Poetry competition CLOSED 15th December 2011 6:29am
WINNER
Kameron
Kameron
RUNNERS-UP:
lepperochan
and dr_strawbridge
The Epic Works of the Deep Underground
Poetry Contest Description
Write a piece of at least 400 words
I'm giving you all three months to come up with these, since I don't want you to just throw something together for the sake of entering.
Make sure your work is well thought out, not just rambling to meet the word quota!
Must be a NEW poem, not a re-post.
The most beautiful work of art shall be scribed upon flowing white parchment and nailed to the doors of every house in the land, that they may receive the harmonious words of the enlightened.... And by that I mean you'll win. I'm looking forward to reading your entries!
Make sure your work is well thought out, not just rambling to meet the word quota!
Must be a NEW poem, not a re-post.
The most beautiful work of art shall be scribed upon flowing white parchment and nailed to the doors of every house in the land, that they may receive the harmonious words of the enlightened.... And by that I mean you'll win. I'm looking forward to reading your entries!
It's hard for me to write about what life can be
when all I see is what it has been,
walking down the street with a cigarette in between my fingers
smiling at a happy couple
chatting with their dog on leash
and it makes me wonder about the infamous
"some day"
that I can't seem to grasp.
-
I can't help but think about childhood
shaking
at the dark fog that most people grow up in
under a settlement of abuse and a home that claws away at
what we believe in
before we know enough to believe in anything.
With questions I've asked on simple times
on the lighting of big schools
holding a prison's worth of hoodlums,
watching, waiting
for one of their victims to slip
and to become apart of what they hate.
Sometimes it was more than the questions
more than the answers, more than the building itself
who held all the answers to the questions I needed to be asking;
it was us
you
me.
Us, flaunting words on each other in war,
the day I was absent he was stabbed
the day she went to Juvenile
or skipping classes
finding lust under the stairwell,
life
was my domain, my inescapable cave
the place where I was told to shine.
Do what you need to.
I tried.
-
It started in the hallway
where I was blowing bubbles and pushing buttons,
I held my tongue as the mathematics lady came up to me
disapprovingly and jousted with her big words thinking I couldn't compare
with my small, pitiful brain.
Disgracing my age and my unkempt hair, she went off to do her business
with succeeding in laying down her law with one of those tickets
to the detention hall,
where I went off to do mine.
I took my time getting there, spilling it over into a couple other classes
that were going on, the cafeteria and defacing school property
with that of a pencil. I got there, shuffled on in like I owned the place
sat down in my regular seat
and in my mind, drove away.
The normal curly haired fuck that ran the place didn't talk much,
he was a big man and it was almost scary,
someone who made you want to hold your breath and count to ten-
must be all those hoodlums.
A kid in my grade asked me what I was doing in there
he wasn't in my classes, and knew me as a wallflower
not the antagonist reputation I had developed after the first few months.
I just shrugged his question off, I'm sure there was plenty of reasons
that had been building up
discussed at those meetings my super-hero team of teachers held
and they
were just waiting to catch something
besides an argument to lose.
This kid picked on me when we were in elementary
poked fun at the holes in my wardrobe and mindset, he
hadn't talked to me since then and now, my new rebellion seemed to draw
his attention.
I took the black tipped magic marker
and drew his eyes to my own, drew circles around his face
captured that moment in my mind.
It was the first time, looking back at it
that I had felt a turn in my stomach
for the best.
We didn't understand each other in the least, I was a girl
who got in trouble without using foul language and bitching others out
and he was a boy
who was able to articulate words used in debate better than that
of a lawman's.
I wasn't used to people my age being able to out-word the world
better than I.
We had different reasons
different dreams
and smoked different things.
It never worked.
-
I keep walking, put my cigarette out on my tongue in front
of a passerby
who just stared as I placed the butt in my pocket.
It wasn't me to litter
and I wondered about that too.
I stopped walking as my phone vibrated in my pocket
then, I took it out
and smiled.
when all I see is what it has been,
walking down the street with a cigarette in between my fingers
smiling at a happy couple
chatting with their dog on leash
and it makes me wonder about the infamous
"some day"
that I can't seem to grasp.
-
I can't help but think about childhood
shaking
at the dark fog that most people grow up in
under a settlement of abuse and a home that claws away at
what we believe in
before we know enough to believe in anything.
With questions I've asked on simple times
on the lighting of big schools
holding a prison's worth of hoodlums,
watching, waiting
for one of their victims to slip
and to become apart of what they hate.
Sometimes it was more than the questions
more than the answers, more than the building itself
who held all the answers to the questions I needed to be asking;
it was us
you
me.
