Thursday, August 27, 2009

Friday, August 21, 2009
midlife-ride
One day when I am adult-escent
With eyes pitted in memory and regret
I will buy a bike and ride,
With handle-bar bells singing
in the wind that drowns out the baggage
on the back.
I’ll taunt technology and turn
The road into a route to time
I’ll smile sweetly at nothing because
There’s nothing to make me
and laugh, happy at regressing to
the too careless girl
I was never comfortable to be.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Afghan wife August 2009

I’m missing something Mister
Lawman. Miss knowing why you lay down
the law in ore and our
Wedding bed and oust me to the lower orders
Of law and order.
I have such hunger husband
Not for food flung bitter from your hands
But for you to miss what you’re missing – Maybe Allah
will make you miss the truth gaping starved and tired
and toppled by tabloid totems
And created hate, fat with sucking justice’s blood.

Maybe you instead will, feel the shame, mister, feel
the blanks ring in my empty
Stomach;
Chastised, hollowed of
‘love’
To please the law of your own hungry
Million male human hands.

Are you missing something mister?

Friday, August 21, 2009

midlife-ride

One day when I am adult-escent
With eyes pitted in memory and regret
I will buy a bike and ride,
With handle-bar bells singing
in the wind that drowns out the baggage
on the back.
I’ll taunt technology and turn
The road into a route to time
I’ll smile sweetly at nothing because
There’s nothing to make me
and laugh, happy at regressing to
the too careless girl
I was never comfortable to be.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Gaza 1/1/09

Gaza 1/1/09
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

Watching brown eyes film its flight

How I wonder what you are

Watching wind coax it to earth

Way above the earth so high,

Pretty iron magic wand,

Like a spaceship in the sky

Red as hate and stencil-stamped

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

Closer, closer,

How I wonder what you are.

Landing. Last wish.

Lullaby.

While shepherds watch their flocks by night,

Oh god. Yahweh. My Mother, son…

All gathered on the ground

Twinkle twinkle little star,

Our blood feels just what you are.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Gaza 1/1/09

Gaza 1/1/09
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

Watching brown eyes film its flight

How I wonder what you are

Watching wind coax it to earth

Way above the earth so high,

Pretty iron magic wand,

Like a spaceship in the sky

Red as hate and stencil-stamped

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

Closer, closer,

How I wonder what you are.

Landing. Last wish.

Lullaby.

While shepherds watch their flocks by night,

Oh god. Yahweh. My Mother, son…

All gathered on the ground

Twinkle twinkle little star,

Our blood feels just what you are.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Outrage

Drug –
It’s in, it’s all encompassing,
You change, become a voodoo doll, a thing.
The body, oozing Owen’s ‘sick of sin’
rejects its cavern walls of devilled skin.
The skeleton caged in with bones so thin
shakes, shudders, spills gross shamed guts out from the in.
You burst into imploding rags and pins,
the thousand drug-dances of heroin.
And down,
and cringe
and radiate and
spin,
i lost you. You are lost,
you’re me
gone
been
'Capture reality and make it do what you want it to do'

Saturday, July 18, 2009

wHAT HAPPENED IN THE CITY WHEN NIGHT FELL.

tHE mILKY wAY FELL
oNTO COLD CONCRETE STREETS,
cOATED ROUCH ROADS AND BRIdGES
fROM PEAKS TO THEIR SEATS.

tHE WATER STOLE STAR-SPOTS
aND RUSHED PAST IN GUILY
tRAPPING OPENMOUTHED ANGELS
iN MUD, OIL AND SILT.

aS i FLEW THROUGH THE PAVEMENTS
oR WALKED THROUGH THE SKY
hEAVEN’S BLOOMS GREW GREAT GREY STALKS,
bLINKED BLIND, HELD THEM HIGH.

tHOUGH SHOP-FRONTS PAINTED PICTURES
(PATHETIC AND PALE)
pEOPLES’ PLASTIC DROWNED DOWN
mERCURY’S LAMPLIT TRAIL.

tHE mILKY wAY FELL,
mELTED BY BRIGHT EARTH-FORMS
iNTO LIGHT-DRIPPING ART
cLEAR AS CLOUDS, A STILLED STORM.

aND THE CITY SINGS DUSK,
nIGHT-TIME FLICKERS, GROWS RUST,
mOTORS MOAN, MOURN AND SNARL,
cHOKING NIGHT’S STAGE IN DUST.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

an old poem sample

City Spring

It’s April; showery spring-time
Washes rigid roads
In showers, dirt-coloured,
Lined bright with not-quite-white dead flowers.

Bruised beauties, they ride on fumes, freefall
Blindly, elegantly, high
While my feet skirmish in wrecked
Glass, this broken show of nature
Lies low in concrete, clothed in grey.

The Spring?
It has no place here, finds no peace,
Caught in the city’s slingshot sliding
doors and disagreeing with what is Real.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Ambleside Waterfalls

Though tempted tentatively to listen
To broadcast bomb-blasts somewhere
Spanish.
Ambleside interrupts with dancing liquid lies of river lather
Which fret even uneven ground.
Pouncing flirt, she races momentary movements over
And over and tumbling against rock in chatter-tongues.
And this aggressive string of droplets holds
your attention,
soaks your radio waves in sound.
She is the more attractive story,
The more destructive report,
The winner by force of white noise
Drowning birdsong, cries and
Small
Gasps
That come from places far beyond this
Shocked truth.
Listen
to this spokeswoman of a generation cleaned of its innocence
By its rancid, frothing, fidgeting conscience;
The cosmopolitan consciousness of the many happy
Whilst they forget the morning news lost
Behind the comfort of this racucous waterfall.

