Poem: The Bellringers

The Peal of Bells, St. Paul's Cathedral, 1878.

The tintinnabula of faraway bells,

Bell-ringers swinging on ropes,

The suspended intestines of the universe –

Each bell a reminder of something not by

Lips, but brass, spoken

 *

What do they say?

If you could take those resonant peals

And translate them into language,

What would they speak of?

 *

Whispers never sang out so loudly,

Bursts of poetry, etched on sky,

A blink from the silhouette eyes

Of a peacock butterfly

But you cannot trust these fluttering tatterdemalions

Not to be slyly mystical – each time their Japanese

Door wings collide, a crash as loud as galactic timpani,

Causes all nearby auric membranes to explode

But deafness is not the start of silence,

But a gateway to a higher kind of music –

The kind of music that conjoins imagery

With sound in a startling panache of

Form-bearing lucidity, climbing out of

Of formless bath

 *

So, ring on, bell ringers, ring on,

And once those brass hats

Fall on your heads,

Your gravestones will peal all the merrier

 

 

 

 

Poem: The Vial of The Night

black

I drink from the vial of the night,

Strange sips, in the groove of some

Unearthly tango, a maddening shambles

That divests me of sense’s good rhythm

 *

And in ancient Rome, at the death of some

Great dictator, you grabbed my hand with

Great excitement, to pull me into that flowing,

Serpentine procession

 *

But I had not changed my position:

I was still numb, numbless, purling out

In all directions for want of love – an

Ever-encroaching shore that licks the

Land, as statesmen thirst for war

And if I was on that sepulchre,

All my lovers, and those that loved me,

Would take turns kissing me,

And I would be apotheosized by their kisses –

Raised up and poured like a sandy equation

Into the vial of the night

 

POEM: Future Pyre

future

Place the fool

Upon the pyre

Who is there to know?

Who is there to understand?

I watch the last glacier melt

And the final sunset set

I watch the dolphins fail to breath

And a Frenchman finish his final baguette

Home is so far away from here

A longing that can never be quenched

I search, I find, I lose, I cry

And in disappointment I am drenched

 

 

Poem: Tumbled Wounds

Munch

Come here, my love

Let me lick the wounds

With which I afflicted you

And you can take me off the spike

On which you had me impaled

Let wounds be wounds

And scars be scars

Let wounds be a paradise

And scars be the stars

On a mutilated tomorrow

We’ll ascend to the depths

With hand nailed to hand

We’ll tumble down the steps

Poem: Moldy Love

moldy

Love is always naive

Always hopeful

Always clinging onto

The very last crumb

Of a mouldering loaf

Why ask the baker

To make you something fresh

When you’re so besotted

With this stale piece of bread?

It reeks of penicillin

And is encrusted with a venomous fluff

But still I go on

Putting it in my mouth

Hoping for a little nourishment

Hoping for another taste

Of what I threw away

POEM: Atomic Amor

love universe

The universe

Always gives me

So many kisses

Every atom

Doing its best

To smother me

With its atomic

Amor

Things might get messy –

Better get

The Cosmic Kleenex

Ready

I think I’m about

To cut loose

POEM: Death and I

repear

Death and I

Are the best of friends

How often we sit together

In my book-strewn study

Discussing timelessness

And the smooth yet insidious

Rigors of infinity

Every now and then

My beloved one

Will lean forward, and,

Extending a bony hand

Caress my face

With the edge of his scythe

“Just giving you a taste

Of the ultimate release”

He usually chuckles

Then we parade away

In our Technicolor mariachi band

And feed the local squirrels

The entrails of our bliss