Saturday, 1 September 2012

Tripped in and out of my mind

The lights are out --
the trip-switch has tripped
taken out the walls
the furniture and known corners
neatly placed stool and shoe
just where the wide-eyed blindness
prompts foot-fall ;
the candle-lit re-decoration
repaints household
and a strange after-smell
lifts me from floor and stupor,
but Tutu knows --
the square-inches of his kingdom
are not yielded in light or shade
or the pitch-black of human oversight –
and so I scramble through scrambled memory
into moonlight familiarities,
yearn for a family gone a-visiting
scatter thoughts like seed
on garden, leaf and treetop
discharge insecurities into rain-pools
remember a girl and a doll,
a book of verse and a short story
fingertips and the principle of gravity,
pat Tutu on his head
and retire.  


Friday, 31 August 2012

SIMple days

The heart that was mine
finds new body
with artery, blood and oxygen
fresh, exciting and more
much more
same SIM
different cage
and so lovers move
from one to one
perfection to imperfection
to perfection again
as we do
in the order of kleshas
one cage to the next
lifetime to lifetime
or moment to moment
and what we left behind
and what we move into
those real twins of our humanity
we just don’t have eyes to see
or lips to kiss
this egalitarian proportioning
of incarceration.

Thursday, 30 August 2012

Reflections on unities

“Unity = Kneeling down 'together' in front of freaks, trying to intimidate others who have different views 'together', and waiting 'together' silently until perverts shit on their heads ! :))”
--  Lasitha Yasanga

You are not the you of yesterday
and will not be you tomorrow
cells die and are born;
water comes, water goes,
breath too,
and the thought-train
and thought-drain
make, shape and change
the ‘Opinion I’;
they come from unknown body
and to unknown body move,
some made of light blue
and some of mud-night hue:
and so we stand together now
rub shoulders with ourselves
selves that were and selves to be
in uncomfortable, disconcerting
in the name of objective
in the thrill of objection
in the holy matrimonies of struggle.
You could do less and so could I
but we don’t;
sometimes we make the desert bloom
sometime we make it bleed
in our ignorances
and in the purity of intention.
It’s good to fight
the good fight
against all odds
against all reason
and it is good to know the odds
and be reason-powered too,
for tear and shout are photo-ops
and mind is uncapturable.  

Wednesday, 29 August 2012

Ode to a saucer

There’s a saucer
but no apple
nothing to spin
nothing to ask for,
just saucer
with wash-remnant drops
bordered florality
nothing to write home about
nothing for a fairy tale
no children’s story
no adult theme
just saucer and I
this slow Wednesday
of a cluttered desk
and diurnal insanity;
modest ceramic
cup-less and content,
of a kind.