Don't mind me...
I'm just putting some poems together for my trip to the Beehive tonight....
.....
past the dark hours - ali lay in bed
the cords of lotvia's music stinging
when first one hawk and then the next
petrified him to the spine by speaking
ali most faithful of all men said the first
sinful guilt has struck you foolish
do not hide my charity in that cave
I command you use it to it's fullest
most cursed of all men says it's neighbour
your servants serve you dutifully
spend thine wealth - buy a stallion
to display thy servants beautifully
along the cadge of resting hawks
each removing of companion's hood
came haggard croak of sage advice
alternate praise 'tween cursed and prized
when the last bird spoke - all was still
first hint of morning broke the hills
in golden carried angelic chorus
ali saw in halo - ibn koinos' house
but where could ali get a lamb
in payment for a consultation
with that old man of the mountain
brought to mind by revelation
rising he kneeled to pray at the call
thanking the most merciful of all
just two more lives he would take
a sheep for a lamb - for heaven's sake
....
generations
last night while he slept
I went to him
to kiss the bruise on his chin
he deeply sighed
but did not wake
in the lapping light from the hall
he reminds me of my father
just as I
close the door
so will he
....
ali took his loot to a hidden cave
dark and thin as is a womb
by strangled candlelight he'd count
ninety-eight diamonds in the gloom
then he'd wait the clouded moon
to cloak him as he slipped for home
to mince the mice caught in traps
to feed his hawks - while he ate scraps
ninety-eight diamonds bought in blood
each the human race destroyed
yet still he must salute the judge
and still - though rich - had no wife
how sorry is miserly greed - have mercy
for ali must bear the sores of a beggar
curse the law that makes him murder
or eunuch if again caught thief
then what use is he to lotvia
more beautiful than the breeze of a brook
who of a glance an octave of the buzuq plays
and for whom ninety-eight have shortened days
for as the night stilled to jasmine'd breath
to silvered sight illuminate
from the court of the merchants house
lotvia and her sister doolia music make
and ali would climb a ladder to the roof
flatten himself serpent low
and fall in love again with every note that played
and know why he was punished so - to stay
....
first to arrive and tucked up tight
came a maid of whom moonlight
never swept across her form
by way of curtain lust swift drawn
though fair of face she held a pallor
her cheeks they had a tint of sallow
yellowness where flush might be
though in advance we all agreed
not to state ought of her looks
for she had read in many books
and magazines o'er many years
that women oft' provoke men's fears
and if our oath we did break
this lady did this promise make
to quit our talks and report
this space not safe to the public court
and bring down upon our heads
opprobrium both dire and dread
for she did not trust our motives
leading her into the greenwoods
but she feared we lured her from her home
beyond the signal of her phone
she kept her hand clasped at her chest
and spoke in shortened anxious breaths
of how she feared it looked like rain
feared she was the only woman
and was any other feeling cold
and was that breeze a trifle bold
a friendship bracelet bound her wrist
she declared herself a humanist
.....
next came a man of not quite forty
with trilby angled on the jaunty
his countenance was bright and friendly
his leather jacket worn and trendy
and on his lapel in neat medaled line
ran coloured badges as a sign
of where he had marched and whom he fought
in constant strife of justice sought
for bombs disarmed to till the soil
securing blood for men and not for oil
but the badge he held in most esteem
wore pride of place to buckle jeans
hand crafted it was with much bravura
it was the crucified che guevara
and as it was by a catholic made
who plied his wares to the tourist trade
three LED lights shone bright green
to show che's features quite serene
this feature after sunday mass
amazed the children and made them laugh
thus he sought to break the ice
and lead them to his message nice
that jesus too was just like che
they both robbed the banks of their day
so confused was the doctrine of this vicar
that the bishop despaired and many sniggered
but the heresy was not that great
and it did put dough in the collection plate
so they left him thus to fish his sea
he was very liberal C of E
....
let critics with their salty hands
bemoan and plague this plate of fruit
what care the fauns of these lands
of meter rhymes and rules laid suit
when those without divine intent
who plod out words with their pen
in cryptic verse of modern bent
demand these laws return again
pass the wine and join the dance
beat out the drum for here we dance
and if the plodders choose to prance
smile forbearance of the snide
for in le corbusier's dream they hide
for fear of that what lays outside
oh juvenal reign down in mirth
come forth milton and give birth
give apples sweet to great dante
make bottom dear again donkey
for piled high are quince and grapes
from this full dish the merry sates
should they not choose to prate
fat chance of that in this world mate
for poetry now is a shriveled thing
where once philosophy took wing
the barren realm of I is king
no more delight in word and wit
just foolish gold of arsenic
and angry cries from targets hit
...
