a dragonfly settles slow on languid-fingertips..
can they smell my heart melting?
there’s a super-cracking inside this geyser
soon to crack some more


1.
I hold a tree inside my palm
you can’t actually tell where its roots really grow
veins don’t fade easily.. just the eye won’t see it

blackest bull-dogue waits behind the silverfish-caravan
who the heck knows why it waits in saliva’d-chains
but it lurks there, in silent-rancour

one eye flicks inwards and gets inverted
licks at all the flies inside
there’s a buzzing to be *felt from miles away

touch-tone insignia keeps calling and calling
screaming off its ugly provided-head
demanding eye-scales which cannot fall

black-stockinged nuns profess utter-diligence to duty
hide their want within the deep-wells of darker-veils
while rosaries are fever-fingered with reverence

keep swinging that twig under my scissored-wishes
you may just miss once
and catch my whirring 'copter-feet


2.
man, if you jump high enough and not fade.. away
you may never have to feel that wicked-thud of landing
one click onto the nebulae and you’re truly home

at the young boy’s feet, they lie
a host of little beings.. not breathing
that jokers cannot understand

as sang in epic-tunes of yore
better to burn out than rust
stay forever young..


reach out with seeker-arms in pin-striped shirt
yes, push mercy down upon its sweet-cheek
and sense the reek of discontent in neat patterns.. waiting to fall
no use looking at poverty crying for a way out as blood runs down its head
tell yourself it’s only paint.. meant for a well-researched lesson on another day


pick up your chair, poet.. and ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnn!!
while feathers fall onto the heads of sinners who sack the fading light


and mind you don’t trip on your way out
your head..




aches





S T – 4 nov 13

We were the ones,
Self-chosen ones,
And we had seen enough.
And we had heard enough
To be tired of the drama;
The games that our mamas
And our Papas played
The plans they laid
That so often did not work.
The pensions and the perks
That so often left them bitter
Mumbling curses about quitters
As they argued over parking spaces
And carefully averted their faces
When people were denied rights
Because they were not white
Or sometimes because Jews
And non-whites could not be
Members of their sororities
And country club amenities.

They demanded no dark skin
And objected to what we dressed in
And wanted us to cut our hair
And go find a decent job somewhere
To start an acceptable career
And get a decent nine to five
To work as long as we were alive.
We knew they were trying to protect
To drive us to the life they projected
That would help us get a salary
And develop the kind of misery
And sense of hopelessness;
The exact kind of mess
They were living
And they weren’t forgiving
When we rebelled and fought
And shunned the trinkets they bought
That they thought would tempt us
To buckle on the harness;
The long-term promise.

We rejected the temptation
To join the workaday nation
And get into the drinking
Nine-to-five way of thinking.
We swapped the whiskey
For something they found risky.
We smoked our marijuana
And talked about nirvana
In our love-beads and batik
We left family homes to seek
And ultimately to find friends
Who wanted the same ends
And would work with us,
And they would walk with us
To the love-ins and protests
And help us pen requests
For marches and gatherings
To demonstrate our misgivings
About who got what
And who did not
And how and when
And which were not seen as men.
But we saw poorly disguised slaves
We knew we wanted to save.

We were going to fix the world
So, we waded into insults hurled
And high-powered fire hoses.
They broke our arms and noses
And trod on our signs
And drew a line
Between us and the public.
We were criminals and suspects
In crimes they invented;
We patchouli oil scented
Hippies wearing Birkenstocks
Without any socks
And jeans with protest patches
Singing our snatches of songs
Like “We Shall Overcome Someday”.
They couldn’t hear a word we would say.
They just cursed us and objected
And made sure we were subjected
To as much stonewalling as the law
Could put up against us all.

We were going to fix the world,
And we got LBJ on our side, like Jack
He went on the attack
And changed things for the better
Still not to the letter of the law
But a bit more spirit
Began to exist in it
Because blacks were acknowledged
And could finally go to college
In white schools
Adhering to the rules
The bigots had always ignored.
And unlike before, the police
Actually kept the peace
Unless it involved demonstrations
Against the crimes of our nation
Against another nation
That never attacked us
Never even threatened us.
These protest made us criminals
And that is what the cops thought of us.

