"klaxons" poems
Headlights, you are beautiful
I do plan to slip into you
Over you and through you
You enchant me like the sunrise
That I may never see
And the flowers that my loved ones
Will never leave for me
Sirens, you are maddening lovely
More as treacherous damsels
Than the klaxons you are
I can't hear you singing
But I know you're not far
Composing your serenade
Over the wreck of my car
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 6:16 PM UTC
The sound of silence
So frequently documented
Resides in my bones.
My restless brain sleeps.
Saved from the wretchedness
Of one million sounds.
And I let myself write.
The din of a stadium
Full of klaxons and canned laughter
Is now but an echo
And it is just Nina and I.
I can stare endlessly out of the window
And not be asked why.
I can sit stubbornly with my mouth taped shut
And not be asked why.
I can sit and strum
Out of time and out of key
And not be asked why.
And I let myself write.
A scattering a books and a half-made bed.
A cooling mug of tea.
I am laid bare afore the eyes of nobody
The fool of the romantics, and the jester of the ghosts.
And I sit here and just sit.
Twitching my lips along the grooves of these words
Stumbling over them in a soundless whisper.
And I let myself write.
This sound of silence,
So fleetingly fair
Will last just moments.
The chimes will soon sound
And one million yawns
Will tremble in the throats of others.
So for now,
I let myself write.
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 10:44 AM UTC
Approaching
the bridge deck.
In the back of my neck,
that feeling:
to be bursting out
of a howling whirling womb
and to come to life
for the first time.
A sudden silence
cloaks klaxons and brakes.
In the metallic height
wire-dancers
hang together
- ghosts
weaving a iron web.
I forget them.
The water below
rocks
a craddlesong
and the riverbank
again is the wild freshness
of green and blue,
frontier undisclosed.
The tunnel lies ahead
to bury my sight
and it sips me
back into the
immured swirl,
colourful masquerade
of lit agony.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
To blow away the cobwebs she
threw hand grenades to soldiers,
who in turn fed chocolate dollars
to the starving and the war torn
and the symbols of their faiths
fell into several debts of decay.
Today was just a normal kind of day.
When the klaxons warned of danger and
the peace keepers,redundant,set to make
loose chains of roses, with which they'd
hang all the invaders
and the chocolate dollars melted in
the fireball that was evening
to the sound of distant thunder as the
day departed heaving,
leaving
grieving widows
sitting all alone.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
When it arrived
No man can say.
It may have been here
Since the beginning,
Waiting to be discovered.
Now it sits, studied,
Watched by the world.
Black and reflective,
With the occasional ripple
Running across the surface.
It's purpose is unclear.
For all it does,
All it has ever done,
Is float there.
Slowly spinning on its axis.
Smooth to the touch,
Not warm, not cold.
Its atomic and chemical
Structures are unidentified.
The cube is a mystery.
Sirens wail,
Klaxons flash in warning.
We watch with bated breath.
What does it mean?
A fragment lies on the floor.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 5:51 PM UTC
Praising silence delusional pagans
interpret perception of finite senses
fabricating concepts outlawed by reality,
as sounds audible and imperceptible
travel through mediums elastic and viscous,
eardrums capture peculiar waves of pressure
whilst bodies distinguish pulsating tremors.
What a prodigy! The auditory privilege
aural ability to hear, billows crashing
on shores, winds blow through crispy leaves
of ancient trees, where enamoured nightingales
sing, mating tunes humans reproduce.
Deepening breaths and sighs, musical
compositions voicing instruments while
vocal chords intone words that bring us closer,
exchange ideas, bequeath stories of verities.
Yet, increasing volumes may disrupt
fragile minds eager to listen, in a society
creating noises of its own to fill the voids
left by melodies unheard, disregarded
to the benefit of klaxons, traffic jams, alarms,
frantic rolling stock, people shouting
offenses, constructors drilling to insanity,
and if you listen carefully, energy stream
through electric wires an incessant hum
to which we are clumsily attuned. Our silence,
all but silent, ridded of the rest we could hear,
eyes bat, air flow gently into our lungs, blood
run through our veins, heart beat to a rhythm,
synapses sparkle thoughts impossible to hush,
internal heat engender emotions, flickering
sensations roar. Seducing silence only purpose,
perceive the entirety of all
the universal melodies unheard.
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 5:58 AM UTC
les klaxons et la circulation assourdissante
l’humidité et la pollution, la brume aveuglante
les banlieues de la mégalopole
une nouvelle fois, encore
toujours étourdie de la veille
en sursaut je me réveille
longue chevelure, noire et ébouriffée
s’en échappe un certain pouvoir
indescriptible, j’en suis esclave
elle ferait taire la ville si elle le voulait
elle purifierais l'air si elle le voulait
comme elle a purifié mon âme
la nuit passée.
oui, elle a de l'aura
car non, je n'étais pas seule encore
hier en rentrant à l’appartement
les cocktails ont fait de moi leur
une énième fois
ainsi que sa séduction asiatique
ainsi ce matin elle et moi sommes nues
au-dessus des draps
son bras posé sur moi,
sa main sur mon sein droit
et cette chevelure dominante
que j'en suis intimidée
désemparée
en outre, ses lèvres rouges de la veille
pulpeuses de par sa naissance
rouge à lèvres séché sur l’oreiller
je saisirais sa mâchoire et je les embrasserais
comme on l’a si bien fait, hier
aux heures les plus sombres de la journées
avant qu'elle ne parte,
que je ne sache la retenir
et qu’elle ne redevienne
cette prédatrice venue de l'indochine.
Jan 12, 2025
Jan 12, 2025 at 11:16 PM UTC
As I remember it I sat alone as a stone
somewhere out near Pleiades
and on nights when I felt quite human
I could squint my eyes into the distance
and remember something akin to earth.
Klaxons blared and lurched me alive again
and my ship rumbled underneath me,
already leaning into the Event
like a dog on a leash just too short of his bone
and as I remember things,
and I often remember them differently,
the leathery hands of some goddess I loved
encircled my ship and cradled my heart,
then whispered, "I love you. I'm sorry.
it's time to die."
Then one finger twitched
the leash was cut
and we were off to the races, son.
When we passed the Horizon,
I always thought it would be blue,
the singularity of the pain
pressed white hot kisses down my spine
and I looked for the drip but we were way before that now
so I closed my eyes and let it all go
and gave up everything to those swinging hips
and dead, brown eyes
Out the other side I found myself
s t r e t c h e d
thinner than a rose
my feet were in Omega
when she kissed me on the nose
That is why we're here, sun,
where it all looks the same.
Are we the ones who differ
No one doubts that we're to blame
The war is over and there is a tail on the son
The war is over
but I am waiting
in pieces on the floor
Jul 12, 2019
Jul 12, 2019 at 12:35 AM UTC