He greeted me with a broad grin; an injured bird under each arm
Ian M
Posts: 123
I read one hundred two pages
Of Bukowski for the first time
And the nervous caffeine whirrings
Of the frantic city in my head
Just subsides, as I know I have found
A friend in another time.
I'm gonna have to be an 8-hours-a-day poet
And talk about all the interesting stuff I see
And all of the beautiful things I do,
Lose my tongue to woman,
The eye to honour-bound fights,
My head and its pulse to the liquor
Cos I have seen how best it might be
For me to find that freedom
That exists beyond political discourse
Among friends who know they will never
Stop seeing one another,
Beyond the stilted susurrations of the atmospheric
Beast whose sound bites only to spit
Uselessly, wasteful flesh & bone to the ground...
It's fast approaching the lit morning, Buk,
So my word games will have to cease awhile
For the dreaming to teach me of a better way
Before I wake.
Mkombo to his unborn children (again)
I started by not being a part.
I began by being apart.
I was a part in my own right.
But I never felt superior, never felt that I had happened upon something _better_ than anyone else.
I never felt good - the irony was a growing sense of denial
Even though that was the very condition I hoped to escape.
I could not say to people:
'Here, look at what I'm doing;
Wouldn't things all be so much better
If you all followed my example?'
Because they would be immediately repulsed
By my choice of lifestyle.
There was no comfort in a nobility
That relied upon the deliberate forfeit
Of all the apparent abundance of expensive possibility
Given how conspicuously it was flaunted as fulfillment.
They would call me a boring bastard
Who, paralysed by his own delusions,
Was terrified of doing anything that might come to harm
And so did nothing.
And they would be right.
& so I came to realise that I was going to need something
That could patently not be obtained
By their ruinous 24-hours-a-day means.
Being apart was killing me,
So I cut those ever-binding ties to my own person
And put me adrift on the currents of the day.
I was searching for anything that was not an obvious fate
And it felt good.
Soccer Tease
We tried not to watch it
Just like all the rest
Because the money made it ugly
And the players just didn't care
That much - it was obvious
(To us who chose to look)
But every once in a while
There would still come a glimpse
Of magic from some screen
In the periphery, and
You just HAD to watch the rest:
Put down what you were doing,
Succumb to the old tribal addiction
And root for the under dog
Just not quite fulfilling his potential
In your eyes
For the next ninety-or-so minutes.
And you swallow the advertising and support the sponsors
In spite of the factories
And the workers
And the poisons
In the rivers
And the louts
On the streets
After closing time.
The interminable hoax of modern culture
Turns this into a quick browse through a catalogue of simple woes -
Not sure what you're wanting to buy
Or how you intend to pay for it -
The purchase in spite
Of your better nature.
They're making plans,
For me
A week, a month, a year
Ahead
Poor souls - don't yet realise:
I can't stay
I might be gone tomorrow,
I could have left today.
Rhino. Plastic. Surgery.
Enuff. An end.
To intellectual rigour mortis.
To shallowness of breath.
To dulling the sense. The emotions.
No more the sight pulled from my head
By glass. The jock-strapped prefecture
Preserving nature in the rugby fields.
No more. Tie-me-downs and fist-me-cuffs.
Robbed me of desire, lost it too themselves
But that was yesterday.
Now the fields stretch all around
As I feel the day pass discovering
Like the bird on a wing
In a second prayer to the breeze
That swept it away from harm
By unconscious design,
Finding on foundation:
I want, I need. My imagination captured.
Still beckons afar off the bed
Rock in the cliffs waiting
Waiting for the rains to fall.
Be tainted, be freckled
O you rushing winds
As you grasp at the page,
Pepper the ink with an ochre spray of debris,
As the flags convulse in a rippling laughters
To your howling fury!
Of Bukowski for the first time
And the nervous caffeine whirrings
Of the frantic city in my head
Just subsides, as I know I have found
A friend in another time.
