hum

the hum of the bathroom fan
the last chopper out of saigon
the flickering death of a strip light
the deathly lick of a flick knife
the gurgle of water leaving the bath
the bloody froth on a gaping mouth
the flush of shit from the toilet bowl
the empty hollow of hunger’s howl

the fresh linen sheets smell of lavender
the stench of the landfill scavenger
the creams that ease the pains and sores
the exodus from the fields of war
the rattle of rain on an old tin roof
the submachine gun’s final proof
the free thoughts gently running riot
the police shots that bring disquiet

the art that hangs on suburban walls
the relics smashed when a culture falls
the sunset walk along a sandy beach
the napalm girl with arms outstretched
the shelves of plenty in the grocery store
the hands reach out for a few grains more
the charity that we give
the bloody lives we live

duende

Lorca handed Dylan an Andalusian sunset
the sunset was in the shape of a guitar
and the guitar played gypsy ballads

Lorca handed Dylan a sheet of paper
the words he had written spoke of lovers
and the mountains on which they died

Lorca handed Dylan a host of names
a cast of characters for him to develop
and places where they would unravel

Lorca handed Dylan beauty in sadness
the smell of blood and soil and life
and the heartache between every line

blood and milk

your body spurted blood and milk
I understood none of that
to me you were my mother earth
to others just a vassal
I wept when they raped you
your lush folds defiled and burnt
I swam in your salty tears
leant my head against your soft breasts
when once long ago you held my hand
as we wandered through your lands
you taught me all the songs I needed
that welled from springs and hopes
but now I walk these paths alone
there is no love left to share
only bitter pills to swallow
and the memory of your flesh

as if my birth was only an echo of yesterday’s calling

eyelids heavy
sun setting
between lashes of rain I nod my thanks
like a pigeon full of shot
on a bed of autumn leaves
the little traces of blood spattered
amongst the green
yellow
brown
camouflaged bed now careening
on swivelling casters

an overfilled trolley dash
to death’s door

it’s a
bump
bump
of a ride
that rollercoasts me to the sea
it’s a
dive
dive
that parachutes me
to the bottom of the blue
it’s a
gulp
gulp
that delivers me
to the entrance of your cave
it’s a
kiss
kiss
that welcomes me
in the arms you hold open for me
it’s a
why?
why?
that haunts me

your door – always open to the brave
the barnacled handles
wrought lattice portcullis entwined with kelp
that helps hide your underwater domain
that helps keep your castle cave secret
amongst the shoals of fishes and seafoals
and dragon breath’d seals who guard your inner sanctum

and there
in the corner
coiled in a cockle’s mouth you lie
like the coral queen you are
I venture forward
I stumble on my own breath
the bubbles foaming in my nose
I know I am not drowning
I know I am under your spell
I know why I am here
I know now the answers to all things
and I know nothing else matters

deep down inside your mother belly
to which I have come to return
as I knew I always would
as I knew time would call me back
you waiting patiently
as if my birth was only an echo of yesterday’s calling
and I would have no wish to leave
as I had before

a bloodbath of dreams

waking from a bloodbath of dreams
a machete stains red across the sky
how the mind does nightly wander
in silent screams and heinous crimes
the morning comes in pools of grief
a relief to be a survivor once more
but oh at what price we turn the leaf
of life’s weary pages we adore

The Helding

show me something red

I am driving  through a white van landscape that feels
Pressurised
Containerised
Refrigerated
Articulated

The white corpuscle lines of dot-com deliveries
T-boning
Traffic jamming
Under passing
Overtaking

Summer storms gutter flooding the soft verges
Washed out
Flat tire broke
Ego deflating
The uneasy driver

We are all paying for life’s highway maintenance
In vertical rain shards
In roundabout ways
In transit
In cold blood

Quick, show me something red like a heartbeat
A Ferrari sunset
Monroe’s lips
Albino eyes
Mushroom clouds

Climbing the hill now in a snaking switchback line
Arteriosclerosis
Losing speed
Definition
Air

our ancestral sunrise

golden rays of sunlight fill our eyes
every newborn sunrise from the dawn of time
captured in the blinking flick of a lens
time immemorial.     shuttershocked.
a video framed evolutionary existence
encapsulated in this blood beat gaze
primordial.     prehistorized.     passing.

a journey back and a glance forward
every stillborn sunrise from the dawn of time
eroded by the wash of infant tears
blushed naked fear.     photosnapped.
a moving mastery of previous lives
ancestors suspended in a torsioned vacuum
floating.     familiar.     future famished.

place your hand in mine and feel the warmth
every burning sunrise from the dawn of time
branded in the dna of chromosomed memories
double helixed.     magnetic resonanced.
an x-rayed nuclearoid double vision
twisted on a tendon thread of apprehension
spectre sacrificed.     ghostly galleried.

we move onward each day never knowing why
every clouded sunrise from the dawn of time
masked in the blinded misunderstandings of man
war torn.      bastard birthed.     heartbroken.
what lies beyond our sunlit eyes?
what golden rays fill our brilliant minds?
eternally everlasting.     understanding nothing.

(sometimes I wake up with a line in my head repeating over and over and then another and another and I have no idea where each line will take me but I have to jump out of bed and crank up the lappy and take the journey if only to find out where and why and whatever. It doesn’t matter that it makes no sense at all or will never change the world one iota or even be widely read. A friend recently told me: appreciate what you do with this mangled stepchild we all dub poetry. Ha! I love his words and mind and inspired whackery. My cursor arrowed finger hovers over the publish button afraid to let this one go. Click. Gone. Published:)