Friday, January 09, 2009
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Darkness absorbed her black tresses
to mask the deep seas that looked intently at me.
This impenetrable night was deeper than the black oceans in my garden
The squall had drowned and the tide ebbed, the taste of the salty drops still lingered.
The oceans desiccated to the last tear,
left no evidence of presence in the excuse of the cloaked night the immensity of vast spaces weighed me down,
as embodied lust disguised as love rubbed salt on future wounds a gentle wind mimicked the muffled sighs,
the whining moment’s elusive entwinements.
The heartless train’s howl far-off left desolation's tiny scraps
in the retreating station.
Her eyes soaked up distances,
the intervals stretching the strings of heart.
Melancholic baits of the scarred gait
swelled agony’s torture
The mind powerless to cope,
lonely-heart’s yearning for hope.
The dawn will lie to me
with out a hint of betrayal;
'a dream within the dream'
where I will hear a desertion’s tearing scream.
- shashi dhar
Shadow cast a languid palette
Of colours, clear and incandescent.
Grey freen, mottled and blue
Impressionist eye held the view.
Through tall grasses dancing
In Parks expanse leading,
My eye to follow a shadow to a water fountain
In reflective notes, it played happily in the fountain.
And cheerful droplets rose to lead
Ones eye to the great leafy
Guardians of the park, heavy
with their summer spread,
For the human need
To escape the heat
of the day near complete.
Layers green, deep and pale
Leading to sky, blue and dove-tail.
Rest in grass, tall and summer lent
Sink into universe, each breath spent.
In summer idyll of childhood tree
Each year expanse, reaching down to me.
Arm in arm, far flung and home
I'll not forget the majesty shown,
And if a return was made
There you'd be out-stretched arm
On waking from the deepest sleep
I wondered, were life in reverse.
If nights of sleep be school of life
each day a play we must rehearse.
I’d have to study my behaviour
selfish acts and maybe worse.
a mind so full of petty thoughts
and maybe once or twice a curse.
Maybe I should practise caution
indiscretion deemed perverse.
Erotic sighs won’t pass this student,
shock waves rock the universe.
At dusk pretence just slips away
the naked form is free of sham.
I join the line of student souls
to sit the practise death exam.
goodbye smells musty, like old clothes
untouched in the back of the wardrobe;
dusty, like words on a scrap of newspaper
that flutter from an opened book.
goodbye smells like an old man who smokes
and ate garlic last night, and the night before;
warm, like tarmac in the middle of town
in summer, after a shower has passed.
goodbye smells like coffee newly brewing
somewhere nearby, for someone else;
like the kerosene taste in my throat
in the airport departure lounge.
it smells like your sweater, grabbed in error;
instantly you are around me. my eyes break.
- Just Mercedes
Midnight revolution of collective conscience.
Watch your step, there's death on the footpath.
And they overcame him by the blood of the faceless,
Nameless, unseen martyrs.
Dead in the streetlight; flare and gash
As the eyes drop. Down, in shame, in astonishment
The just deserves of a life spent in captivity,
The last reserves of a generation spent, spent,
Spent, mother fucker.
And what? They,
The martyrs and saints and holy men
All bow down, last breath's moment, bergomask
Clumsy eyes follow clumsy demise - a trick or treat in the streetlight
Glare and stare, fucked through the face
Staring into space, dreams dreamt and time spent,
All gone to hell in a moment of dignity,
A moment of nobility,
Flash and glare;
A moment of purpose and fight and all they had lived for
Overcame, by the sense of blind purpose, that shook
And fucked them through the face.
Cold lead, footsteps in the streetlight
They hear numbers, they hear an incumbent,
Despondent respondent whose shrill exposé
And drilling words betray
Their true motives and cause and all they had to obey.
Fucked through the face; is all
Some dead, some never alive.
Come closer you'll see the damage, don’t let the streetlight fool ya,
Buddy ol' pal. Them fucked through the face.
This isn't going too well, they'll say,
All too late, I'd imagine,
As one saint falls through the pavement
As one they become, drawn by the streetlight,
Overcome! They'd said,
'hold my head', instead.
Don't be fooled, my son
Life is forever if you'll only give it away
for a rulebook and ritual,
Obey the habitual
Ringing of ears and killing of questions.
One can be assured
Doubt will be purged, once one is
Time spent alone. Clock's ticking, fuckstick, go find a friend; your road to destruction will seem all the more stable with peer pressure humping your leg all the way.
