Cliffy (Read the new poets)
someday I shall board a bus in
North London,
should my dimmed eyes not find him,
shall board another and another
till at last allayed and allied,
my pink newspaper wrapped,
slim volume of gifted boldness,
thirty-one antique poems shall I hand this
odd bespectacled man, their father,
their author
to name him new is confusing
for his originalities, new here,
sourced from over twenty years of past recent,
most writ before the current horde of
genghis khan occupying invaders
were body birthed
and long
before
they birthed themselves
their first
écriture
an acquired taste,
he acquired my taste one night,
when despair mastered my outer view,
words were ashen under the sun,
nothing new and I forsook my mother tongue
this odd owlish glassed creature,
will not charm you or delight you
he will originate you
say there is another way,
so old fashioned that it is
cutting edge
and not cutting oneself
do you ask these questions?
*Whose resurection is this
anyway ?
Has anyone seen the messiah today ?
There is never a messiah around when
You need one ?
Perhaps I shouldn't speak of th?ese things
Lightly
But what can be done ?
Have you ever smoked a ******
In a temple ?
Do you know what these kinda words
Resemble ?
Did you ever think life is just incidental ?
I can picture druids hovering above sacred corpses
Laughing at their impunity,
And tripping on their vulnerability
It's not a long way between Jesus and sin.
Y'know
Y'know
Having *** whilst wearing a strait-jacket
Is better than having no *** at all
I always echo the optimist's call
But I'm tied to a spastic cross
Where I present my loss.
All theses thoughts came to me
Much later in history.*
But now I must board another bus
In North London,
to find a true original
and perhaps find a sterling pound
of my own
http://hellopoetry.com/cliffy-buglione/
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
Cliffy (Read the new poets)
someday I shall board a bus in
North London,
should my dimmed eyes not find him,
shall board another and another
till at last allayed and allied,
my pink newspaper wrapped,
slim volume of gifted boldness,
thirty-one antique poems shall I hand this
odd bespectacled man, their father,
their author
to name him new is confusing
for his originalities, new here,
sourced from over twenty years of past recent,
most writ before the current horde of
genghis khan occupying invaders
were body birthed
and long
before
they birthed themselves
their first
écriture
an acquired taste,
he acquired my taste one night,
when despair mastered my outer view,
words were ashen under the sun,
nothing new and I forsook my mother tongue
this odd owlish glassed creature,
will not charm you or delight you
he will originate you
say there is another way,
so old fashioned that it is
cutting edge
and not cutting oneself
do you ask these questions?
*Whose resurection is this
anyway ?
Has anyone seen the messiah today ?
There is never a messiah around when
You need one ?
Perhaps I shouldn't speak of th?ese things
Lightly
But what can be done ?
Have you ever smoked a ******
In a temple ?
Do you know what these kinda words
Resemble ?
Did you ever think life is just incidental ?
I can picture druids hovering above sacred corpses
Laughing at their impunity,
And tripping on their vulnerability
It's not a long way between Jesus and sin.
Y'know
Y'know
Having *** whilst wearing a strait-jacket
Is better than having no *** at all
I always echo the optimist's call
But I'm tied to a spastic cross
Where I present my loss.
All theses thoughts came to me
Much later in history.*
But now I must board another bus
In North London,
to find a true original
and perhaps find a sterling pound
of my own
http://hellopoetry.com/cliffy-buglione/
reposting is nice but inherently cheap because it is made so easy, it clogs the inbox repeatedly with the popular ones...Poetess Ingrid you are next...
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