An old poem from a year ago
No cream
the scene is a slow beat
my fingers a dull grey –
a cigarette sits between them
and the kettle is volcanic.
No cream.
Day time is short and the anxious crowd
grows sharp as the phone
is mute as the sky
shrinks
into the silt
into waters they’ll never feel
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Misreadings: A Concise Writing Style
January 16, 2010 - 12:51 am
Posted in Poetry, Writing | 3 comments
Sky
retreating
all day all night
that world of water
an impasse as impassive
as the spirits we
raise there.
Folie à plusieurs
Dull desire bores like a dentist’s drill.
My lovers: Alice down the rabbit-hole, a girl made of geraniums.
Afghanistan. Judge them, JUDGE THEM.
When you die:
Keep your Breton close to where your heart used to be
Remember:
Jesus was a surrealist.
Plato was a surrealist.
Nietzsche was [...]
Poem: ‘horizon’ (and some thoughts on procedural poetry)
December 16, 2009 - 2:24 am
Posted in Poetry, Scribblings, Writing | 4 comments
the horizon
fixed the abyss to an eyelid
there I was
stretched like vessels
across the sky
before learning as adults
my thoughts pressed
along the flow of a
plume
until the pressure was subdued
more it gazed into me,
More [...]
Poem: The Solution
December 10, 2009 - 10:50 pm
Posted in Poetry, Scribblings, Writing | 3 comments
The Solution
I under colours, suffers
my driving thoughts
all day through.
It grows so immense
that before I know it,
I am lost in open waters.
I asked my father, never short of
absurd and profound truths,
whether I should discard
the horrible eyes of English
as though it were a well-defined illusion
Still I know
had he told me different
I would have cried tears
that could split [...]
roots
December 8, 2009 - 7:41 pm
Posted in Poetry, Scribblings, Writing | 2 comments
The next time you’re doing a translation, don’t use the dictionary. If you don’t know the word, pick something that it sounds of. Otherwise, just guess. It will probably be all right.
—-
Somewhere
there is a woman,
her hips wind like a river,
her language like our hands
stretched out in a thousand words.
Spread through the fields the
daggers pass
like
my
thoughts.
But we [...]
poem: sixth (smile)
____
SIXTH
subdue
hissssteria of those troublesome female mass es
eased with antihisteriamines let’s get fiscal:
and pass the deep congress ional act
she said do we need protectionism?
seminal cash injections leave a mess
on both your economy and mine
pre servativ o ur values are not gd
truncated that growth stimulus package easily
feeling the explosion of that cap italicism
s crunch the fabric [...]
misreadings
‘Yes, there are only ever misreadings, of course; but mine is the correct one…’
Donald Paterson, The Book of Shadows
COPS RELEASE TIGER –
911 CALL at the end.
Brightened my commute to London.
BROWN SHUFFLES HIS CABARET.
Suppose our misreadings are something else?
Paris in the
the spring
Tiny foreign bodies flying past a lense unnoticed
beast
bicicletta-felicità; felicità
amiable beast profound and literary
dressed [...]