One by one, and two by two
Interesting people, with interesting friends
An interesting place, and interesting times
Oh, how they dance, and heave, and expel their forceful opinion
Of politics, of life,
Of the law, and of the direct repercussions of their transparently stupid ideas
They leave, by one and by two
What's left? What's left.
Room for thought, is left; reflection and perspective
Contrast breeds realization, I come to realize.
I see the people, all out in the streetlight
A midnight party, a midnight ball. A celebration of cyclic nothingness
A celebration of life
A midnight party
Over now, leaves me alone, with room for thought
And an understanding of sorts and types and shades of essential solutions
Why are we here? Why are we here? Why are we here? Why are we here?
If not to socialize
To eat and be merry, to love and to lose, or not lose at all
Or not love at all.
There must be more, I think in the dulling.
So more, I plead, with thought and with care
I need there to be more! I rationalize, and scream
More than just talking, and making sense
And laughing at jokes thought up on drugs
More must be found, and so it shall be
For in time spent alone I most surely shall see and shall feel and can always
And only realize
That the more I am chasing, is me
Time spent alone
With myself, content with my thoughts, crude and self-centered as they
All that you have, and all that I have, and all that they have;
Though they care not to see
Is you, and me, and them,
We cannot speak the joy of earning respect from oneself
Instead of abuse, love
Love is a joke
From God, from crack whores and popes
Who don’t need love, and know that we think we do
Fuck them, we say
But fuck you, is the truth.
All of you
Burn in hell, with your parents; they lied
Your friends; they smoked
Your house; full of idols
Your food; unclean! Unclean!
Your children; they slept and they slept and they slept all through school and through church
Burn in hell, says the crack whores and popes
If the price of love is hate
Then God, send help
For better to have loved a demon
Than hated oneself.
Posted by Nicholas Alexander at 3:11:00 PM
Auckland City Elevator
Unapproachable and air-locked
Strutting for calculation and expectation
Hold the door, I'm going up
Yes yes yes, I happen to be well informed on the subject
Yes yes yes, I happen to be wearing a flagrant tie
Stripes and spots, blotch and blemish
Wipe it off and start again.
Mulish stares plus too pleasant an 'excuse me'
Equals people I will never know
Never talk to, never meet
We don’t share this planet
If we never make eye contact
Look up, look up, look up and see
The million individual experiences and sentiments
All could be you
Just open your mouth
Chew the cud, chew the cud, they say
Rats and children, we think we are
But above the pavement ceiling
Emotion, love, life, time to breathe
Air can't be sold
Quit only cherishing that which cost a crisp twenty
And love what's free
Live, for fuck's sake
I tell myself
And stop. Turn around. Go home.
Give my dog a hug.
Listen to the cars
Sometimes I poke the stars
When the room's full of zebras I kneel
When the room's full of cushions I stand
There's much to be said for admiring titles
So when you come I shall call you Your Honour
Or joke about partridges, [the morning shoot]
How the weeds are taking over the conservatory
It would be so nice if a few special words
were to fall from the sky, in a dome, a plume
Rubbling the path to delight the hikers
Markers on the way to nowhere
Because everywhere is somewhere
And only a few ever see
A room full of zebras.
A city was born
of a virgin junkie,
And in him is life
And the life is the light of men.
Streetlights and shivelights and splatters on the pavement
Dictaphones crackle, creation stares down the barrel of a 45.
And the light shineth in the darkness,
And the darkness comprehends it not.
Real people in nice overcoats and expensive socks
Stroll by, content and satiated
Come join the cause!
You can't buy this kind of publicity,
Dysphoria sells! Despoliation is the key!
(by streetlight, does it count?)
He comes unto his own, but his own receive him not
It counts, my friends, it counts.
For now, though we see by the glare,
Though we make out
And that tall striking man whose self-deception is betrayed
By only his aching footsteps
We see him so clearly! I swear. We know who he is! We know who he is!
We have the cure, we have the vision!
Nobody sweat this life we are leading, there's nothing to stop you believing
Exactly what we want you to be
Obedient and servile, come join the cause,
Asinine and senile, come join the cause! It doesn’t matter what you see or what you feel or
how or whether you chose to get to this hell,
It only matters what comes next,
And this city knows, he's seen it before,
Be assured, my friend, the end has it's role to play
Just as the shapes and shadows have their snares to lay.
Just don’t believe, our city won't be saved, he'll burn with Sodom
And he's seen it all before, everything under the sun,
The moon, the streetlights and shadows
Neons and burrows
Hide while you can, life does indeed squint in the wind
As you do,
So never fear you're alone.