Yes, by the time Nixon was going
After everyone began knowing
What a rat he was and because
He got caught, we saw
Him get on the copter and leave
And without a thought to grieve
We wanted our country to cease
Being some kind of insane police
In an Asian country few of us knew.
To stop what they put our troops through
And bring the people back here
So they could end the killing and fear
That our country was generating.
The debating was through
And the country started anew
By ending that situation.
Peace descended on the nation
And we took credit.
We did do some of it.
Then, we quit.

We started small companies
Selling handmade gifts and soaps
Not becoming the dopes
We fought our parents not to be
But more the people we ought to be
Living in hippie enclaves
That turned into yuppie enclaves
And we got fatter.
But that didn’t matter.
We had our memories
And we had our old war stories
Of marching, and protesting
And they were interesting enough
That we lost the will to be tough
And let the objections slide
And hid inside our mini-farms
And ignored when people were harmed
By many of the same atrocities
That fueled our animosities
Just a generation before.
We decided it was not our war
And sat on our hands.
And drifted like the sands.

A traffic jam at 2 am?
My work just done, tired I am.
Is misfortune a thing with me?
A fallacy unknown maybe.

Recalled the time iPhone at max,
An accident my old was cracked.
Or day my rags compelled I splurge,
The day some Prada had to surge.

In Dubai, Grab’s copter went down,
With lover, boyfriend’s stuck in town.
Cold ***** camel ride through night,
Paid Bed’uin gold, or wait till light.

My friends all say I’m blessed and rich,
But life with peace I’ll rather switch.

This is dedicated to the millions who died in the Biafra - Nigeria civil war

Counting the losses
Of my people at dawn
Breaking the curses
Of no wholly source
I sought to wage war
Without funds and money
I thought to secede
From a nation strong and many
I was full of envy for vain minorities
I am an educated soldier
Of an eastern defunct border

Proclaiming Biafra
Was so big an agenda
Building militias
To **** and to tether
My opposed tribal brothers
And the critics of my powers
I denied much on media
All that hid in my fingers
My plans I held higher
The proclamation of Biafra
I am an educated soldier
Of an eastern defunct border

Visible to the blind
Were were ready for a fight
Audible to the deaf
Huge price of war to pay
Hausas killed in numbers
By my igbo sons and daughters
yorubas were driven without boots
by my fellow Biafran youths
Ibibios were suspicious
So were Urhobos, Itsekiris and Ijaws
Enmity was at its peak
So high that none could breach
All these were my agenda
My services to Biafra
Was so good for me to render

On May 30th 1967
Was just like a fable
I declared in the open
Without even a wobble
The state of Biafra
Almost complete; an agenda
An anthem was composed
Flag and currency; none could oppose
The heat of the tension
Is such I couldn't mention
The height of jubilation
Not all did it favor
There was sorrow in the land
This, I cared not apart
I was a symbol in the world
For the havoc I did cause
I am an educated soldier
Of an eastern defunct border

The war began
With no money at hand
We fought with pride
With pains in our hands
We fought with might
Defending our father's land
We died in mass
Numbers of air attacks
We killed civilians
Of the tribes against our plan
We'd shoot in the heart
Every oppose we'd catch
Nigerians were too strong
but we swore we'd burn
I saw no flaw
In the havoc I did cause
I am an educated soldier
Of an eastern defunct border

Hunger and thirst
Was order of the day
Sorrow was a pest
and death had no end
Too many burdens to bear
The pains of war to pay
We ran out of guns
Bullets, grenades, even bombs
We had but matchets
Arrows, stones and spears
But We faced an army
Of full artillery
Our tragedy had no end
Even God couldn't help
So our homicide was cast
And We became fossils at last
Let those who seek war; stop and think
The pains of it;higher than that of peace
So I e'caped in a copter
Leaving my people to suffer
So on exile I did ponder
while millions died in yonder
I am an educated soldier
Of an eastern defunct border

I write from the grave
From the hell of my pains
I was that educated soldier
Who took you to battle borders
And ran, leaving you to suffer
I was that educated soldier
Of an eastern defunct border.

