Wednesday 27 May 2015

Boldly The Hum

Write It Out In Blood,
In The Fat Of Your Fathers,
In The Keeping Of Heritage,
Spontaneous And Bricked,
For Dryed-Up Husks Grasping At Cognac,
For High Minstrels Of Abbey-Born Winds,
As They Push The Cornets With FingerTips UnYielding,
To Stab The Notes And Bear The Seed,
For Dieing Breeds Of Militant Pressures,
Under Skins Not Worn With Wine,
To Be Forgotten,
To Be White-Washed,
To Marbled Keeps And Flickering Wrists,
For Time To March In Burr And Fervour,
When Spurred... When Sparred,
For The Crowded Din On Streets,
Then To The Sweeping Away Of Sleep And Solstice.




Friday 22 May 2015

Yard Sale

An Old Hornet Summer's Sting,
Neatly Cyclonic Cycloptic Chronic,
Airing Out The Garage-Sale Haggles,
Letting Ants Chew On Cat-Scratched Legs,
Clinking Chipped Rockwell,
Rubber Toys Coated In Saliva... UnBlinking Cartoon Eyes,
Plastic MilkCrate DollHouse AfterNoon,
ToothPicks... AshTrays... CardSuits On Shot-Glasses,
A Faded Three-Colored Beach Umbrella,
Warped Vinyl... Groovy Cellar Dampness,
Red Rider And Fisher-Price... Parker Brothers And Milton Bradley,
Fishing-Rod Peeling... Tackle-Box Rusting... Old BackYard Flag...
...
Cold Sag BackWards... Busts Tickled Pink... Feeling For Roman Gods,
Uncle Miltie In Sparkleing Push-Ups... Barking For Betty,
Gnawing Into The Leather Straps... Drooling Like A Puppy For The Gravy Train,
Bite-Marks In The Lucky Lucite... Suspended Four-Leafed Maiden Humbleness,
Horse-Whips And Bacardi... Ice-Cubes... Thumb-Screws,
Late Night Lessons For Supper-Clubbed Choke-Chained Dog-Leashed Spastics,
UnBlinking Cartoon Eyes... Rubber Toys Coated In Saliva,
Secret Keys... Ceramic Masks... Chalk Powder,
Fat-Stretched Mewing In Wet Latex Pants,
Gagging On Social Grace And Pool Ball Economics,
Defeated... Cloned... Clipped... Decorated,
A New Ornate Mummer's Dance.





Sunday 17 May 2015

JellyFish And PokerChips

A JellyFish Shaman Born InTo The Emerald ForEver...
...
The Snowy Mistress Of Songs UnSung Opened Her Teepee Flaps,
And Darting Out From The Smoke Flew The Sparrows And Swallows,
So He Plucked What Feathers He Could Pluck... After Which He Picked A Seat Beside The Devil...
...
There The Horizons Molted Their Stoney-Toothed Visions Of Perfect Hands
To Bare High Stakes Bets Based On UnCertain Futures,
Simian Parachute-Packs Sweating Through CowBoy-Silk Shirts...Clawing Through The Warhol-Printed Plains,
Fifteen Brave Minutes To Geronimo For Associated Pressures To Relate,
And If No Body Jumps When He Does...
...
Then To The Sending Of Broken Arrows To BreadLines And Soup Kitchens,
Making Peace Where Treaties OverLap...
...
Because Here... Here We Are All Eating The Moss Off Of The Morning Rocks,
Out Here... Oh, Yeah...
...
It's All Good...
...
...
That JellyFish Shaman... Feel Him Pull Back Now... Dressed In Casual Attire,
The Fires Of Ancestral Pride Have Receded With Glacier-Like Ferocity,
A Walker On Coals... A Cougar In The Caribou-Firs... Not Kept To The Waters,
Boiling In His Moccasins The Heavyer Sole Of An Indian Summer,
Like His Pony-Tail... It Is Tied Into A Dieing Tit For Journeys In The Sun...
...
No Curse Of Whey In Here... I May Be Small And By The Savannah River,
At One With The Great Wait In The Sky...
...
...
Oh... JellyFish Shaman... Born InTo The Emerald ForEver,
Did You Not Hear Your Mistress Call You Back InTo The Flame... Back To Your Wheel?
...
...
Why Are You Still Sitting There?
...
Why?
...
...
Are You Still Turning?




Monday 11 May 2015

September In The Midst Of Things (Originally written as my entry today into AllPoetry.com's May 2015 poetry contest)

What A Price To Pay,
For Subtlety To Boast Constellations,
A Drowned Out Cry From My Crawl-Space Bricked From Youth,
Where A Spindle Might Draw Out Blue Before Red,
And I Be Made To Sit If Not With Thoughts To Denmark,
Then To Barricade My Self From Humiliating Clarity,
As With Equal Steps Towards Failure To Be Recognized...
...
UpOn Such Innocent WoodWork Might I Be Crowned By Old Bitter Spite...
...
While Danceing Betwixt Each Shelf... A Worm Amongst Words,
Cherished With A Communion That May Sweep BloodLines For Pearls,
Straying Not From A Witness... As My Jaw Be Clenched In Sweetness Lost,
That WithOut The FaithLess Muse To Shatter The Ruse Of False Truth,
Those In Its Distillery May Be Cask'd InTo The Shadows,
Only To Bathe In Its Light.



Friday 8 May 2015

A Forest For A Fen

A Fen Of The Devil,
It Be Wet And In The Deeps,
To Twist The Trunks And Bide By Long Strides,
Further From Being Dumped Off The Banks InTo The Bay,
Coyotes Howling For Tricksters That Part The Dead...
...
The Latter HoodWinked By Horned Glasses And A Cat's Lie...
...
In Cactus'd Hotels Lined With DriftWood And Taxidermy,
Each Day Rented For A Catatonic CakeWalk To The Ice-Box And Back...
...
A Slice Of Electric Heaven For Toasting PureBreds
Paddles In The Pool... Stares Blankly At The Desert Panorama...
...
It Could Be A Splintered ChestFull Of Hell Out There... Beyond The Concrete And Chlorine,
Some Sickeningly Haunted Hole Where The Soil Turns Rusty,
Old HorseShoe Crabs Would Migrate There To Die,
Their Brittle Remains Pulverized... Then Ground InTo A Martian-Canary Rattle,
Collected In Utero And Serveing Only Vesuvius... To Survive As Its Riddled Clay...
...
...
But Where Does That UnEarthly Whistle Lead Its Window-Shopper?
For What End To Compliment An Intersection Of Debates...?
...
...
In Whose Boots... In Threads That Guide Growling Bellies,
By What Magician's SignPost... Blinking Arrows,
For Saws To Cut Through An American Balcony,
For Whose Poor Eager Hands To Reach InSide The Wolf's Mouth
And Brush ASide The CobWebs?