Etiket: poetry

  • gargle it down

    gargle it down

    bicycle bells
    and never setting sun
    a beer or three
    wash it down
    smell the sweet
    iodine on the wrinkled
    canal waters
    wash it down
    what an unfortunate
    these last rounds
    lock key
    and home
    laugh with the dead
    without dying
    why don’t you
    play the game…
    why don’t you
    play the game.
    not that the
    night is ever
    to die. Forever
    is our feast.
    Hungry are my eyes
    seeing them hungry
    eyes looking at me
    how deep be these cliffs
    that lay between
    the edges of this
    and the heads it is
    feeding on.
    “there is a land…”*
    now you see it
    now you don’t
    hide to seek this
    vulture of a
    (*far far away…)
    the same hungry
    faces of the bees
    with ever prosecuted motion
    the idols of
    look but
    don’t touch
    either learn
    or teach
    to touch.
    but touch
    touch, touch…
    time now
    time is to sharpen
    the toxico of the sting.

  • The winds uncharted soul

    The winds uncharted soul

    illuminates the suns
    of our winter.
    How long this longing shall stretch?
    castles they are building now
    and within walls of icicles,
    fate they will want to decide.
    All is with love,
    All is with love…
    metal cables and odourless silicone
    All is with love,
    All is with love…
    But symbolic beings
    believe in systematic beginnings
    For always too late to wake up, for too late they
    So passes the crescent of aeons
    From elders in dead cities
    to uncanny molecules…

  • Bless the patron of power.

    Bless the patron of power.

    Then ahoy fertility, ar-ar the meaning of boundless, the propagation of what is chosen from purple, the un-importance of how little the small brilliance is, it’s unique place amongst every billionth of shining, variable; the undying fire in every furnace. Prettier when left alone and moreish, this partnership is a unity as the expression of uniqueness, we are in a certain kind of traffic but we are more than just a headcount counting heads on approximate heights and speeds for accident stories, it is a quantum arm that rests on the shoulders of master drivers, who indeed are the ones that warn the half asleep, as well as appear in the dreams of being on the road. Whereas the good and the bad both begin with two people. Even to be able to calculate benefit and loss, I, you and us need to hold onto
    an adultness; politeness is the existence of the individual, politeness that the ones who want to drown it in mythology cannot stand, for it exists even though power exists. The wagons of the crush and go-on lot, are focals of meaning and they do not have time for subtleties; so I ask on, if it does not have time for niceties why am I the one who is yearning for the infinite play of the baglama?

  • This one man a dub

    This one man a dub

    Heed whom call themselve a-priori
    This not care if one in a billion people
    As we return to crafts, folk and land
    On the white world ruin
    They Stumble
    They a yelling me, myself and in my shoes
    Yet no one there not even a them
    Where we turn, we turn for purpose, for compassion
    A lost plea, a lost lot at a loss to how this be, when they mememe,
    When we do not even try but be,
    they getting angry
    For real,
    We as us run what we please, such is beyond one with no connect
    For a touch to earthen mud can bring out a bowl
    For a dance, when we dance, can dance the soul
    For a song to sing, can compass on land
    To take a little and give a little to live, need no flag, no nation, no border

  • Rise


    Olive in the sky
    Rays of hope
    A chance of a chance
    Doing because living
    Living because doing
    No causa-sui
    yet we are alive in one