The paparazzi are staked out
For the latest splash trending.
Telephoto lenses focussed
On the door in a non-descript
Neighbourhood.
Eye-Witness copter hoovers,
We are in rhythm with the whirling
Chop-chop
Of breaking news.
Rivetted to our screens.
A door opens to reveal
A dentist
On his way to work,
Wearing alligator shoes
And wollen pants.
We'd hoped to see
A mane boa
Round his neck.

A man in a hotel
witnesses some smoke
on his television
shot from a news copter
flying quite high
above the town below,
above a school, where
the schoolchildren of
Ms. Appleby’s class
turn in their papers,
but clamor to see a
woman on the side
of the road, who kept
her eyes on the road,
but crashed anyway.
The woman was calling
her husband- you
couldn’t see this from
the helicopter- but John,
her husband, was on
vacation in Hawaii
and will have to return
to his children, who
last told him of their
combined A+ in a project
written about the dangers
of cell phone use on
the road, done for their
teacher, Ms. Appleby.
John of the hotel
hangs up his phone,
and sighs.

tweet my injustice
Let's all us combustus
and fritter away french fries
from the local till us nuts

Freakin' Friday
Meek and Nigh may
take away the saltines from the
mouths of youths
and put a large bass in my
kissing booth

I am Xavier
I am Charles
I once supposited a pack of
Marlboro's
Shamus mc ****, Batman
the 'copter's on down furrows

return trips offered
for body.

some, we separate
long
after birth.

fourth baby
the first
errant.

surveyor of train car interiors.

job creation
as healer’s
refuge.

godmother
in a borrowed
copter hat.

the boy we call
egg mouth
who frees
his sister.

our meaninglessly
oral

talks.

I have bad dreams.

They come, unbidden, into my room at night.

They pass through the maze of my alcoholic daze;

They take me back,

Back to a dusty desert road;

Our convoy is headed towards Mosul.

But we never make it there:

The Humvee is upended by an eardrum shattering blast.

I am falling.

I see you are screaming but there is no sound..

Blackness.

I died three times on the medivac copter

But the Corpsman kept bringing me back.

I have bad dreams

In them I see the faces of the dead,

They are the faces of my friends;

My friends, for whom I mourn

Until this heart becomes a stone.

One day I thought, does dreams are important to fly?

Started thinking.....
Birds have wings and they touch the sky, copter has fan then they ply.
Can I have anything, so I can fly?
I neither have wings nor fan, shall i continue or drop the plan?

Little confused.

One day I got a dream that I am flying higher and higher,
I woke up and found myself on bed, I said Oh! dream you are lier.

I want to fly when I discussed with dad,
He reacted suddenly and said are you mad?

what to do, what to not, poured a water in my thirsty throat..
Thinking, I am one in millions crowd, what to do so dad feel proud.

He said to me are you mad? I will surely fly my beloved dad..

Later..
going deeper and deeper like a creeper in a book i got a line,
It really changed mind of mine.

Line was...
If your dreams are bound then you are on ground,
if you dream high you touch the sky.

I shouted yes this is the swing, for which i searched everything

Now I found the answer..

when to laugh, when to cry.
when to wet, when to dry,
when to quiet and when to scream,
How to sleep and how to Dream

It was the time when i found the Treasure,
Now I am happy and living in pleasure.

Oh my dad now I can clearly see,
Success was locked till, but now I found the Key.

