & not looked at the mirror. heard between my ears…