Us, flaunting words on each other in war,
the day I was absent he was stabbed
the day she went to Juvenile
or skipping classes
finding lust under the stairwell,
life
was my domain, my inescapable cave
the place where I was told to shine.
Do what you need to.
I tried.
-
It started in the hallway
where I was blowing bubbles and pushing buttons,
I held my tongue as the mathematics lady came up to me
disapprovingly and jousted with her big words thinking I couldn't compare
with my small, pitiful brain.
Disgracing my age and my unkempt hair, she went off to do her business
with succeeding in laying down her law with one of those tickets
to the detention hall,
where I went off to do mine.
I took my time getting there, spilling it over into a couple other classes
that were going on, the cafeteria and defacing school property
with that of a pencil. I got there, shuffled on in like I owned the place
sat down in my regular seat
and in my mind, drove away.
The normal curly haired fuck that ran the place didn't talk much,
he was a big man and it was almost scary,
someone who made you want to hold your breath and count to ten-
must be all those hoodlums.
A kid in my grade asked me what I was doing in there
he wasn't in my classes, and knew me as a wallflower
not the antagonist reputation I had developed after the first few months.
I just shrugged his question off, I'm sure there was plenty of reasons
that had been building up
discussed at those meetings my super-hero team of teachers held
and they
were just waiting to catch something
besides an argument to lose.
This kid picked on me when we were in elementary
poked fun at the holes in my wardrobe and mindset, he
hadn't talked to me since then and now, my new rebellion seemed to draw
his attention.
I took the black tipped magic marker
and drew his eyes to my own, drew circles around his face
captured that moment in my mind.
It was the first time, looking back at it
that I had felt a turn in my stomach
for the best.
We didn't understand each other in the least, I was a girl
who got in trouble without using foul language and bitching others out
and he was a boy
who was able to articulate words used in debate better than that
of a lawman's.
I wasn't used to people my age being able to out-word the world
better than I.
We had different reasons
different dreams
and smoked different things.
It never worked.
-
I keep walking, put my cigarette out on my tongue in front
of a passerby
who just stared as I placed the butt in my pocket.
It wasn't me to litter
and I wondered about that too.
I stopped walking as my phone vibrated in my pocket
then, I took it out
and smiled.
- Three Fates in Xibalba -
Based on a dream I had on June 17, 2010
Prologue: City of the Dead…
In a dreamlike state so far removed from waking toils…
I found myself in some alien world’s cold, snaking coils.
Within a bazaar, amidst a large renaissance-style city…
I was sitting at a table chatting with people I know not.
Yet familiar were they to me, and so quick to feel pity,
That it seemed as if we had some kinship in our thought.
A woman walked up to me, she most strangely attired,
In a gold metallic looking jumpsuit and jet black beret.
She was captain of an airship, and with me conspired,
To seek entry into a floating palace on that special day!
Down a dark tunnel she led me to the airship’s docks,
Past places where people were being hung on stocks.
Shadowy beings punished them with sharp scourges…
And from such torments no soul ever wholly emerges!
Ignoring this sight, I followed the lady captain along…
Whilst she began to whistle: a hauntingly familiar song.
Part One: The Floating Palace…
Through the sky we sailed above the domes far below,
Seeing old buildings, with their high and pointed spires.
Before us was a palace floating as the winds will blow,
The object of our quest, its’ torches bright as hot fires.
We landed the ship on a balcony plated all with gold…
I went ahead into the building, where the air was cold.
Within: were glass display cases from wall unto wall…
Decorating the most large and grandly ceremonial hall.
Each case held treasures from various ages and times,
As from the ceiling hung ancient-looking wind chimes.
Serpent-like designs on pillars that rose to the arches,
That formed the supports of the domed ceiling so tall…
Reminded me of vines as clinging to old dying larches,
Which seemed to remind me of one’s capacity to fall.
The residents of the palace seems utterly enthralled…
By: their own treasures, making me entirely appalled.
The residents of the palace tried to bribe me so well,
That lesser men: would be tempted by the fine things.
I, however, knew that greed was a pathway to Hell…
And so I refused them, and all the treasures of kings.
Finally, three old women wearing masks finely gilded,
Designed like sunbursts with women’s faces etched…
Came into the chamber in ragged robes, like wilted,
Withered and dying flowers with long arms stretched.
They opened a chest shaped like a big black dragon,
Removing a crystal ball, that resembled a tiger’s eye.
Holding it before them, they seemed at last to see…
Blind they were just before, to my nearby company.
