Monday, 8 November 2010

Poems From the Last While...

These are not in date order because I couldn't be arsed to cut and paste them all about. I think the most important are in the top half regarding explanation of the last 7-8 months, and the second half contains generally light-hearted pieces, and hope for the future. Take care all, Dx

Toad (September 2010)

The stinking toad that croaks his fart-warm music,
the bellows of his throat puff in, puff out.
His jaundiced eyes, drink-hooded, blink and blink:
he is far younger than he looks, yet far
too old to creep and clutch on this fresh earth.

O creeping toad, so scrawny, warty, pop-eyed,
crepuscular and crawling thing, who croaks
vile crepitations, belches, eructations:
your dissipation years your face, your guile
and falseness squirm behind your beaming gape.

That tailless wretch, he crept his two-faced way
into my bed while I had turned my back
and settled there, before my warmth had cooled:
he wastes his joy, though can't believe his luck,
to take at his age this warm nest to clutch.

Skin-shedder, self-devourer, witch's mark,
wart-giver, gobbler of spleen, liver-death,
convulsive, spasm-twitcher, sphiggener,
blinking toad, stinking toad, old crevice-creeper -
I ask: would you jump in my grave as quick?

When you juggled the chip pan. (June 2009)

When you juggled the chip pan
and the baby
with two boys circling
at waist level -

When you hurled the candlestick
the iron candelabrum
at my head
and kicked me upsidedown
while my back was turned -

Whenever you hold a knife
or a mattock, or rake
I'm wary:
your violent medicine
measures me.

Sphinx (Sep 2010)

Affronted eyes, dot-cornered like the stark
outlined impenetrable gaze in red
figure; your lion haunches bunched to spring

clawing, tail twitching as you wait your riddle's
glib answer; breasts hang slack below hunched shoulders
a succourless refuting of desire;

wings furled into a hump, a burdened back
sullen with indignation, self-contained
to brink of madness, so inscrutable

no passage in or out encourages
this dialogue. Man stares and sphinx blinks not.
Love twitches strangled in the dust between.


Abandonment (Sep 2010)

You always were afraid of it, you made
me, mind-created, an abandoner,
who only ever stayed and kept quite true.

Why should I stray? Your sweet abandonment
was quite enough for me: no stolen joys
could substitute those rightfully mine with you.

Yet you abandoned me, you strayed, in heart,
in faith, in lust, the fact you did mere grist
to your suspicious mind: "If I, then you."

And in the end I did abandon you,
in desperate hope I'd wreak some change -
alas, too much - although my heart was true.

"You Left Me!" (Nov 2010)

It's true, I did, forced out by the knife's threat,
the roll-eyed sight of you still battering
your scalp against the pitch-faced, rough-coursed stones,

our children deftly whitening with shame;
black visitations in the broken night;
you too refused to leave, though would not cease.

Bereaving paradox of loving-hate -
or hating-love: the heart soft-croons while faces
scald; sweet-laughed words, while live souls petrify.

What choice did you leave me bar wrap love safe,
and pray to all the angels bring you peace,
and I, your helpless thorn, unpluck myself?

Circe (Sep 2010)

The blunt wedge of the falcon, feathered cloak,
sharp eyes darting, a nest of knotted snakes
spell-fastened, grottoed in obscurity,

brimful of laughing danger, careless lover
smoke-curled with care, courageous unto death,
your warm enchantments swine me straight.

Despite my lust to be most upright, true,
unbending to these salty waves assault
my fretted tears keep proving me a fool,

hopeless, undone, a shipwrecked heart afloat
upon a boat of wounded meat, my keelbone
splintered, still floundering towards your shore.


Cabin Fever (August 2010)

Lapping cries cascade across the hollow waters
as the curlews lisp their cunnilingual chorus;
pancreatic memory of gross indulgence
gnawing under my left scapula's blunt wingtip.

Here and now, within the moment, yet without,
time insists on pressing its uncertain visage
up against the glass of our eternal bauble:
liplocked figurines entwined within a snowstorm.

Ah me, time is never constant, always laughing,
speeding precious hours, grinding days of absence
into such a stasis heartbeats pause and falter,
courage fails and staunchness lags and blandly withers.

Latchless, sense of self and time slips through the unhinged
door of certainty, so pin it fast, secure it
with the symbols of the infant, nipples, nappy
pins and pain, hit home to haul the heart back homewards.

Poised (May 2010)

Poised, not striking a pose,
fetal, fate-furled,
coiled above the bedclothes.

Listening to the miles,
bag packed, the way
scratched on memory.

Expecting earthquakes,
a flock of starlings chattering
behind the bars of my ribs.

Beneath me the black world
creaks on the spoke of my spine.

Niagaras In a Pedalo (March 2009)

Shooting the Niagaras in a pedalo
I pause and ask, do you think it wise?
You don't reply. You are concentrating,
Pedalling as if your life depended on it.
Why are we going round and round?
Ah, I see, you are pedalling backwards.
Let me backpedal too - oh!
Hang on, let's start again, get in synch -
I calculate that if we flap our arms
At the crucial moment of trajectory -
Ok, I'll shut up! Why are you smil?