I'm gonna have to be an 8-hours-a-day poet
And talk about all the interesting stuff I see
And all of the beautiful things I do,
Lose my tongue to woman,
The eye to honour-bound fights,
My head and its pulse to the liquor
Cos I have seen how best it might be
For me to find that freedom
That exists beyond political discourse
Among friends who know they will never
Stop seeing one another,
Beyond the stilted susurrations of the atmospheric
Beast whose sound bites only to spit
Uselessly, wasteful flesh & bone to the ground...
It's fast approaching the lit morning, Buk,
So my word games will have to cease awhile
For the dreaming to teach me of a better way
Before I wake.
Mkombo to his unborn children (again)
I started by not being a part.
I began by being apart.
I was a part in my own right.
But I never felt superior, never felt that I had happened upon something _better_ than anyone else.
I never felt good - the irony was a growing sense of denial
Even though that was the very condition I hoped to escape.
I could not say to people:
'Here, look at what I'm doing;
Wouldn't things all be so much better
If you all followed my example?'
Because they would be immediately repulsed
By my choice of lifestyle.
There was no comfort in a nobility
That relied upon the deliberate forfeit
Of all the apparent abundance of expensive possibility
Given how conspicuously it was flaunted as fulfillment.
They would call me a boring bastard
Who, paralysed by his own delusions,
Was terrified of doing anything that might come to harm
And so did nothing.
And they would be right.
& so I came to realise that I was going to need something
That could patently not be obtained
By their ruinous 24-hours-a-day means.
Being apart was killing me,
So I cut those ever-binding ties to my own person
And put me adrift on the currents of the day.
I was searching for anything that was not an obvious fate
And it felt good.
Soccer Tease
We tried not to watch it
Just like all the rest
Because the money made it ugly
And the players just didn't care
That much - it was obvious
(To us who chose to look)
But every once in a while
There would still come a glimpse
Of magic from some screen
In the periphery, and
You just HAD to watch the rest:
Put down what you were doing,
Succumb to the old tribal addiction
And root for the under dog
Just not quite fulfilling his potential
In your eyes
For the next ninety-or-so minutes.
And you swallow the advertising and support the sponsors
In spite of the factories
And the workers
And the poisons
In the rivers
And the louts
On the streets
After closing time.
The interminable hoax of modern culture
Turns this into a quick browse through a catalogue of simple woes -
Not sure what you're wanting to buy
Or how you intend to pay for it -
The purchase in spite
Of your better nature.
They're making plans,
For me
A week, a month, a year
Ahead
Poor souls - don't yet realise:
I can't stay
I might be gone tomorrow,
I could have left today.
Rhino. Plastic. Surgery.
Enuff. An end.
To intellectual rigour mortis.
To shallowness of breath.
To dulling the sense. The emotions.
No more the sight pulled from my head
By glass. The jock-strapped prefecture
Preserving nature in the rugby fields.
No more. Tie-me-downs and fist-me-cuffs.
Robbed me of desire, lost it too themselves
But that was yesterday.
Now the fields stretch all around
As I feel the day pass discovering
Like the bird on a wing
In a second prayer to the breeze
That swept it away from harm
By unconscious design,
Finding on foundation:
I want, I need. My imagination captured.
Still beckons afar off the bed
Rock in the cliffs waiting
Waiting for the rains to fall.
Be tainted, be freckled
O you rushing winds
As you grasp at the page,
Pepper the ink with an ochre spray of debris,
As the flags convulse in a rippling laughters
To your howling fury!
Post edited by Unknown User on
0
Comments
'cause we may not be the Young Ones,..."
--first u sow the seed-- nature grows the seed-- then we eat the seed--
[*shameless bump* What can I say, I like a little feedback. That fuzz-vibration warm to the ears. Plus I've been listening to that pretty lady from her darkened door a lot of late...]
nice wordplay sir