IMAGINARY GAINS
The traps hidden in the candle flame
are the cages we make and unmake
to chart the future and yet fear
the emergency light at night
dream the concerns of slinky colleagues
and how to police their freedom
against owls, monkeys and bandicoots
that howl at each move to the lee
and yet pretend our poses intact
through several byways reach victory stand
breath by breath conspire against ourselves
only to hear the echoes that rise
or die down in silence the twangs
of memory reveal the pit
dug over the years or the earth
fermented with imaginary gains
2
I DON’T KNOW…
I don’t know how to negotiate the long steep trail
with hidden scorpions under loose rocks
at home with human muck in a valley existence
strolling upward through a thicket of TV images
politics of glory, garbage and god
the odd arts of money, hierarchy and control
nobody knows who unmakes whom
I don’t know how to follow the ridges
back to the trail and the dead river
but stand for a moment to rub the sand from my feet
before worrying about the lost vitality and fear
of the approaching night and rising smoke
dissolving in the sky or conspiring with elements
hardly in balance but contorting the psyche
I don’t know what is there for me to hope
when the rains rejuvenate and flood both
the repulsive stench and the loss of pathways
linger longer than the flavour of the first drops
under the tree the puddle feeds no sparrows
but algae that couldn’t dry now trap tiny souls
that fail to swell with heaven’s breath
3
TIME TO BREAK OFF
How long can I grow without roots
or make way for what is approaching
in digital noises I can’t be
inheritor of arrant cowards
smelling the arse on their fingers
nor can I be the priest checking
the burnt tongues to test criminals
stiff with cold I’m tired of animal
struggle for survival and last rites
in candle light digging cursed
treasure for night songs others croon
I can’t decipher names in smoke
nor forget the faces emerging
from the matrix of tremors
that are islands to shackle
feet in silence close the cycle
of waters that feed the sea
I feel lumps hinder and pain
now it’s time to break off and bury
the ash in the earth and plant afresh
foliage for rains or sun to nurse
a destiny I could take pride in
4
WE HARBOUR HISTORIES
The falsity of the sky is more real than the earth’s
lies can’t sustain hope of divinity
we have complicated with poesying
private hells to mitigate flow of time
that couldn’t carve heaven: we harbour histories
of broken promises and fallen gods
lament men and women buried in light
now soulless, bodiless, traceless we look
upward and whittle continents from clouds
hanging generations that may never be
5
EXPOSÉ
Created in self
listening to the book
evolving me
in degeneration
indistinct and delusive
memory bank
reigning my action
orgasmic illusion
I keep recycling
cocooned exposition
6
HOW SILLY
You’re my love tonight
you know me as you know
your body
will you bother to say hello tomorrow
if we meet in the street
alone like this?
just as I like your frisette
you like my male smell
you say. will you clutch
my hands like this tomorrow
if I meet and say I’m hungry?
how silly, darling, go & wash
your mouth smells pubic hair
7
LET’S MEET
Before the bananas ripe
let’s meet at least once
lest the fog dampen passion
let’s water our love
the sun is bright this morning
and night’s promising
let’s meet and unfreeze winter
of years, drink some wine
restore warmth of faith and hope
and heal the breaches
without black goggles for seeing
let’s meet at least once
8
DYING SUN
How does it matter
I remember or forget
the nights or lights
that stand still
in the dense fog
nothing visible
nor audible
the thundering planes
touch the ground:
it’s all game
of guess and vague
everyone
everything
even the tick
of the clock
this freezing hour
redolent of
crumbling echoes
I can’t divine vision
or loom up certainty
to mock follies
of dying sun
9
SHADOW
Last evening
I saw a flower bloom
today it’s faded
but my fear
lurking like a shadow
ever present
I can’t erase:
emptying the mind
easier said than done
10
POETIC DISTURBANCE
There’s more to view in a dew drop
than what lies in my backyard
–years of muck and mucking about-
burial too difficult
in sunlight images shine
like crystal ball reveal my mind
in poetic disturbance
leaking lust and blood on dried grass baked bars