"assignations" poems
A star of blood you fell
from the point of the hypodermic
singing of fabulous beasts &
spitting out the *** of vowels
Your poems explode in the mouth
like torrents of ***** on a night
full of zebras & bootheels
Your ghost still cruses the river-
fronts of midnight assignations
in a world of dead sailors carrying
armfuls of flowers in search of
your unmarked grave
Your body no sanctuary for bees,
Death was your lover in a rain of
broken obelisks & rotting orchids
In the tangled rose of a single heartbeat
I offer you the shadow of a double
profile,
two heads held together at the bridge
of the nose by a nail of *****
smoke
in the long night's dreaming
& memory of water poured between
glasses
In my mailbox I find a letter from
a dead man & know that for every
shadow given
one is taken away
Yet subtraction is only a special form of
addition and implies a world of hidden
intentions below a horizon of lips
thin as your fingernail sprouting
mysteries in the earth …
The ace of spades dealt from the bottom
of the deck severs the hand which
retrieves it & the eyes of Beauty
sewn together peer over a black lace fan
in the ****** sunlight of a Spanish
morning without horses
The Belt of Orion is loosened
before you as you remove the silver
fingerstalls from your mummy hands &
kneel to plunder the nightsky in a shower of
bitter diamonds.
(Somewhere under a blanket someone weeps
for a lover.)
Peace to your soul
& to your empty shoes
in the dark closets of
kings with no feet!!!
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
*for Leonard Cohen
RIP*
That holy voice that undid the buttons of dresses
whispered them off shoulders onto the floor;
songs that celebrated the pellucid sky of Greece;
the dark confessions of hustlers and junkies;
Abraham poised with the knife of obedience;
the desperate Hallelujah of broken kings;
razors in the hands of beautiful losers;
generous assignations in dingy hotels;
the singular Glory of the god of Art;
spoken in the minor chords of death;
celebrating the discordant mystery of life;
danced to the very end of love, never missing a step.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 4:22 AM UTC
empty halls, blackened walls
scream agonising sentences,
trite, decadent remembrances
of atrophic assignations.
mordancy bled, **** fed,
ambling in broken cadences,
blind, lamenting abhorrences
of amaranth self abortions.
dead lives, deafening cries,
abating for audiences,
raising voided condolences,
waltzing to pointless abscissions.
eclipsed halls, barren walls:
prelude to atrophic assignations
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 6:14 AM UTC
I will endeavour to write poems free from arcane references to impotent religious figures or dead poets.
There will be no Latin quotes in italics. I want you to read my poetry aloud, not one handed, eyes on a dictionary, scratching your head.
I will not use words such as nape when referring to a neck. Or describe skin as soft, delicate, porcelain.
I will avoid romance and love (lost, unrequited or otherwise) and abstain from pretty descriptions of landscapes, trees and flowers gracefully bending in the breeze.
Where possible I will avoid cliche.
I will write about estates, cracked pavements Presidential assignations, machines, clowns in places they shouldn't be.
Flawed people,
shopping trolleys.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC
I'm talking in poems,
Not taking out loans.
Should I stop?
Listen to rhyme cops?
Limbic brain knows
As expression flows;
Alliteration assignations,
Word associations.
Autonomic metonymy
Brings out the best of me.
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC
- for Leonard Cohen
That holy voice that undoes the buttons of dresses
whispering them off shoulders onto the floor;
songs that celebrate the pellucid sky of Greece;
the dark confessions of hustlers and junkies;
Abraham poised with the knife of obedience;
the desperate Hallelujah of broken kings;
razors in the hands of beautiful losers;
generous assignations in dingy hotels;
the singular Glory of the god of Art;
speaking in the minor chords of death;
celebrating the discordant mystery of life;
dancing to the very end of love, never missing a step.
- mce
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 7:48 AM UTC
There is no time to sit and fit time into the time we have and so we try to bend time round and in the round the time will come full circle or so we think, but time's a skating rink, we slip, we slide, we try to ride the elevator to the place we call
'I'll see you later'
most will fail of course
the course of time runs at times counter-clockwise
especially when written in my rhymes
and if these are the times of 'I'll see you later'
where the hell's the elevator?
As a concept time has wrecked so many of my assignations and now my destination is the book of revelations,
hoping that I'll have the time to read.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
Oppositely drectioned forces
Make a whirling pool
They drag in and out the particles
From the vacuum
The array of choices
Lies unread locked away
It requires interest
Entropy waylays
The diagrams are skewed
In a wind inward
That is captured
In line of word
The pull is downwards
Arbitrary assignations
Make that so;
Graphite legitimations
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
As once again the time clock strikes
As people leave, in cars, on bikes
We walk to our assignations
With busses that take us to our destinations
Where warm beds and central heated homes
Wait to take our weary bones
We pound the cold, dark wintery streets
Like policemen on our daily beat
Then one will speak, the breath will rise
Before our work - ****** weary eyes
" Well, one more night done, it wasn't too bad "
Not even realising that
This endless play of bravado
Is how the rest of our lives will go
I feel like screaming " This is hell,
At school while young and fit and well
This wasn't how I thought my life would be
All work and toil and misery "
But... No. I simply, sadly reply
" It wasn't too bad." As once more slips by
Another day, another 24 hours
Lost to work and sleep and showers
I hold back my scream and silently pray
There will be an end to this someday
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 6:06 PM UTC
(To the Tune of Humoresque, with apologies to Mssrs Dvorak and Douglas)
We want to make it very plain that residents should please abstain
From gatherings in groups (we’re watching you!!),
We discourage assignations, please commune in isolation,
Whatever you have done before DON’T DO!!
If you need a sweet flirtation, please recall our limitation,
Separation being the thing we hope you do.
If you start exchanging fluid, danger there is undisputed,
Please to keep the group size down to two.
Copywrong Vic Miller. All wrongs preserved.
Apr 4, 2020
Apr 4, 2020 at 10:28 AM UTC
We come ajoined along knife's inside edge
We're taken to temptation
Compelled to dance we're striding sliding
To the serpent's assignations
We swim amid the reeds of deep green seas
We're taken to the shoreline
Where whispered wonders wash our old dreams clean
So to new dreams false enshrine
As sour fruit betrays with flies and stench
We're taken to the knife edge
Battered, beaten broken belying our soul
Left to part along the ledge
rc
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 10:30 PM UTC
She sees the young people.
Exchanging daydreams
In beautiful eyes
across the room
The woman with silvered hair
Sighs and sips the vinegar wine.
Her black ash mascara
awaiting her tears that are
Ready to trail her cheeks
with unwanted memories.
Time awaits for her
around the shadows wearing
A scythe and cloak in fearful dread.
A lifetime of assignations
lie in the graveyard .
A lone plot deep and dark
It's soil freshly dug
Bears her name.
she nods politely at the young.
Her smile hiding the wreckage
Of her life.
But she knows the truth
That lies beneath her makeup
The dried lipstick on crystal glasses
That will not wash away.
Or the water Stains on her soul
Of a thousand stories
She has never written.
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 12:26 PM UTC