Is tamed wildness
And manufactured wilderness-
A plastic world
All my young son will know?

I have known gritty gravel roads
And sunburnt savanah veldt.
Swam and splashed
in muddy dams and reservoirs.
I have sat high above,
in mountain peaks studying clustered clouds
close enough to reach out and run my fingers through by day,
and I have counted the dancing stars above
in vast dark nights.
I have discovered treasures in the misty valleys on early mornings
And seen sun streak through
heavy storm clouds
to colour a grey sky with radiant rainbows.
I have seen surreal snow fall
And slowly erase the world around us.
I have seen majestic beasts truly free-
Wildebeests, various buck and cautious rhinos,
Zebras that danced and played
Around an elephant that loomed high above them,
And elegant wings that whispered
upon westerly winds.

And it has all left me marked,
these magical moments  tattooed in
my south african soul-
And I am more for it - filled.
what will feed their sould now?

I am a cliche poet.
I compare most of your parts
To the cosmos;
I refer to love as immortal,
The soul as ethereal,
The spirit as bird-like,
Death as a cave, surely dark and lonely,
And nature has a magnificient part
With all its pathetic fallacies,
Sunrises, sunsets, tides.
I once compared a man's legs
To an aerial roadmap,
And a ***** to a bull frog
In the Savanah.
O, the crosses I've borne to explain saying
I love you
Without sounding trite.
I may resort to prose
And dress up the poetric mantra.

my cat has dreams.
while sound asleep,
his little grey legs,
flex and run.
his ears ***** and tail lashes. he chatters that funny little hunter's cry.
sometimes i watch him
and smile,
thinking in his dreams,
he must be a panther or lion on the savanah,
or up a jungle tree stalking his dinner,
as does, a big sleek animal roaming.

some mornings,
when i wake.
from a deep sleep,
of half remembered dreams. i open my eyes,
to find my little cat watching me.
i ponder,
whether he attributes dream's meanings,
to my, nighttime
twitchings too.

If my cat could open the front door,
A lion he would be, roaming his savanah, stalking prey

If my cat could speak,
The words of wisdom would pour from his jaw,
sage advice and secrets galore.

If my cat could open the fridge door.
He would in heaven be,
a gourmand in a tatty fur coat.

If my cat could empty his own litter box .....
I would be ever so grateful, ever, ever so grateful.

Your feet taps around the grass
Hop and jump, melodic dance

Girl across the forest stands
Look upward the sky, cries
What would she recalled at
Her finger flow, points to the constelation far beyond her open arm
And she hop around

Found
A
Broken
Bone

On
The
Sacred
Zone

Then she go to the new home
A place to lay, play and sway
Back to the place
Of
Abandonned
Lake

Dance around the sky
The melody sing
Harmonic of the rotten wood
Smell of the love, she never had
And
Run
The
Entire
Savanah
Bare
Foot
Slide
Down
Fall
Into
A
R­abbit
Hole.

Am I should
Be amazed
To the feet
Of a girl
Who slept
In His constelation?

it would appear, that i can keep my mouth shut,
for a prolonged period of time,
as i can forget to write;
frame of reference:
   23rd November (departure) -
hiatus interlude (that is, today,
  27th December) -
9th January (arrival /
            end of hiatus) -
   also known as...
only yesterday i was watching t.v.
and an advert for I.P.A.
                        came on...
   a hallucination in the mouth ensued
with a burp...
              god... what wouldn't i do
for a bottle of ice cold Indian Pale Ale...
what has it been,
  5 weeks in this self-imposed
"rehab"?
                     sure all hell,
it wasn't a Gehenna -
               albeit the first two nights...
3 or so hours sleep between the two,
cold & hot sweats...
                         and then into
reading the second vol. of Sienkiewicz's
trilogy... potop (the deluge)...
   and so the past weeks...
mornings spent drinking strong coffee
with 32% cream and sugar,
smoking cigarettes,
solving crossword puzzles with my
grandmother...
- but you: prior to this:
  three "poems" entitled
boxing day I, II, III...
       but in each no conversational
overtones or, telegram scatter -
so?                        well...
                  me and sober,
me and sober and a blank page...
me and sober and a blank page
and a "poem"?
                        it's not going to happen...
unless...
  a moment of reflection:

(a) and there i was thinking that
the youtube jukebox was broken...
but... apparently you can "fix"...
you can change your location
to the United States,
and turn OFF the restricted mode...
so all the old new suggestions
pop up

(b) boxing day...
was basically a list of all the new
music that i began to forage...
thinking, having succumbed
to listening to the local
95.2 / 100.9FM in Poland...
- had a thought...
   am i really that far behind in
new music?
am i out of touch?
a list of bands with viewing
in the range of x,000, **,000, ***,000...
give or take...

e.g.: beehover, nord skin,
black elephant, swamp sessions, 1000mods,
ruby the hatchet, greenleaf, the silver seas,
sleep, spaceslug, witch, elder,
red scalp, castle, broken bells,
place of skulls, naxatras, UNV nation,
the heavy minds, RAMA,
fabricantes, savanah, dune pilot,
freedom hawk, king buffalo, kurse,
the machine, astrodome, sleeping widow,
colour haze, magic pie, kalamata,
witchhelm, ingrina, sandrider,
fuzzcrafter, black tremor, wolve,
promethean misery, mother engine,
monocle stache, lee van cleef,
welcome the howling tones,
somali yacht club, silent monolith,
the blue sunshine family band,
REZN, the devil & the almighty blues,
kitchen witch, 88 mile trip,
****** praxis, electric zoo,
the sixth chamber, mythic sunship,
whoopie cat, dog days the horned god,
IAH, kosmodrom, deaf radio,
camel driver, mystic sons, weird owl,
sun of man, elbrus, stonehenge,
mudfinger, gin lady, hey satan,
dd blood, bees made honey in the vein tree,
sonora ritual, gnome, godsleep,
ordos, mountainwolf, buffalo fuzz,
black dust, may the fuzz be with you,
transpanda, RHUS, breath after coma,
electric octopus... the white flies...

but that's not the end of it...
basically... a year's worth of... material...
democracy in the arts...
well... if we're all going to attempt
to be pretentious...
i can't digest all of this, either...

