I began writing poetry as a teenager and never stopped. I read poetry, my all-time favourites, are Marina Tsvetaeva from Russia and well, dozens of others.
Somewhere
Under there
You learn
Not to care
Not to be fair
To stare
With unconscious bias
Behind
Your eyes
Deep down
inside
You repeat the lies
Of unconscious bias
You put me
On your hit list
You grab me
In your stone fist
But when asked
You don’t know why
You take away
My identity
You demonize me
You make me pay
With your
Unconscious bias
It’s become the norm
It’s a brain worm
Called cancel culture
Take your judgement seat
In the courtroom of the tweet
It’s a new kind of vulture
Called cancel culture
From neighbour in the street
To critic of the police
If you say what you feel
And your friend disagrees
You will get cancelled out
No one cares what its about
It spreads like a fire
It transmits from it holy spire
It cancel culture
A prejudice
Is easy to spread
When you use
The internet
Judge not me
But judge yourself
Care about
What comes out your mouth
That it isn’t
Cancel culture
the mind
is white
and bare
it is always
searching
for thoughts
the mind
is a tuber
beneath
the mountain
white as an eyeball
that never saw light
cats come
to dig it out
to lay their grubs
to conquer it
like the moon
I wake up
amongst the boulders
the glacierz have gone
I wake up
between the boulders
sunlight
is a river
I wake up
on the boulders
in a tube
of deep blue
I wake up
where are the boulders?
I can zee one
I must have eaten it
After the feast was over
When the boulders had crashed onto the table
And the birds came out to eat the crumbs
And the snake coiled itself up to sleep
And the rebuilding work was underway
And the naked bodies hung in the sky like rain
And the blood of the meat was splashed like graffiti on the wall
And the wine could not find another vein
And all the hero’s had left their seats and gone their separate ways
And the dust settled right up to the roof
And we wandered about the sand with only the myth
And we looked for the gate that was gone
And we searched for the table that was sawdust
And hope took us into the wilderness like starving sheep
And the signs pointed to a storm out at sea
And darkness finally covered over our bones
And the epitaphs on our tombs read – born too late
once again I was thinking about the decade of the 1960’z when we were overloaded with a cultural feast, up to today, when it’s obvious that it’s gone for good now.
The clouds rain down
On the root
Ending their journey
Along the rainbow road
People are getting ready
To leave
Unpacking their raincoats
From their pockets
Suddenly, zo suddenly
The sun is shining
In every pool
Wild flowers
Open up to the sky
This is the hour
Of eternity
this started With a what if idea about the the cloud/rain cycle
His Cold air
His air spreads out
Fast like in an explosion
Then you hear the sound
His spirit explodes in anger
And you can feel the blast
Of cold air rush past you
So strong is his outburst
That it shocks the air
And it feels cold like a ghost
And you know
That a second later
The chill will touch your very heart
sometimes I feel I can sense when someone is going to be angry
A poet writes
A poet writes
His mature poetry
After the world has imposed
Its rules on him
the rules are the academic rules
They told me
It was time
And that time
Never ended
But someone had to be there
To turn the hourglass over
And zo I turned it over
And watched the quicksand draining
Slipping, caught by gravity
Ending full and ready
To start again
The journey
That it had lived
Zo many times before
Tired of the hourglass
I left it in its stable
In the stillness of the light that shines
Beside the rocking ocean
To the sea of images
That unlock the pain of love
I made my way
In the darkness
With my eyes like searchlights
At the fortress of images
I stood wearing black feathers
An obsolete orphan
With an anvil for a heart
And words as dead as frogs
The image began to attack me
Like cannon shot through glass
As I fell into a hypnotized sleep
And there in a cave
Dressed as wolves
My parents were prowling
Blind with anger
Hungry for vengeance
Then the sea was gone
the system of youth
Is frost between layers of time
It is called upon
To carry the world upon its’ back
It is expected to answer
To the man in black leather in the Norman tower
with blood and tears
with sacrifice
The system of youth
Is a green velvet wheel
Turned by a river of Iranian oil
Turned by a river of liquid sugar
Always it is traded for goods
Goods for blood
The system of youth
Now I see it
Like a Ferris wheel turning
In the ice of tomorrows tragedy
Leaving its parents
Broken and confused
The veteran
was speaking
Of the war
He would
do it all again
as before
if only
you would
love him more
with his hand
he would
part the wheat
in the field
with his heart
he would part
the eyesight
in the sky
with his strength
he would move
the mountains
in the east
with his courage
he would nourish
the frightened
and the least
he’s not the kind
to let you down
he’ll die before
the wind
has finished
blowing
then he
took up his cue
and potted a ball
as easy as that
he gives his all
it’s in the call
it’s all
in the calling
