Category: Poems – Aesthetic

On the Stupidity of Animals

When I block of the entrance
– – You moan and whine
– – and scratch at the wood panels
– – – – I let you in
– – – – You go straight back out again

I don’t want you here
– – You don’t understand, you
– – stand with your tail
– – flowing
– – – – I take you away
– – – – you come back

I chase you with a box
– – I’m only playing
– – – – You scream the world ending
– – – – scream of the finale

I am washing my hands
– – you’re in the water you’re
– – being drowned
– – – – I turn off the tap

I walk slowly to let you divert
– – you panic in a straight line
– – in the same direction, then
– – – – a car scrapes you concisely
– – – – along the tarmac

I get tired of it all and stare out of a window
– – you fly right into the window
– – and grease it up with your feather grease
– – – – alongside the grease from my forehead
– – – – on the inner panel

I sit and type
I try to relax
– – you see me stroking the computer
– – and get jealous

I’m an enigma to you
– – that doesn’t stop you crying and
– – vibrating all over me

I am running because you seem to enjoy it
– – you’re excited, you bite me
– – – – I stop running

I pick you up to take you
where you’ve been trying to get
for hours
– – You bite me and claws out
– – you run away
– – – – but not fast enough
– – – – to avoid getting a kick

Then I feel bad
but why should I?
– – you have no respect for me as a person
– – – – I hate you
– – – – I just wanted to be
– – – – your friend

One View

Sex isn’t all that great
It’s just another thing you can do

With someone you love
Trust me there are better things to do

With someone you love
Like
To talk all day

To sit and rest on each other’s stomachs in a field
To watch a great film

Don’t get me wrong, sex can be grand
In an upswell of fluidity

But mostly it is tiring and
Sucks your soul out through each other’s mouths

You lie
Exhausted
And asleep

4, 3×8, Waterfall

A myth can happen anywhere,
Yes, even here where the black wier
constant as evaporation

As constant as the bird-song thrall
Never lets up, always pouring
Dark and when the wier is eaten

Still its constancy will shatter,
When all and the wier go up, splat
In the suns final inferno

Thunder out into space and pour
in a wall of material –
Stars won’t know what to make of it.

A Riddle

What am I?
My breath is the sea foam’s subtle churning
My breath is the bird’s automatic babbling
My breath is the cloud mist’s clenchings and unclenchings
My breath is the thundering star-wave thaum
My breath is the forking of lightning angles
My breath is the forging of mountain’s face
My breath is the sand’s tumble-glass roar
My voice is the sea whisper slump
My voice is the crow-cry’s arcing
My voice is the cloud gaze recognition
My voice is the thunder’s propogation
My voice is the forging of elements
My voice is the landslide’s destruction of roads
My voice is the pile’s piling angle
My brain is the moon’s towering amazement
My brain is the bird-brain’s response to a jump-scare
My brain is the sun, and the astronomical unit
My brain is the twinkling of nuclear despair
My brain is the electron’s earthquake fizz
My brain is the shading and curve of space-time
My brain is the hourglass curve and falling
What am I?

Narcissii

The cold mind of a philosopher
Might freeze love with a snowflake gaze
In the same dull ice that crystallises
Faultline truths on a heap of life.

Til hot dogma deigns them to preach
On politics, bearing confidence of the freeze
But narcissism is neither hot nor frozen
It’s just the mark of a certain childhood.

And poets who take their inspiration
From ‘religious sentiment’s’ gloaming cocktail
That quaintly drinks the soul with ecstasy
Til verses drop off the tongue like gold bricks

Think maybe religion is a knot
Their young life and guardians tied them of
And now its blank mythological verse
Finds acceptance among drunk critical cousins

These tender artists tend to sit
On good old knolls by the zenoic pool
(Far from the muddy estuaries) and swill
Till their daisy heads fall off and rot.