(c) listening to socio-political
commentators... the whole Patreon
this, censorship that...
decent weeks sober...
   and... why did i listen to these people
while drinking?
  legacy media this, legacy media that...
interlude, 5 weeks break...
no wonder i'm moving on...

mind you... two words have been
encircling my head for
the past 3...
               if this neo-right is throwing
about terms like
cultural marxism...
what with Zizek, the Frankfurt school...
the whole nine yards...

  not that this could be anything
new...

  whatever happened to
the critique of the predominant
culture of the neo-right?
surely there is an immediate answer
to what is cultural marxism...
there has to be...

  what else?
what else if not cultural darwinism?
i was wondering for a long time now,
why is it that Darwinism is
so predominant in the anglophonic
world? it seeps into every nook
and cranny of "life"...
     it has become so entrenched,
so dogmatic...
that it just had to argue with
the low hanging fruit of biblical
study... we already know that
poetry died prior to any death
of god with that book...
_________
  
   well, that was, the draft,
turns out, i can unearth plenty of drafts
i never published,
given the suspension...
such petty narratives are left
for people who almost always
desire a "freedom" to speak,
rather than a freedom to think...

only yesterday, an argument in the garden,
next to a cherry tree i planted...
people your age travel!
they go to places!
they live!
          a constant reminder:
you need to be honest about
your alcoholism...
   sure... i'll be honest,
they other become honest,
   and i don't have to play into
this solipsistic mea culpa *******
as if: i'm not taking responsibility,
as if i am always to blame,
like... my translation of childhood
naivety is not a curse...
because: if i wouldn't trust people,
and make friends,
well, then,
would i just be your atypical psychopath?!
what were the choices:
either wrong, or not good...
wow!
      a grand assumption:
to be governed by laws that only
favor the rich, but slander
the poor...
            victim-who-whom-hood?
did i name, anyone?
am i rat?
       that's what it boiled down to,
that i behaved like a rat,
i said: more like a fox...
no, more like a rat...
   because i like to walk at night,
when i see women
faking conversation
         over their mobile phones...
to feel, secure?
i stalk the predatory mind-set...
    a woman pretends, or doesn't pretend,
to talk over the phone,
while walking home, alone,
at night, as a deterrent...
        i know how this works...
she'll scream into the phone her location...
i'm not interested,
i passed a woman once,
who just, had to, make it,
adamant, i was not to "****" with her...
ever see a running geisha?
i have...
        i mean: a horse needs a whip,
stirrups, reins,
  a woman like that?
who forces you to react,
to give her a reaction against
the canvas of intimidation?
laugh...
       then you'll see a spriting geisha.

and as i write this?
     in the middle of three candles...
my power-saving bulb went out,
i had to resort to igniting three candles
and sit in the middle of the nocturnal
                    Δ(ηλτα)
        or             Δ(ελτα) of "occult" illumination?
i never know which is which...
sure as **** (c)at
                 is nowhere near to (k)aleidoscope
but, hey, it's greek...
         you have eta (η) and epsilon (ε),
you have omega (ω) and omicron (o)
         you have Φought,
                       and you have ΘilosoΦy...
the stories they tell,
  about languages, that do not employ
diacritical markers,
     but insteal have to balance an orthography...
based upon the "quadratic" system,
for the aesthetic to appease "the gods"...
                EE, OO, FF, foe?
unless you spreschen ***-
           -dish, or high hebrew...
          but still... even there...
               א (alef) and ע (ayin)...
          eh, but the hebrews get away with
the fact that they hide their vowels,
in imaginary niqabs...
                akin to diacritical markers...
the hebrews treat their vowels,
like a people, who would apply diacritical
marks to either vowels or consonants:
plainly in the open.
        so some people have gone places,
Egypt, Thailand...
  i've also been to places...
kant's critique of pure reason,
heidegger's being and time...
russell's history of western philosophy...
i've been to place,
   this world cannot offer me,
a source for solace, or for envy,
    i've transcended the globalist
frenzy of people moving aimlessly...
     i went back, to the beginning of the 20th
century, nay, even further...
sure, let people travel,
       i don't mind:
  but as long as they don't come between
me (fox) and the chicken-shack (books),
we'll be just fine...

      mind you, this question opened my
narrative...
   who makes a better ms. amber (whiskey)?
the scottish, or the irish?
i can tell you, even if it's in a ginger ale
mixer...
         jameson and...
    what am i drinking right now?
                 tullamore dew...
   i mean mainstream whiskey...
              these two specimens?
  competing with, what?
          whyte & mackay... as i'm pretty sure
they can...
   but... bell's? the famous grouse?
the whiskeys that are like laphroaig
and smoked salmon?
         the irish are definitely better
at their brewing than the McDoogles...
ol' paddy McGuire figured it out,
amber, looks like diluted honey...
so it must appeal to the sweet-tooth palette!
well... if beer is the gods' ****...
then whiskey... is the gods' blood...
    have i ****** my life away?
sure... i have...
                  but i've also acquired
a capacity to see more in my mind,
than others have seen with their eyes...