final came the wrath of the lord
in instrument stout tory sword
material of hammered beryl
formal amazon made polecat feral
by efficient harpie's screams
you'll all agree or so it seems
perfect aristotle's four causes
of why she bought no roses
to decorate the family font
but swam across the hellespont
to the catholic and the universal
for she could make no reversal
on doctrinal points about priestesses
preferring incense'd men in dresses
candles books and bells and all creations
of mysterious transubstantiation
and though she kept the family seat
now she held it passionate
beryl's ordination may have sparked the storm
this lady's wrath in actual form
found ironic and surprising turn
when in no matter would she affirm
except through matter of virgin mary
thus justified in faith was she
....
refuges
fake lilacs on the window turn
as we enter this space called room
in all possibility we could stretch out
beyond the window and fly
merge around the faded pink leaves
of silk to that that lies within
but we are already there and need not
defined space from which to begin
only in the pardon of excuse
when from politeness we take form
in concrete plasticity moulded
by fridays and sundays
by the closing doors of commuter trains
or the notion that we can vicariously live
through an executed will of favorite songs
believing the lyrics to be our own
for without recitation of our soul
we see only the room and think the lilac real
....
the histories
after herodotus
and I shall relate what I have heard
from those who have been to that place
and attended to the affairs of retail
with those tribes of dog-faced men
who live upon that northern island
for the sea that divides them from the civilized world
is not wide, and may be forded by a giant at waist height
the division being marked bythe milk white thighs
of a local creation goddess, called Coco, who walked on her hands
the splayed calf and ankles of the fallen woman
have long since formed the mountains and hills
and her buttocks the seat of the amber sea
the inhabitants are fierce
and decorate themself - and their vans -
with a double cross - which lays upon itself
at a half turn - in tricolour parody
for they have no brotherhood
nor feelings of fraternal nature
and all liberty is too confused with license
to have any meaning as we would know
preferring instead the discourse of disharmony
wherein at every turn the fractious shall
lay out their case for rebuttal
in vain hope that reason will find some vague middle
which like a wall built on a stream
leads only to their offspring inheriting
the stumps of the past
and false foundations on which to build
and then everyone there wonders why extremes prosper
and why apollo must wear slippers
so tired is he shuttling between the rival canards
they eat nothing but the offal of beasts
and at times they cross an inland sea
to eat the children of their neighbours
which are boiled with carrots and baked into a pie
yet so cunning are these devils
they name this swift pastry
so that men might be gulled into believing
that this food was caught on the wing
or at other times they call children baby goats
and lick their canine lips
But more than food they love drink
and at a single sitting will often imbibe
two gallons without a single piss
or the slightest hint of intoxication - or so they claim -
indeed so strange is the metabolism of these barbarians
that only when they eat spiced meat and bread - with lettuce -
does the mark of the spirit tap their head
then they call upon their their gods
in sickness or in battle
casting aside all care for their sacred bacchic food
the chief deity of the dog-people
is a goddess who made the ambrosia of summer
this dish curls around from an eight pointed pipe
atop a crisp sweetened cone
the richest among the tribe - to fatten their children for the pot -
add a stick of brown sugar flavoured pressed essence
and a sauce made of menstrual blood and raspberries
yet those who oppose this goddess
are not so outwardly bestial
and carry the face of the dog upon their stomach
in order to hide their true nature beneath fine branded clothes
they never eat the ambrosia of summer
nor feed their children brown sugar flavoured essence
but give them raisins for a treat and joints of cannabis
all this I have heard
and all this I state to be true
....
On Catching Sight of Autumn
at half past four
the farthest moor
ran blood red
with sinking sun
early gathered guttered leaves
catching hint of winters breath
decorously quiver
in the lingered still of dusk
while in one hundred kitchens
baked beans simmer
beneath the steam-whistle of transition
from the polarities of the classroom
to the less defined contests of the home
this samian splendid seeping sun
curls in upon us
like the crabs we chased laughing
in the shallow pools of summer
...
peace:)
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