Now I will touch the sky, because I got a answer **How to FLY

Maximum threshold
The pain multiplied tenfold
It's raining outside

Shipwrecked and stranded
On the mast, wait for sunset
This goes on for days

Starving and marooned
Here comes forth a mighty swoon
Staring at the moon

Now comes a big wave
It could easily drown you
Sapped of your last strength

A bright light beams down
A helicopter above!
Deep breath, you've been found

Something isn't right
The copter is out of gas
Alas, it crashes

It was meant to be
The hands of fate decided
Both wash out to sea

Copper-coated copter flies with intention.
He knows just where he is headed,
no energy-bleeding, hope-wasting hither and thither.
His aim is there—
that slit of space formed by the incomplete union of two elderly deck planks.
The tiny-waisted tiny being glides inside.
Blackness welcomes him home.
Safe, safe, safe.
Rest! rest! rest!
(I know I am Nobody’s poet—And still!)
God, I want to be that wasp.

he almost died when his car built with his hands and time,
                                                          a­nd some of his money,
rolled over and over and over more times than mortals can
                                                             ­ survive the shock of the stop,
after the pounding of every three sixty and hit finally a rocky, outcrop.

But my friend lived, more bumps and bruises than could be counted,
by his girl friend. Years later though,

south wind blew overnight with ten more centimeters, of light white powder,
                         when two died the slide came down after the copter left,
                                                        hig­h in the mountains with no cleft,
to hug or find, safe passage as the snow cascaded faster than his car
                               ever did, driving him into, through the trees, far
he rolled over and over and over, the mass of white powder pushed
                                                                ­                      and pounded
                                                         ­                        until all was still,
and he was one of two held tight in the frozen grasp too long until
                                                   they found him,
                                                        eigh­t others
were safe that day, as he told them how to do it the right way,
he went first,
then the number two, and that was all it took for the monstrous white
wall to become larger and harder than a rocky outcrop,
                         the only thing that ever made him stop.



©DWE102013

i don't get inspired... i get prompts,
e.g.?

one in particular...
her name? sam leith -
the saturday the times weekend
magazine (july 29th 2017) -
the usual load of *******
from the ***
of west london...

sam? why not samuel but
samantha?
  what sort of man cites his
father as the guiding beacon?
me? you?
s(he) - ah, transgender perfect,
armed with a rifle, and a bra
stuffed with scrambled eggs -
she he he she, she she he she,
it dot, tag, you're it! he she
she she he she, she she he, he she,
she she, he he, shish kebab,
samuel beckett's watt:
bonkers, boing boing boing,
apache heli-copter! trampoline!

slap in the face seriousness...
she-******
quotes her father citing
ecclesiastes (oof fra fra in essex,
high-brow y'ah tellin' moi?!
   neece... nice? n'eh ce pa?
tortoise mangetout peckam, n'es pas?)...
dog ****.

         to, every, thing, there, is, a, season,
     and, a, time, to, every, purpose, under,
the, heaven.

and then ******-he goes on to add:

        post-60... never pass an alleyway
for a wee... (not little, down south it's
called the glaswegian pish-soother),
     *******? no, thank you,
   i do mine almost daily while taking a ****...
for some reason an eager **** always
provides the ***** with some mexican
"artist"... milk that cow boy! milk it!
         boy milk it!
                         ah sweet maritza...
hombre in ex hombre... y'allah...
                                                     im'she!
(camel talk, spit and gnarl at toon poond
uh'xtra!)...
                      point no. 3: farts are boring,
unless in a tight space,
where all solipsism disappears...
   there is a proof for solispsism,
but it doesn't come from either head or mouth...
psst... comes from the ***...
    the argument for solipsism comes from
the ***... evidently the theory stands on the proof
that: everyone enjoys their own stink...
  and i believe that's a universally accepted
logic... you can smell your own ****,
but dare not to gag at someone else's,
     there, solipsism, proved via farting.

no man cites his father unless he be a semite.

