scatterseeded love – a sonnet

IMG_0297

because I am a poet I love words
that cover up as much as they discover
my otherness, my flights so fanciful to you, my lover
whose wit and song and thought fly free like bees, like hummingbirds –

because you are my lover my true words
close in zooming close-up on our love, which uncovers
our inborn lusts, carnal nectars nestling embryonic deep in us – we lovers
so innerly loved – when up we pair in passion, flock as birds

to cling and fuck and flick like flames all through the sweet warm night
like lit, scatterseeded sex, love’s godlike joy’s in flight –

because our gods come multiply, we lovers
– synthesizing each in one, seedlings whose flowering recovers

lush, latent lyric life – transplant into our words
love’s being, life’s meaning – innate and fecund like nectar, bees and hummingbirds.

sex and being (three haiku)

 

Pulsing passion fills

Our veins – our bodies

Cleave together, one.

*

Now in our oneness

Grows a seed of otherness:

Each of us is both

*

Oneself, and a part

Of another being born

Of us, though not us.

 hollywood kilonova

in hollywood, our

sublunar gutter-cosmos,

the walk of fame shames

*

collapsed stars, black holes

collide, merge – an afterglow

of platinum, gold

*

counterstellar dust,

like that brute shapeshifter’s lust

ravishing Leda 

*

engendering shitstorms –

Iphigenia, Clytaemnestra

and Argos dead (the dog…)

*

this darkwebbed media:

supernova’d starfuckers

named, shamed, bollocked up

 *

chorus of neutron sleaze:

lost starlets – tricked-, sucked-, fucked-up –

patriarch swansong

*

in our black hole of fame

everyone’s-got-it-infamy –

carry on hollywood.

*

october 2017

zuiderstrand, the hague

from boardwalks buried
in the bed of that steep dune

you step on the beach –

*

sandscapes shift, air-borne,

you’re a visitor here, as

timelessly moving

  *

as sea waves wash off

infinite fictions of earth –

mere specks on a spot in space.


october 2017




sun, sand, sky and sea – haiku chain


sun, sand, sky and sea:

here i sit and write my words

elementally

*
as my dog chasing birds

– or their chatter when they flee –

sense is to words

*
seeking expression –

while we too might seek release

in sweet sensation

 *
loving inner peace,

our minds, our bodies set free –

revel in release

  *
merge into ocean

like a riff of poetry

in tidal passion

  *
shore’s simplicity

sweet edge of comprehension:

sun, sand, sky and sea

          *
zuiderstrand, the hague – 6 may 2017

misty snowy easter – zell am see-kaprun – a sonnet


every time I glance out of the window, love,
grey clouds slink down into our valley deep

and filter out all colour: grey above,

below, and grey behind our balcony when sleep
creeps up like time on light, and all around our space

the mist coils spreading from the glacier

of kitzsteinhorn, and river salzach’s waters race

and roil beyond the moor’s dark clumps of birch and alder
where wagtail, dipper, and sad willow warbler

chatter cross the fens beside the spa’s hot springs.
around us in the town, the fog clings

to the streets, a scattering of ghosts without a face –
we sip a schnapps, our spirits warm, and love

each other, smiling, dissolved into the place.

 

Mid-April 2017



soho sunday

image

Ganton Street Soho.
In a café called Sacred:
Small blue sky crossed

With pink, white lightbulbs,
Old facades of painted brick.
The dog is panting

The poet is waiting
On the pavement footfalls pass
By shops, tourists snap.

Summer 2016

on ventura beach: haiku chain

ventura keys bay

ventura keys bay

*

borne on a loose-tongued tide

when dolphins sang in our bay,

i swam alongside.

*

learning my english

in california, oh yeah –

i dug those endless sands

*

west of ventura keys

soaked up the lingo in waves,

loghorreic seas,

*

chilled long days drunk down

so deep, my first summer of love,

synaesthetized like

*

a child of the sun –

honey-skied strands, peacemeal love,

kool-aid cookied, fun!

*

like surf out of reach,

lyrics drift through smoke-tinged breeze

on ventura beach.

 

kool-aid cookies

kool-aid cookies

photo(2)

who am i (lana wachowski)

for lana wachowski

001Lana-Wachowski

… who am i, and when

wachowski to wachowska

metamorphosized

was there a moment

before i became me? – no,

and yet i wonder…

♥♥

what turns us queerly

recast in a different film

to act against type?

♥♥♥

(type?) (without a face?)

life’s not some single screenplay…

(type?) (without a cast?)

♥♥♥♥

we ask ourselves this

not knowing if an answer

ever was, will be:

♥♥♥♥♥

never yet someone,

neither a nonentity

nor quite nobody

♥♥♥♥

mostly we don’t ask

for fear of wondering, lost

in rapt selflessness

♥♥♥

one eye on the road

which tears our lives inside out

one hand on the wheel

♥♥

and we become one

body, not anybody,

don’t ask who am i…

♥♥

22nd January 2014

note:

i admire lana wachowski’s work a lot and also her general attitude to stuff (as far as one can make out from her few public statements) – she combines humour with intelligence and experimentation – artistic bravery, openminded energy, a sense of inspirational anarchy…

i wrote this poem in one go last night just after i’d been thinking about her life so far.

(it is likely to get edited, tweeted and played with, being in the nature of an experiment, one of my haiku chains…)

Jackals and Arabs

This little parable, like a fairy story, is utterly unlike most people’s idea of Kafka, reading like an enigmatic tale for children:

Jackals and Arabs

a place where jackals and arabs might meet

a place where jackals and arabs might meet

Reading this story to his daughters – and seeing their delighted reaction – inspired Matthue Roth to create My First Kafka: Runaways, Rodents, and Giant Bugs, which is published this week.

The idea is long overdue – for almost a century, Kafka has been imprisoned in a Kafkaesque prison not of his own making.

It’s high time someone set him free.