Tuesday, 2 April 2013

Poetry


Here Is Silence


We do not stand together
I am tethered;
You're a feather.
And I must carry on
I am strong;
You are gone.
I would ask what turned your back
On this hard track
Don't answer that.
My questions fall away
There is an absence
Where you lay.
And I may never go inland;
Grasp your hand;
Understand.
The absence where you lay
I questioned on the day -
Answers you will never say.
We do not stand together;
I am tethered
Here forever.

by Giles Graham




Attending to Important Matters


Sitting at the bar
Surveying the dark
Recesses of humanity
Being inside
You would not believe
It was only midday
The lights are broken
The jukebox is stuck
On fucking Willie Nelson
What used to be the pool table
Is without cue or balls
Two men are fighting
Over the result of a boxing match
That happened five years ago
The most attractive
(And only) girl
Undoubtedly has herpes
An old vagrant
Is incapacitated
In the men's room
Even the transvestite
Has an expression of
Boredom or contempt
There's a hair in my whiskey
The bartender is bald
But still I can sit here
Happy in the knowledge
There's somewhere else
I should be

by Jordan Hamel



Flowers and Sunshine


I will never compare you
To some bright flower
Stranded in mud.
And I do not care for
The songs birds sing,
Or the smell of rain.
I've never found bliss
In a summer sunset.
I'm colour blind
And I find the sun
Far too predictable.
I would never hold you up
As some sort of mirror
To the world's beauty.
Because the world isn't beautiful,
It's uglier than I am.
People who write about
Bright flowers,
The songs birds sing,
The smell of rain
And summer sunsets
Are bored,
Lonely,
Sexually frustrated,
And in denial
(A collective state often mistaken
For clarity).
Maybe one day
I'll write about
All of those things
Which don't interest me at all.
But I thank you,
Because at least for the time being
I don't have to.

by Jordan Hamel



Lambs


It's well past midnight
My mind's desire won't rest
The sweat of slaves stains my sheets
I wander through my forgotten pages
Searching for a forgotten truth
Somewhere outside my window
A girl is crying
For a song she's never heard
In a silence she didn't choose
Saying a prayer, she doesn't believe
We are not so different
Her and I
Lambs to the same slaughter

by Jordan Hamel



Validation


A group of addicts,
Dealing in desolation,
Discussing excuses
To live beyond their means.
Writing 'love songs'
Just to express their disdain
For the ever elusive,
Idyllic landscape.
Causing a scene,
Mocking the carnivores,
Studying the wine
As if it were the obsession
Of some sanctimonious
Creative writing class.
Children of others' compassion.
Is it time I leave?
Return to some familiar situation?
Because I've never understood
The chip on Joyce's shoulder
And as far as I'm concerned
Dada is just
A glorified urinal
People are too scared
To piss in.
But unlike the rest,
I've seen the sorrows,
The splendour
You hide under your bed.
For fear of suffocation
From the contempt of the masses,
And we've laughed at the
Apparent Clarity,
Bereft of convolution
That affords all those unknown
Writers, artists, poets, slaves
The misguided satisfaction
That they ever had something
The world needs to hear.

by Jordan Hamel



Observations Before Midday


On weekdays,
privatised rubbish trucks
disguise our secret fascinations
and shift the scraps
of our failed dinners
into piles of decomposing waste.
Welcome to the city,
there are buses on the hour.
Better grab a seat before
coffee stained tattoos
covered by sweaty rags
absorb up all the loneliness.
Where do they all go to?
Who eats all the bludgeoned bodies?
Oh, book the saturated dinner table tonight.
I feel like saturation.

In the weekends, somatic mutations
reveal themselves, for if I,
speak, like, I can speak,
then I am not speaking to anyone
save for the flowers. Oh, so
hurray, the garden blossoms again!
But I mean, in the end, I maintain I am
writhing like a centipede in a dryer,
tumbling between hot air, screaming
“Help me! Help me! Where
has the humanity gone?
I cannot even capitalise
first names! You must forgive
my lack of morals!”

“Hello”
“I am here!”
“Hello?”
“I am here!”
“Hello!”
“I am here!”

by Jonte Marshall



Seaside


Near the surrounding sea
I lie in the sand; somewhere
else beside the drag
of the water waves.

I see no kingdom here;
no fantasy of mowed grass gardens,
small brick fences with oiled gates
and tightly trimmed bushes of Rhododendrons.

I see no impressions here,
to the subjects cosmic eyes,
of perfectly ordered existence
overflowing like

carefully layered, plucked and picked
lavender petals pouring
over the cliff garden.

I see twisting things overhead
and the tangling of the light
through the air to the forest floor

Oh hallowed moon that follows the Earth;
your plight is not unknown; I swear
by the fire of Hades breath
and the pull of the heart to the heart
take me, take me now…

I am alone in the sand
turning to glass.

by Jonte Marshall




Lest We Forget


We must remember
so that history never repeats
so we don't place our foolish feet down into prints
of our younger selves
and play out the tragedies
of the past

We must remember that every soul
we meet has ancestors that wronged
and killed our ancestors
never forget

We must remember that our ancestors
were the ancient enemy of our ancestors
So we must seek revenge upon ourselves

Collect every wrong into a book, referenced and cited
Collate bad memories
If but one is forgot
Will not our foolish feet
lead us to repeat the past

What is happiness compared to
truth, half remembered bitter
truth. Poisoned and purified by emotion

Daffodils cannot be admired if one only remembers
the rotting carcasses that nourish them.
When should we remember
When should we forget

by Mimi Watkins



No comments:

Post a Comment