so this bothered me... she-******-it-he-it-she-ooh
the following (age-limit requirement in brackets):
- not knowing how to cook (30)
- long hair for men (20)
- wheelie pavement transport (35)
- having one-night stands (26)
- posting selfies on instagram (35)
- long hair for women (50)
- jeremy "che" corbyn t-shirts (30)
- going clubbing (37)
- saying you're a d.j. (30)
- tattoos (age limit: never!)                  huh?
    - not being able to drive (20)
- baseball caps (36)
- going to festivals (50)
- wearing shorts (40)
- cleavage (40)
- showing other people your
poetry (16)....
   that's what got me, **** the rest...
what are you?
   spank-the-monkey-tiger-mommy?!
you the whip the ****** latex c.e.o.?!
the **** is this ******* rambling?!
    oh look... what's next...
an article!
   let's see:
           post-cougar, pre-pensioner -
it's a.... "tricky" stage by a 57 year old...
sure, i'd **** a granny... if i were african
working in a care home...
  as the headlines read only two days ago...
no... it's one thing philosophy attacking poetry,
but it's another when journalists do it...
no you ****-****-faced-*******....
you're not going to get away like the so easily...
******* leeches of conversation...
       barren wastelands of introspection!
i know my patron... at least this ****
german appreciated the craft...
   you? you?! you're a pathetic waste of time
trying to replenish a taste for
ancient greece... and all that pederastic education.

poets? masters of listening to
silence,
   within hearing sound

                (vacuus in vox, papilio in turba columba).

At the Nassau County Medical Center We nurses were put on alert;
A truck hit a small car on the L.I.E. leaving someone in a world of hurt.
Our “John Doe” was being air lifted and we heard the copter drone near.
One look at his face and I knew he was gone from this world of Love and Fear.
Yes, we all knew it was Harry from his unmistakable leonine mane;
The charts had him labeled as “John Doe” but we knew who it was just the same.
The doctors, like heroes, were fighting to bring Harry back from the grave
But his heart had been pierced by a sliver of glass; there was no way that he could be saved.
Had his heart failed him, there on the roadway, or had he been killed in the crash.
I couldn’t feel mad at the trucker who did what he could at the last.
We found a gold watch in his pocket. “Harry F. Chapin” engraved.
A man who had fought to save others but who himself could not save.

appointed anointed entitled insane
assaulted revolted compiled remains

jaunty raunchy defiled deranged
daunting exhausting exiled and caged

experiment serious fistful explain
mysterious furious pistol disdain

lodger copter laughter softer
walking wanting wading wearily watching
thumping trading
vapor water left unbothered
shot and pulled and dropped to fodder
pushing pouting prodding per i lously pinching poking
paper thought or kept to rot and sought to put the trough
but
type. speak. letters. words.
components honing rodents fuller shoulder bone boulder
broken beaten bottled breathing baker bleating basted by
faker fleeting fated fearing facing feeble fine
CHOKE
keeper of the cold and crafted cattle
come to coddle all the wretched blood
it would it was and has been done
the blooming of a bud

There's a dinosaur in my washing machine,
having himself a bath.
There's a Brontosaurs in my refrigerator,
having himself a snack.
The Raptor in the rec room is just
romping round the ground.

There's a pony parading through the puddin',
A stallion on the stove.
There's horse in my hamper,
wrinkling all the clothes.

A duck went down the drain today,
while emptying the tub.
The cat is on the keyboard,
asking for a hug.

You might think my menagerie strange,
But you don't know the half –
That's just the animals,
who've given you a laugh.
 
There's a truck in the toilet,
a tractor on the bed,
and a big, pink convertible,
parked upon its head.
I found an airplane in my dishwasher
and a copter in the cupboard.
The books are in the broom closet,
The brooms are on the lawn.
Socks are on the front porch
Waiting for summer to come.
 
If this all seems crazy to you,
I'll guess that you don't know
the joy it is to have this mess
If you've not yet 
been blessed... 
'Cause sleeping in the car
Are toddlers two, and three.

04/02/2019
~MRC

The drone’s angle
Cauliflower green

Obligatory overhead
Forest scene seen

Filming automated
Droids watching as

Camera slides, smoothly
Overhead drama meme

Copter tracking
Story told between

Copter blades awaken me
I start the march to the bus stop
The soldiers march to the safety of the barracks gap

Storytellers abound
The craic is good
We knew, he knew, she knows
Did you hear?

Weather draws in
Wet rain again
Patience is tested
Staring out again

Will it clear?
We have some work to do
Bullocks to dose
Lamb to stew