The Shape of Rain
Absolent as the flap of my pocket
around which rain escapes,
chilled, to trace the veins of my hand;
winter numbing rain.
Numb we close to sight.
Chin tucked.
Projecting with the fight of enfolding shoulders.
From above we might see.
See ourselves mimicking our torment.
But we can only feel
with plodding steps.
02/03/2016
#poem #poetry #amwriting #sketchbook gs
I look to the hills for the time
and today they are dusted with snow
so
I know it to be just after noon.
and today they are dusted with snow
so
I know it to be just after noon.
#poem #poetry #amwriting #sketchbook gh
I find 'I don't know' rather empowering
not because I am agnostic
rather that it is very liberating
especially when faced with people
who know all the answers
until asked, and then they know all the questions
you mustn't ask.
and worse are the people
who don't know
but decide you don't know
and therefore don't listen
and demand you don't listen
to what you are thinking
so it's best to say nothing
to them
not because I am agnostic
rather that it is very liberating
especially when faced with people
who know all the answers
until asked, and then they know all the questions
you mustn't ask.
and worse are the people
who don't know
but decide you don't know
and therefore don't listen
and demand you don't listen
to what you are thinking
so it's best to say nothing
to them
#poem #poetry #amwriting Dark Mirror
Dark Mirror
(for JL Borges)
The blind see in yellow
and do not believe in adventure,
just the turning page of friendship.
The blind see in green
still standing at their father's shelf,
undocked, on the gorging journey.
The blind do not see in black.
I wish I could recall the joke
warm as sonnet to Spinoza.
(for JL Borges)
The blind see in yellow
and do not believe in adventure,
just the turning page of friendship.
The blind see in green
still standing at their father's shelf,
undocked, on the gorging journey.
The blind do not see in black.
I wish I could recall the joke
warm as sonnet to Spinoza.
#poem #poetry #amwriting New
New
I'm new me, new, you know.
New like new shoes, gripping.
Look at me tongue lick and flap.
Knew you'd see the new in me.
New like new shoes, rubbing, wearing.
Look at me tongue curl and sing.
I knew you'd see the new in me.
New knows new when it sees.
You knew new when it was known.
I'm new me, knew you'd know.
I'm new me, new, you know.
New like new shoes, gripping.
Look at me tongue lick and flap.
Knew you'd see the new in me.
New like new shoes, rubbing, wearing.
Look at me tongue curl and sing.
I knew you'd see the new in me.
New knows new when it sees.
You knew new when it was known.
I'm new me, knew you'd know.
01/03/2016
#poem #poetry #amwriting Impression II
Impression II
(variations on the verge)
Outside the neon verge of history
all lives virga on the wind as icons.
Once we learned only of kings.
Now we learn only of types:
of parts of us we dare feel or deny
never touching soil,
never being soiled,
never being soil on the verge
of the road from the past.
We measure out by branching class.
And birch, to purge something
without sunlight or edge.
Rimless as the swinging rod
falling to make stripes.
Thus by the mark
shall we know their type,
and no gentle rain
shall ever bring them blood
to boil, or run cold, with the fickleness
of real people.
(variations on the verge)
Outside the neon verge of history
all lives virga on the wind as icons.
Once we learned only of kings.
Now we learn only of types:
of parts of us we dare feel or deny
never touching soil,
never being soiled,
never being soil on the verge
of the road from the past.
We measure out by branching class.
And birch, to purge something
without sunlight or edge.
Rimless as the swinging rod
falling to make stripes.
Thus by the mark
shall we know their type,
and no gentle rain
shall ever bring them blood
to boil, or run cold, with the fickleness
of real people.
#poem #poetry #amwriting Smacked
Smacked
I see them now, hand in hand, hurrying
late for school, on empty bellies; again.
But I don't see the child I first saw,
two, maybe three years ago.
The one with large optimistic eyes
keen to learn,
with a easy way of making friends;
if a little shy.
Now the missed baths on Sundays
have begun to show.
And, smell less than the lies,
however well intentioned
by a sistered proxied parent of barely seven.
You get used at the school gate to pain.
The child bravely turning blind,
the child who might die at anytime,
and the small aches of the playground
that you know can be kissed away.
But some scenes remain.
Like those two...
like those two
caught in that moment of lick combed dressing
dodging the road, late for school breakfast.
I see them now, hand in hand, hurrying
late for school, on empty bellies; again.
But I don't see the child I first saw,
two, maybe three years ago.
The one with large optimistic eyes
keen to learn,
with a easy way of making friends;
if a little shy.
Now the missed baths on Sundays
have begun to show.
And, smell less than the lies,
however well intentioned
by a sistered proxied parent of barely seven.
You get used at the school gate to pain.
The child bravely turning blind,
the child who might die at anytime,
and the small aches of the playground
that you know can be kissed away.
But some scenes remain.
Like those two...
like those two
caught in that moment of lick combed dressing
dodging the road, late for school breakfast.
#poem #poetry #amwriting notes 1 march
it's because we care that we want you love
other people have feelings and we wouldn't want
you to get punched in the face
or worse
we get punched in the face by association
we love you, we care
....
I can't say I'm shocked or surprised
I knew from the red eyes
on too many occasions absent
as sister led brother to school
that some day this bird would fly
to a new world
running from pain to pain
nor am I overly shocked
to know
tamazipam was found in the cot
needles in the toy box
or the neighbour was feeding the kids
I'd be lying if I wasn't saddened
for that small boy
with the large confused eyes
once eager to learn of the world
who I watched day by day deaden
in perfect time
with parental addiction
no doubt he will struggle
mothered by his sister
the alternative is too dreadful
....
I'd be lying is I said I was not
saddened for that boy
with confused eyes
once so bright
eager to learn
grown deadened
in time with addiction
I doubt he was using
but he learned how
to lie to be happy
...
she leers upsmirked grinning
...
death waits like a neighbours dog
that you know will bite
but don't know when
...
bordello
other people have feelings and we wouldn't want
you to get punched in the face
or worse
we get punched in the face by association
we love you, we care
....
I can't say I'm shocked or surprised
I knew from the red eyes
on too many occasions absent
as sister led brother to school
that some day this bird would fly
to a new world
running from pain to pain
nor am I overly shocked
to know
tamazipam was found in the cot
needles in the toy box
or the neighbour was feeding the kids
I'd be lying if I wasn't saddened
for that small boy
with the large confused eyes
once eager to learn of the world
who I watched day by day deaden
in perfect time
with parental addiction
no doubt he will struggle
mothered by his sister
the alternative is too dreadful
....
I'd be lying is I said I was not
saddened for that boy
with confused eyes
once so bright
eager to learn
grown deadened
in time with addiction
I doubt he was using
but he learned how
to lie to be happy
...
she leers upsmirked grinning
...
death waits like a neighbours dog
that you know will bite
but don't know when
...
bordello
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