Mahu Modo (Dec 2009)

The clustering of words, inkthick, typefraught,
A newsprint tablecloth, crumpled rhetoric
Droning falsehood across the breakfast, outdoors.

The haw-thick roadsides, warm-globelets preening,
Sunshone harvests of ghoul-trees, poor foolsfood
For wayfarers, who flinch when: "Sniff my truncheon,"
Dares Plod who soothes with Lethe-laden tea:

Snuffing gravid memories, that clear and torn
In the chamberlight recall that violence
Undeserved since the first great-brained travail.

Colombcarrion lies beneath the branches' sough,
Poor peacebird, while this feast of crazies chokes,
And tropes grope the groupies of the larchicon.

I list the signs (March 2010)

An appetite, gluttonous
as the aloof hog who lets droop
his long lashes across his eye
while feasting on sweet primroses.

Sweet swine - beloved of Venus, rootler,
swindler, garbed in arcane robes,
despoiler of the morning - force
your shame and conscience to the fore.

It shall not help. Before the day
is out this boar shall think he's special,
allow himself to take on graces,
til bacon day unsettles him.

I list the signs: the jester's motley,
the goat-ascendant, a brazen cock
that shocks the dawn, why blame a pig?
Be glad his nature is kept hid.

Our Dirty Little Secret - (Lines for a Hallmark Card) (Sep 2010)

Can't live together and can't live apart,
the indivisibileness of our heart
and the divisibility of our minds
poses a question: if this passion binds
us inextricably, yet makes us mad,
then some divine relation must be had
that gives us independence and rich pleasure,
support and strength, and sweet sustaining leisure.

Conventionality goes in the bin,
for being free is not considered sin:
souls that adore in freedom are so light
they make the very angels' faces bright.
Together and apart we'll make our lives
and be the envy of all husbands, wives.

Hecate, Medea, Erictho (Sep 2010)

"Often too when a kinsman is buried,
the dreadful witch hangs over the loved body:
while kissing it she mutilates the head.
She forces open the closed mouth
then, biting the tip of the motionless tongue,
she pours inarticulate sound into the cold lips
and sends a message of mysterious horror
down to the ghosts in hell." - Lucan

Hecate, Erictho and dark Medea,
it matters not at all which name you take;-
giver of madness, guardian of doors,
rearer of boys, strange mater-perilosa:
so, as the witch who finds her bonds of love
have slipped their victim, casts her spells that slay,
and killing me, killed love by killing truth.

Morning. The flowers, taken from the vase,
and in their place a bunch of dark and dirt,
sticky buds, roughly torn, and crammed, with soil
scattered across the table top in flecks;
brown, blunt-beaked lumps, all touched with beaded dew:
a sign, a horror. I made that same journey,
bearing may-blossom, woke you, loved you true,
brought both us bliss, renewal; ah, but you,
you turned and left in silence, leaving signs.

O, Hecate, Medea, Erictho.
I realised you had been: with pounding heart
I locked the door. My trembling lasted hours.

("Strange, so strange, so strange," attested he,
"that now it's all gone wrong, its plain to see,
that all these years you have detested me."

"You killed it," she said.

Ripe (Sep 2010)

You treated me as if I had no strength of will,
a passive fruit all swollen-ripe to pluck
by any harridan who wandered by,
despite my heart remaining constant still;
negating my volition, made me zilch,
an ornament for any girl to filch;
declaring faithfulness the merest luck
and sweet devotion just the vainest lie.

Since I could never prove my plighted troth
except by absence of those acts that kill
all trust, you watched for me to break my oath
and slandered all we met with vile intent,
expecting me to clutch their hands and fly:
your madness grew: in madness too, I went.


Katabasis (set exercise for school-children) (Oct 2010)

Again, as I enact this legendary katabasis
going down to your shores, your laughter growls
grimier than Grimsby as I trace
the anaglypta of your trembling belly.

Cerberus nowhere to be seen, no need
here to placate with song; the imbricated
folioles of your porchway sweetly hide
the source of your dyscratic fevered blood.

I seek a cure for this to come: our sad
inevitable regular diremptions.

Fragment (Sep 2010)

This selfish farce we act in, full of greed
and desperate self-love - oh if we could
in sudden torn humility inscribe
upon the mirror of our hearts, soap-words,
or lipstick scrawls that cut the seamless glass
that separates us, and allows us sight
of all the harm we do them that are small.

Friday, 5 November 2010

Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis, Blockage, Further Synthesis, Murder

1st person: The cause is 'a'.

2nd person: No, the cause is 'b'.

1st: In that case, there must be a cause 'c' that encapsulates both our positions, and explains the disparity between our views.

2nd: No, the cause is 'b'.

1st: But listen, 'c' explains why you think 'b' and I think 'a' - it explains why we both feel differently.

2nd: Fuck off and stop torturing me! It is 'b'!

1st: You are refusing to accept that I have a viewpoint that forces you to think more widely than your defensive position. In effect, you are denying I exist, in an attempt to shore up your own existence. Call this position 'd' - it attempts to explain why you refuse to see that 'c' reconciles the discordance of 'a' and 'b'.

2nd: [stabs 1st] It's 'b'! 'b'! 'b'!!! you fucking bastard! Now leave me alone!