Whether I run
In circles, ovals, or squares,
I'll go anywhere
To find someone who cares
out where day is always night and all is under,
lost in the forever forests of lives long shed,
hides an old memory of chthonic light, shadowed…
my back scars on the rocks i try to rest upon;
eyes locked on an invisible sky, wandering,
finding new dreams of old in the rough shapes of clouds.
a whisper sings from afar, again and again,
and again i seek to mute it - liar, begone! -
without reason but the fabled stories i’m not.
and yet the search is stronger, it goes on. three words
pour from the lips of adventurer and treasure,
meant to bring them together, one day: i am here.
took me almost two months to get this out of me
who set the temperance in the square-faced clown
he was dancing and strolling and roaming around
he was scary, he was strange, he was really quite large
no one knew how he got there but he came out in charge
his hair was was chaotic, his skin an orange hue
he wanted to tell stories, all of which were not true
his stay should be over, in that fact we hope
the square-faced clown, it appears is a hoax....
Brian Hill - 2020 # 210
explode your throat in noes.
stop me dreaming in halves.
ground me down from any
tiny jump that could catch
your eye - a leap of faith.
yes, he killed her. i can’t.
like the space,
i am square
because i was
was not there.
be there or be square. I'm so sorry for this garbo post, but it needed to be done.
I'm a fool who's rage is written on a page
Flickering with fire, fueled by a painful desire
Unruly and unjust it burns without control
Till its content with its remains of dark ash and coal
Seeking no shelter, though it must be contained
She screams as she cries trapped in a cage
Walls adoring her, only growing stronger with age
Dreading the knocking that echos so loud
Fumbling with the keys, throwing them to the ground
Huddling into one's self, as the world grows c o l d
Yearning for somebody who can allow her to be whole
As she kicks and she screams, pushing them away
It's difficult to get past this tremendous facade
That holds so well, ingrained into her being
Disregarding the world and others well-being
How heartless and cold
How selfish and bold
Pitiful you are
with that narcissist mask, you hold
Dance me another dance
Within that ballroom of yours
Filled with the most beautiful flowers
And those demons that taunt at all hours
Its cold deep within, even with fires set aflame
As she continues burning within her own stone-cold cage.
Here we are again,
Setting fires within a castle that you build to protect your own
Burning all who dare to draw in to close
Though the knocking won't stop
The River Seine, I remember well
And his bedroom window just above the stream
The gleam of a basement bar in Bruges
Blue eyes he poured out of over a mug
All I can think of is laughing and stumbling in the street
The cathedral as I sat in his lap, soft as the hour passed
Laughing at boys who were drunker than us
Asking each other which way the hotel was
Kissing in the dark in the back of the pub
Just look at him - how the eyes pour out
Pouring the most important thing into me,
Words I keep scrawled on a note in my pocket
Because he’s not here to tell me anymore
Doesn’t mean I can’t go back to the River Seine
Or a cathedral or the bar or the square
I can still hear it, the eyes pouring out
Tiananmen Square is a clean place today.
Everything is swept before it can
***** in the history of place.
No sign exists of the tanks that rolled,
the man in front of them,
the blood that flowed
like red sorghum seeds.
The cracked bricks
have been replaced
with new tera cotta tiles.
The first memorial plaque
is invisible until you are
standing on top of it,
located at the Great Court
at the University of Queensland
4500 miles away.
IN MEMORY OF
THOSE WHO DIED IN TIENAMEN
SQUARE IN JUNE 1989,
its three lines read,
using the Aussie spelling.
In San Francisco a 9.5 foot statue
modeled after the original
Goddess of Democracy
is located at the edges of
Chinatown in a park of
concrete and manicured trees.
On the anniversary Chinese police
put out temporary signs in
in the center of the Square warning
DO NOT LAY MOURNING WREATHS.
Banner displayers, victory gesturers,
those doing solitary hunger strikes,
are detained, questioned, disappear.
On the Party web the students are scrubbed.
The only sign of blood that lingered
in the summer air that June morning
is a photo of the lone soldier who died
in the “counter revolutionary turmoil”.
The plugged in young are unaware.
They only know that the Party
reserves the right of your total erasure.
Just as the memories of Hiroshima/Nagasaki
are vanishing horrors in the Japanese soul,
Tiananmen is not worthy of ghostly echoes,
or even the lies printed in every official history.
Truth is the secret kept dark by the victors,
it’s locked in prisons and dark closets,
it speaks with the voice of exile
In the dark light and smoggy air,
only dogs and the grieving blind
know the true scent of Tiananmen
hidden under the shiny tera cotta.
How easy it can be to regress back to square one.
Back in that square where you did everything wrong.
Back in that place you worked so hard from.
Back in that square where you belong.
All this time i thought i could be strong.
Feeling so old even when i am young.
Grinding my teeth as i bite through my tongue.
I'm right back here.. Back in square ******* one.
next to the totem I'm standing
make a square make
numbers and runners ran
down your sweet ice
and I'm standing with a totem make
square number of knowledge of the way
red stripes and green
wild huge sharp eyes
big long bright tongue
like my late friend
like a friend of my past winters
oh I will never see him again
squares like circle circles like rhombuses
oh yeah i know what a circle is i know
what is square and know what is
rhombus red and green yellow
colors i know i'm near orange
desert and no this is my bag of light