Nicholas Alexander

Along the way things seemed to occur
but now when things happen they do so in silence

the long hand encroached upon the short hand
but never could it pass as the short hand was damaged
during the war of words

without time to measure themselves by
they were without memory

without memory all trace of familiarity was given to the wind
of course the wind died and the traces left draped over trees
did no good

the gardener tending to its growth
was well rewarded in the ensuing weeks
and then again, in the afterlife

nonattendance

Nonattendance

There is an absence in my
rooms, it has erased memories,
voices and laughter;

the tick of the clock kills time,
here where silence is
threatening, and thoughts are
dust on bookshelves.

Unbearable, these rooms,
a converted stable, no aroma
of horses remain; as they were
an illusion, hooves on stones
late at night going home;

yes, there is an absence here
I cannot define, except that
the future has lost the past.

the Modern state.

The Modern State.

This modern state has two parties Right and Left
they often madly fight in the pages of newspapers,
but they are essentially the same. Married couples
are guarantied a flat, there is no homelessness here,
villas, thought, are for the elite, press proprietors,
politicians and administrators. They live in a free
zone, out of towns, away from the people, this as
to avoid direct contacts with people that can only
lead to favouritism, corruption and lewd conduct.
Once a year there is a day of protest, trade unions
with banners, march, and make theatrical demands,
fireworks, and great quantities of beer and wine is
consumed, people don’t care who wins, there is so
very little left to fight for in this great democracy.

senryu

Senryu

Democracy is
Where politicians take their cue
From the popular press.

Christmas party in Lisbon

Christmas Party In Lisbon

Plenty of food cakes and ale, big flat, two tables
sat in the living room one for us elderly and one
for the young; bright eyed, slim and beautiful.
How I envied them. On my table they spoke of
real estate, who’s died, and great poets of yore.
Drank too much, thought of my sister, ten years
ago, christmas eve, since she left us. On the way
home there had been a traffic accident, fast car
split open, white sheet over the driver, a hand
stuck out, a manicured one, not one for doing
dishes after supper; I thought the hand moved,
told a rescue worker, he said; “body’s headless.”
Coming home the house was cold and gloomy,
I remembered mirth, bright eyes and my wish.

From the Chambers

For You

Ten years since that dreaded, early
morning call, last night and long ago.
A nightmare I assured myself when
vividly dreaming of you, wrong name,
a misunderstanding. In the day too
I heard your voice. You let go slowly,
days drift by now when I don’t think of
you, when I do it’s with a melancholic
shrug, I shan’t see you again, our time
was yesterday.

Posted by jan oskar hansen

more of Jan Oskar Hansen

Whats Your Number

I need a date for the ball
Yes the Secret Policemans ball
Hang on policeman dont have balls
Honey where are you
Where are you
I am dying to talk to you
Dying to talk to you
Talk to you
Yes you!!!

Nicholas Alexander

Another addition to the Poetry Chamber - I have resurrected my Chaos Matters blog for daily updates. This is what was posted there today

Chaos / Matters / Introductory

Perhaps it is best to start at the start, and sometimes it is better to use it as a mythology.
Hating the fragile web that held him fast, he fathomed options that ran like a space race
if he stood on glass and looked down there was no horizon

fast he swept away all grief and spoke upon the naked doorstep like butterflies sheltered from the wind
that would otherwise carry them on the path to Bethlehem

Bruised as they fell and nobody wanted to look for weeks
the diplomacy failed so they brought in the shrink
his quivering eyes unfolded with that soggy megalomania
as he paused and turned

Right there at that site of mystery he felt undiscovered
the first humans felt their way around the rock
and discovered they could get off it

walk in the snow
and ride the horses

the breath of beginnings is slow
the start of the greatest storms ever start
during the gliding fall of a feather

a rainy afternoon in Cuba

A Rainy Afternoon

In a corner in the kitchen, which I share with
a rubber plant, I sit in my comfy chair and
survey my possession of pots and copper pans,
think of Cuban cigar and hardening of arteries,
“Only two glasses of wine a day” the doc said,
he didn’t mention sex, perhaps he would like to
know that our Saturday love, is a frugal affair,
bath, clean finger nails and, cute, little towels
under pillows; says she used to be in real estate.
Last time I was in Cuba cigars cost more than
abused whores thronging Havana’s streets, till
Fidel Castro came and put an end this disgrace,
mongers fled to Florida where they ghoulishly
sit and wait for the old man to die.

Kim Randell

MEDITATION

If you expand a thought until it's stretched
Long past where you think that it would go,
You can hold it long enough to find
Something new that only then will show.
Somewhere on that microcosmic plane,
Breezes in a new direction blow,
Guide your hesitant steps along the way
Where your lifetime has its ebb and flow.

Stretch the actual thought of Love itself
Long past where you knew that it could go.
See the gaps and chasms all appear,
Some are bridged with gossamer aglow.
Threads of sacrifice and selfless acts
Bind those lesions so that they won't show.
Gently ease the tension off that thought
Now you know the way that you should go.

© Kim Randell 2006