vortex

father see’s a mothers red tears
embrace and hold
together as one
a son’s anger,
quick flash phosphorous
explosive and regrettable
yet change occurs
a fathers eyes,
become so different
lens of caution
draws over cornea
digging hands in pockets
remaining apart
unsure of the person
he helped create,
yesterday would not be
recovered,
it was hauled
into the dark subconscious
stored in a file
tentative regeneration
but there would be
a difference now

 

 

kohler one and two

apes have insight as seen

under the soft winds of tenerife,

man as another ape

also has insight to convey and

express through brain chemistry,

we share flexible hands

that in wisconsin built ceramic wares

that ape with flexible parts

would use to dispose and hide

bodily waste

not wiped with leaves and buried,

food and the toilet

an inexhaustible amount of

links between,

we feed we shit we betray

the toilet the ape the man

intrigue of mind

not understanding what is real

correlation of brain and development

would introspection

come into play,

ceramic beauty and form

cupping arse to excrete,

apes missed out  on porcelain desire

white shining cold,

yet who has developed

we watch we learn we betray

emotions significant part,

bare red ringed arse

bare flushed mating arse

under kohler one and kohler two

we have become that unshakeable

being of flesh fur behavior

dynamics of a wild innocence

that sees things so differently

as we see of each other

anthropometrics of form and mind

everything classified

as in information,

encrypted distorted betrayed

told only by the apes that lead

the higher beings

naked suited alone

kohler_wolfgang

 

jamie and the 31p cornflakes

you food preacher,

man of spatula skills

appear on lcd tv

and tell us of our food

our lifestyle,

congested lungs and stomach

and inability to feed ourselves,

the benefit louche

and disposable low income,

our world has no michelin stars

siting over

wild tarragon and mussels

instead kebabs or chip shop,

waste of money to some

but we need to live as well

already ghettoized

by paparazzi

obese and slovenly,

try finding money for electric

meter

or 52 inch tv,

we are human remember

lives of our own

and those to be born,

stigmata

of minimum wage

and rent overpriced,

come into our world

if you must

but do not preach or condemn

you can never understand

cook, food , poverty

Jamie Oliver

food, poverty , Jamie Oliver

31p Cornflakes

descent and decay

iron blanket drawn

over graveyards shoulder,

time grizzles in the wind,

on haunches leaving flowers

new ones that repair the vase

to a certain brightness,

tattooed hand

pores darkened by labor

fingers stained by cigarette,

a tear would not fall

enough had shown at the time,

those fingers took a kiss

pressed it to headstone

no inhibition

despite the rumors that had become

a fiction contorted on nights breath,

driven within hours

in a landscape changing

mesh of community falling

into disrepair,

his longing had seen violence

memory carried weapons

and he could only think of

retribution,

slate wiped of all marks

that defined a normal history,

he still had a key

that room there own,

now cleansed and let to someone

else,

he visited sometimes

walking amongst others possessions

picturing his own

and her blood

scarring the walls

118

Sunday Whirl, poems

 

concupiscence

he fled those vicissitudes

and hid in the parables

that spread like marmalade

over his life,

as an intrinsic alchemist

transforming the jewels

that drew light into her eyes

nymphlike was not always,

she kissed his lyre

and lingered on the notes

crouched mouth to mouth

the dust of longness

passed between them

hands often released

and time again became frail

his tremors sounded as trumpets

with impossible sobbing

a deep reconciliation

a finger of saffron stained

the tongue

and wafted in embrace

yet he could no more

and neither she

amazed at speech carnivals

that wound words over

rolling track

pirouetting horses dance

to an inconvenient truth,

he listened to the stars

and read long passages

delirious now that it was

divisible,

tomorrow became perpetual

sinuous flow

 

word of the day your favorite word i got carried away again so i hope it works as i have not been functioning so well recently , all the best

 

decline of our morning consumption

The media we look to them for our news , incisive articles and the best our arts have to offer, well NO it is changing and two things fueled this piece one the Chicago Sun Times says it is doing away with book reviews  http://goodereader.com/blog/electronic-readers/do-we-really-need-book-reviews/ and on the BBC Morning show recently they interviewed the rapper Dizzee Rascal and one question he was asked referred to the intrusion of journalists in his life, his response was that they have to as they are part of the entertainment culture since when have journalists been entertainers is media falling into one big trap of celebrity and gossip , it will no longer have relevance already i see celebrity pregnancies reported before news articles they have slipped down the chain , international news dwindles i guess our social networks are now filling the gap, people journalism blogs and dedicated sites , i have to admit i do enjoy picking up a newspaper but by the time you have eradicated adverts, celebrity and gossip what is left and on tv analyze what you see, it is slipping us by. Another response to Dizzee would be seeing journalists on Survivor and other reality tv , journalists are not entertainers or celebrities they report our society as it is ,they give us the information we maybe cannot find orselves.

One scenario a country with a troubled government , the population will know more of Jessica Simpsons pregnancy and the latest nipple slip than who is governing and  this is dangerous we still need to be informed knowledge is an asset not a luxury let some sensibility return

The Occupants

light a match to see the day,

clouds have darkened us now

pages from an idle press

avoid the subject of our lives

tender kiss an infants hand

and look into its eyes,

beyond the womb

we are still occupants

figuring out where we stand,

they tell us in a filtered way

we listen, then realise

the answer will be no

bread mops up gravy

but is no good for pain

TV shows give us reality

but that is idle  noise,

we have seen as clouds

stripped back

the ugly beast created

by greed and negligence,

now raise your hands

and raise your voice

the light is upon us

Boris and the New Picnic

Boris Strugatsky 1933-2012

i was sad to hear Boris Strugatsky had died, joining Arkady who died in 1991 , both now physically lost yet their minds and words live on.

For me Roadside Picnic which became Andrei Tarkovsky’s Stalker was a landmark especially as i saw it as a double bill with Solaris , watching for me was an expansion of the mind i did not fear or contract from subject and length, so much of the analogy that our world has been visited is true to the extent of our ruination of this world and the traps we set both physical and psychological that have been the rise and fall of our civilizations and also so much was said of culture and politics.

Red Schuhart is a great character as the Stalker or scout wandering the zones finding pieces to sell illegally that aliens may of left behind we also have the horrors of children growing deformed and the dead rising i could go on but say get the book watch the film and immerse yourself in the genius of the Strugatsky’s.

watch Stalker http://archive.org/details/Stalker_891

and to read Roadside Picnic

http://www.scribd.com/doc/93724979/Arkady-and-Boris-Strugatsky-Roadside-Picnic

Exit And Answer

Terry S Amstutz

dead flaked walls,

i breathed there

my fear saw the grey plaster

with gun at my side,

ears distilled sounds

a gunshot,

sirens and screaming,

my unmended nature

by sociological  discourse,

returned fire,

i hit someone,

who.. i did not know,

body temperature raised

clammy trickle down my back,

this was my trap

one exit only,

sometimes i wish i listened

but chose not to,

shouts down the hallway

torches and light,

light attached to guns,

robbery no excuse 

to evade poverty,

now i was fallen

and unreachable,

lifting gun hand

i knew what to do

 

@dVersePoets with Terry S Amstutz