Words.....

Elegy

The sun is setting on a new dawn,
weak and exhausted.
A doomed renaissance, simultaneous birth and death.
The Hollow men shudder to behold
the child of their time
as they give birth to Horror;
A cripple squatting on the shaking orb
that is the Earth.
Dribbling oily blood from rotten gums
and gaping wounds.

Tanks swarm like flies on its skin,
Buzzing, grunting, snarling a war song
With blank lyrics.
Their ambling voyage an incessant wake
Mourning the death of peace, of hope.

In Asia’s abandoned backyard
Moaning an anguished whisper
Lies this orphan, this betrayed Iraq,
in a heap on the sun-baked dirt,
shot to pieces and weeping bullet tears for Allah.

World

The mass of solid
air rises naked. Further, higher,
than fickle fingers stretch
or pray,
to find touch.
Caged eyes seek sight, climbing
slowly, slowly, dropping
Back to rest foot-high
far away, like forever, that one word
resting on my lips.

Before I spit it
onto the ground.
It slashes the bare air.

I tread
empty vowels and falling
naked leaves
and open-mouthed nothingsInto the mud


London Lights

The Milky Way fell
Onto cold concrete streets,
Coated Battersea bridge
From its peaks to its seats.

The water stole star-spots
And rushed past in guilt
Trapping open-mouthed angels
In mud, oil and silt.

As I flew through the pavements
Or walked through the sky
Heaven’s blooms grew grey stalks,
Blinked blindly, held high.

When the windows paint pictures
(pathetic and pale)
Once again, eyes will drown
Mercury’s lamplit trail.

The Milky Way fell,
Burned, and melted black forms,
Into light-dripping art,
Clear as clouds, still as storms.

When the city sings like,
Night-time flickers, grows rust,
Motors moan, mourn and snarl,
Choking night’s stage in dust.

Bed

Nut in a shell
I
Watch
The cold music of the wall
Strain against the air
To touch me
Block vibration, ringing
Ringing, into transient
Still
Void thicker than honey
nectar crystallised
Into a dream-sand rock.
Waiting to shatter at the blades of day.


Naked shore

The Blue is no longer Blue but
stripped and molten topaz
teasing the Earth it cradles,
licking, tickling its numb shore. Coaxing
voice of Atlantis’ womb.

Summer’s soul stains glass
water, over ornate gold parent rocks
contoured with age’s worry. They build

the cradle of the drowned
shadows who play
antecedent to seagulls’ feral shock
bravado songs to mock
Man’s voice.

And finally, eternally,
Elysian dreams pulse
synchronised to pounding
waves.
And we are no longer we but slaves
to the sea our siren and
prised far
apart as continents,

as liquid life spills onto crystal rocks –
shatters –
here is the fatal opening,
our beach exposed
by the sea we are.


From a pool of shadows
Grow fingered paws, whiskers,
A tail-tower of wool,
Ushering leaves aside
To announce speculatory stillness.

His nut-nose scans our silhouettes
Reflected black in a glassy squint;
Our seven-inch judge reserves sentence
Holding the seconds in headlock
As the air twitches in suspense.

Until he melts the frieze
Into a scurry torrent,
Racing the wind to the treetop
To supervise from his office branch;

Swallowed back into the green, and green, and black.

Rose

She meekly smiles
Her form beguiles
Her curves shake, sway
They tremble, play

A game of love,
A game of lust,
She hypnotises,
Turns to dust

Seduce me now
Touch, burn, endow
My eyes with
you
So false, so true

Pierce cruelly all
My being, fall
From angel heights,
Sing my last rites.

Roots and branches

Here is where we stand in stone, still;
Rooted
Into place by weak will

Teardrops
Heal in time’s embraces;
rendered dead
By newfound faces.

Shaking
Grins pray for tomorrow;
Reaching
Out to beg or borrow

Hope.
The time, the here, the now,
Before
Small twigs of change endow

New visions
Plant illusions, dreams, all
Branching,
breaking,
stretching tall.

Here
Withers
as a black, burnt bough;
Eternal, transient, new,
now.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Alice in Wonderland

England's visual semantics
Remember me. Its muddled mix
splashes on my fogged eye-screen,
rubs out my name, pales what I've seen:
Zimbabwe. Home, strange colour Queen.

Here bands of grey, blank gaunt grey bands
are the pure snow white of Milton's land.
the welcome gate winks, wedged half-wide
and I the daughter crawl inside;

A displaced ghost, the stars' lost child,
returning (eyes less blue, less mild)
Now cliffs of smoke cloud billow, tame
the slits of shy sky blue; the same
strained glass that import guns cracked black,
and shot down onto Alice's back.

my chanting pulse remembers screams
not nature's natives, lost in dreams.
The sky's the same though I'm disowned
in this grey wonderland: not home.