Whistle Me Away

when apes discover genocide

I wonder how long I will linger

on the verdant green and blue

insulated by my own sickness

that brackish bile

of human contempt

apes will sing not our mythology

but one of burnt forests

and dried out lakes

human carcasses so vile

carrion crows refuse

to dine without the thought

of consequence

and I will lie down

human leaf litter

becoming fertiliser of the new

season a generation

or era where the truth of nature

will win

Chris Lawrence

obliged to function

[create a dream]
repetitive symbols and allegories
a habitual state of mind
within the complexity
of a certain strangeness,

it was a kiss/

significant to the external world
and not the four walled habitat

[interior body]
hearts and ideas created verses
spontaneous kiss
and delightful flesh
without absent things to deny,
music filled the simple sense
isolating the event
captured in his mind,
temptation a language of it’s own

an act of kiss/

[pure,impure]
moment cracked with resonance,
her eyes had claimed the
measurements of his passion,
without verbal matter to form
a leaf litter sheet

[fell upon her]

you discover in a kiss/

all named sciences describe
needs and imaginings ,
and in ache of after limbs,
aesthetic conditions
and those rules of attraction
will provide possibilities
for them

Mario Bojorquez – Award

As the last day does not return
You’ll never be that high voice
Tundía under the breath of infinite almonds
A lullaby to his chest
You will not have to be that
That shade of a poplar
Rent the air with scattered notes
The subtle scent of an afternoon on the river
There will be no day you return to your expense
Filled with memories of the dark obsequious
Solar excessive idleness
Cerns perfect
As the last day does not return
You never on your own steps
A walking path open for you
In the garden that keeps your memory
Not even in deserted Frond you will have to tread
To you because transit between fig fruit
Pomegranates, flowers at your feet
You’re just now that you did not want
You’re the one who did not know what he wanted to say
Greedy mouth no fruit chews
That spoiled, bitch, feast and festival
You’re the insaciado looking with envy
The overwhelming joy of others
Whoever hurts to the bone for the innocent laughter
It will cloud your eyes with anger
It will swell cruel hands remorse
It poisons your blood
What fire, what abandonment
How miserable are the shores of life
As the last day does not return
No back in you will concoct bells
Holidays in flowered fields
Neither your hands browned wheat of eras
Nor whiten your snow on your mill
As if you had closed universe
In a thick fog that prevents you
Learn what the rock crevice
That must be the source where you drink
As if the universe against you
Injected into the air that poison
Bending your knees
So as the day turns
A spin on its hinges hours and passes
And overhead the sun will go down
Lost to
So you lose
So as you lose you lose
The scent in the air that always blows hard
You’ll miss so terribly
That to your eyes can recognize your own skin
Neither your ears hear your voice
As if talking on another that you
Not even your blood
It will respond pálpito
And the tongue utter
A language that is unknown to you today.

Do not grieve

Hurt to lose.
You call Bitter, in your gums
It will bloom a garden of tree-scale
And in your head start seborrhea high tufts
Niagara mist in your eyes
You call without reproach wounded
The living skin ulcer land where you step
Without faith you call
And there will be another you
Built in penalty
That round will infect
Leprosy is righteous
It must distinguish in the market
The mob cried
He will announce you arrive
The stench of your acids
The clear bell is anticipated
And you wondered why back
Why and what
And what return
If the return would smell bouquets awaiting your step
If yes minor fronds fruit curds, cheerful blooms, light concrete and acid,
And back with an army of sources nymphs dancing for you
If I go back in the water, ductile, light, fluent, if in the air
If you awaken in the back you are, if you come back spin, spinning, start from yourself
If you become, if you founded back, come back without hesitation
Although recent days should not happen again

fictive beat

W/O/M/A/N
gone into abstraction
gitane smoke before the rain,
cello case velvet interior
soft and firm

W/O/M/A/N
breasts and silk once seen on canvas
could not concede to his kisses
or arch of bow
he had to wander

W/O/M/A/N
no more companion
than those strings he manipulated
with fingers callused,
she will not tremor

W/O/M/A/N
as absent as the background
waiting for a taxi,
rain effective conduit
to her misery,
he sheltered the cello
with umbrella
heading to a jazz club

W/O/M/A/N
is the beat
is the tender thrum,
a cello’s true heart
and poets calling,
absinthe and kisses
parted stocking thighs
he had found another
W/O/M/A/N

poem, jazz, beat

Musician in the Rain by Robert Doisneau

magpie tales statue stamp 185

 

 

consistency of skin

the rain was inexhaustible,
drawing his jacket
closer about his chest,
pacific rain and bothered grey
clouds added to urgency,
trees in their reach
did not create a canopy
dense enough,
unable to hear the helicopter,
footprints dissolving into mud,
but his scent would illuminate
nostrils of eager tracker with
muted eyes,
lowering himself
more towards the bushes,
water ran over his face,
he still felt heading north
was an objective,
finding the cabin
would of been easy
had summer still been here,
pausing for the slightest breath,
looked up at limbs
grasping from the trunk,
and wondered would it be worth it,
there would be no more marvelous
sensations,
yesterdays vividness had given way
his futile hope screamed,
kneeling said a last prayer
and waited

Denise Levertov – A Dark Summer Day

denise levertov a dark summer day

Ferenc Juhasz – Birth Of A Foal

As May was opening the rosebuds,

elder and lilac beginning to bloom,

it was time for the mare to foal.

She’d rest herself, or hobble lazily

after the boy who sang as he led her

to pasture, wading through the meadowflowers.

They wandered back at dusk, bone-tired,

the moon perched on a blue shoulder of sky.

Then the mare lay down,

sweating and trembling, on her straw in the stable.

The drowsy, heavy-bellied cows

surrounded her, waiting, watching, snuffing.

Later, when even the hay slept

and the shaft of the Plough pointed South,

the foal was born. Hours the mare

spent licking the foal with its glue-blind eyes.

And the foal slept at her side,

a heap of feathers ripped from a bed.

Straw never spread as soft as this.

Milk or snow never slept like a foal.

Dawn bounced up in a bright red hat,

waved at the world and skipped away.

Up staggered the foal,

its hooves were jelly – knots of foam.

Then day sniffed with its blue nose

through the open stable window, and found them –

the foal nuzzling its mother,

velvet fumbling for her milk.

Then all the trees were talking at once,

chickens scrabbled in the yard,

like golden flowers

envy withered the last stars.

war in polystyrene

cockroach in the jazz room
sat on singers shoe
fed on golden olives
from bough hooked low,
ladybirds in 40D brassieres
cut back on the needles
stuck in their eye,
seven spots
notational dots as a code
to the twelve gauge hunter
who stalked them so,
cockroach had breathed
a stallions breath
and knew of a great stratagem,
lead hunter as prey
clarinet bullets penetrate his loins
with a chakka chakka chakka,
40D brassieres strung over light
wings spread
translucent shimmer of paradise,
cockroach touches
with hissing leg,
hunters body spread as sacrifice,
thrum of the drums
there are other monsters/ dragons/pain
drapery gone
meat on the anvil
clogged with anxiety and lust
chakka chakka chakkka,
cockroach fragments
a bed of panties and brassieres
become his resting place

poetry, poem ,

feathers of the elephant

tattooed with gandhi
no skin will lie,
bare butt piss
constant lemon stream,
she watched his fuzzy back
dark mat of curls
lined by her nails,
depressed bed
mattress coils gone
before their advertised expiry,
a week of this
longing and urgent,
walking back
she waited
a sharp twinge in her stomach,
the next day 
could not come quick enough

 

poet, poem, poetry