THE SOLUTION THEY SAY!
The comforter is here, and with hypodermic tram carts what's more
They don't see, by the streetlight, what and all
They claim to see
For they trust their eyes and nothing more,
Flash and glare and shadow and shape
Or love and life and time and space,
Love, and life, and time, and space.
Let go - close your eyes to the lights - wake
To see above the surface
A surface of completeness and perfection that falls far, far short of any concept of hope
Its vindication that's killing us,
Achievements you can hang on your wall -
Or life above the concrete perfection
Its satisfaction with sameness,
and love with not too much sugar
I'm watching my figure.
So it's choice now, it choice
Choose life! They say!
The city's not so foolish, he tacitly waits
And when finally the rhetoric collapses, when finally the white noise gives way
To reality, clarity,
dawn will be sneaking.
And the gentleman performer, as always; our city
Follows his cue, as the brilliant sun hints
At her nearing arrival
to the vista of hero's and thieves, players and pawns.
Shadows and shapes and neons and burrows and flash and glare;
This is to them a gospel, a vision, a scene of prophetic clarity
But our city,
He knows better.
Impending, impending, expectancy bubbles
And boils in the hearts of man,
Desperately wicked! Who can know! They've shouted
And toted their rulebook and ritual
Always in the streetlight; religion by shadow and by glare
By eye-trap and stare.
In vain they do worship me, teaching for doctrine the commandments of
Shadow gives way, glare dulls to glow
Shape is illumined to be found-out as white on black, not black on white
And flash still drives on, but in the sun?
In the sun.. flash goes unheeded
What they thought they had saw and
They knew they had saw
And they had previously been so sure they had saw;
With their eyes they had trusted and their friends they had followed,
Now is face to face, to face, to face,
Known as they are known, no longer in part or shadow or shape.
All fragments replaced,
Love and life and time
The city, he knew, he watched all along
They sang, they cheered,
They lamented Jerusalem
In vain, in vain, rulebook and ritual.
He watched all along, their song
The first shall be last, now that night has turned day
And the city he sleeps deeply, as should you my dear friend
For though this world's at it's end,
It's just another role to play, and how vain to sing of the future and beyond
When the now is extraordinary, and you're itching to move
They called it the end,
'it's dawn, my friend'
And there is your clarity, there is your
Vision of prophecy -
Not a decree of judgment, or list of souls burnt, but
A virgin diurnal, instead,
New minutes to lose track of and chase to the next
A choice has been made, overnight, in the streetlight
For love, and for life
no shadow or shape.
Watch close though my friend,
It's not quite what you think.
Posted by Nicholas Alexander at 3:04:00 PM
The young blade dreams his days will pass
In mexican waves of wind and sun,
Light rain night-falling. This is grass.
Life is a Meadow? Hope soon gone.
The taxing mower descends, demands;
In severing swathes are dreams undone.
Truth is desire low mown, close shorn.
Harsh years confirm the cynical view:
That Life, regrettably, is a Lawn.
- new westie
We spent the day in solemn meditation,
Herb water was our only medication.
Body and soul were one in mediation,
Seeking for healing and remediation.
After much contest, angst and agitation,
The outcome of our corporate cogitation
Was this resolve, proclaimed with animation;
To censure all past sins in commination.
Now we are clean and pure and whole, and wholesome.
As paragons of health, we are the whole sum;
Our life at close of day is full and fulsome-
After a week of lapse, we still may fool some.
- new westie
Posted by Nicholas Alexander at 3:02:00 PM
(inspired by "bang bang")
Last night you tried to pot the moon
But hit the sky instead.
A bird fell stuttering, spluttering, down,
And smacked the daisies, dead.
Mow over it, mow over it,
Don't wait for it to move;
Here is a target you can get,
A hit that you can prove!
I will not draw on distant moons
Nor sight upon the sun,
But wield unstayed the swift red blade
Until the lawn is done.
- new westie
A frozen point in infinity
The lifeless flower’s vanity
And the ever-smiling faces’
Arrested moments fading.
Left behind to stand, constant
Many left the scene, hesitant
Pointless images, Irrelevant
Showcase of absurd life, transient
Strange faces near stained vases
Stagnant shadows and rigid gazes
The eyes forever waiting
Black distorting the white
Like the night the day
The child’s innocence, sweet
Like an eternal pretense’s sheet.