“You, son of a goddess and sister to the living dawn!
To spurn the finery of ages, you are an insane soul…
You who prefer fleeting love, to gold we can spawn!
What you seek is not here, for the Fates to control.”
And so they chased me through the ancient palace…
Their wicked claws slashing, at the flesh of my arms!
Hulking, misshapen creatures, masks on each face…
Were summoned up from Hell, by sorcery’s charms.
I ran back to the balcony, as the airship was leaving,
Forcing me to jump off, unto the craft’s high balloon.
I climbed an attached robe down to the ship railing…
And I finally was safe, but perhaps did rest too soon!
For from the floating palace came blasts of hot flame,
Which crashed into the airship, each blast the same…
Like meteors of fire, causing the ship to plummet fast.
The captain jumped first, and I foolishly jumped last.
We landed in a river that split part of the city ground,
As I struck out on my own: seeking the way around.
I was lost in streets and alleys that had no real end…
Until I emerged into a plaza where I met not a friend.
Part Two: The River of Death…
The demons of the Three Fates had come down here,
Endless in number, they possessed an aura of fear…
I ran to escape them, and left the city through a gate,
Coming swiftly to a cavern near a deep, frozen lake.
Three little girls all familiar to me made me feel worry,
For they wanted to pass through the cave in a hurry!
They each asked me to escort them thus in their turn,
Whilst behind us the demons made the old city burn.
I heard the Three Fates mocking me as they arrived…
“Do you not know, those girls are facets of yourself?
Parts of your soul long buried, that always so strived,
For you to accept them, not leave them on the shelf.
Like old books that contain knowledge, long forgot,
They beg to be remembered, now they are caught!”
And so, one by one, I escorted my buried halves…
Through that dark watery cavern: on wooden rafts.
The first child I led through the pale, frozen tunnel…
Was from a bygone time in looks as well as manner.
I beheld images on the crystalline walls in a huddle…
From past lives that I lived that struck like a hammer,
Upon my memory, until we got over to the other side.
The girl vanished, and I had to go back for the next…
Who wore clothing of this era in which she did abide.
The walls showed me images of the present context,
Which bothered me the least, of the visions I beheld.
This girl too vanished, and I returned for the last one,
Who was pale white: dressed in silver gown and belt.
The walls showed images of angels, in blue fire spun,
As they fell from the heavens, having lost their battle.
I was amongst them, and tried to block out the sight,
As helpless before old suffering and terror, as cattle…
But I could not: thusly I fell to my knees out of fright!
Suddenly, the airship captain came back to help out,
She grabbed my arm and led me from fear and doubt.
I led the final child to her destination and she vanished,
But now the demons were behind me, never banished!
The Three Fates were with them, cackling ever loudly…
Longing to take me away to some dark hellish eternity,
Yet unable to harm me, and so I heard them cry aloud:
“Before you is the river of Xibalba in the underworld…
The living cannot ever cross it so do not be so proud!”
But on the wooden raft, down the river I was hurtled,
The airship captain paddled the raft, speeding us along,
Singing at the top of her lungs, the same familiar song.
Never had it been so welcome as now it had seemed,
Causing the roof of the cavern to crumble just ahead…
So that sunlight shone down and so warmly it beamed,
That I awoke in safety from that domain of pure dread.
Tri Fortuna, Tri Semita...
Preteritus, Tendo, Infinitio!
Quis exspecto in posterus?
Scisco Tri Fortuna, scisco Hecate.
Based on a dream I had on June 17, 2010
Prologue: City of the Dead…
In a dreamlike state so far removed from waking toils…
I found myself in some alien world’s cold, snaking coils.
Within a bazaar, amidst a large renaissance-style city…
I was sitting at a table chatting with people I know not.
Yet familiar were they to me, and so quick to feel pity,
That it seemed as if we had some kinship in our thought.
A woman walked up to me, she most strangely attired,
In a gold metallic looking jumpsuit and jet black beret.
She was captain of an airship, and with me conspired,
To seek entry into a floating palace on that special day!
Down a dark tunnel she led me to the airship’s docks,
Past places where people were being hung on stocks.
Shadowy beings punished them with sharp scourges…
And from such torments no soul ever wholly emerges!
Ignoring this sight, I followed the lady captain along…
Whilst she began to whistle: a hauntingly familiar song.
Part One: The Floating Palace…
Through the sky we sailed above the domes far below,
Seeing old buildings, with their high and pointed spires.
Before us was a palace floating as the winds will blow,
The object of our quest, its’ torches bright as hot fires.
We landed the ship on a balcony plated all with gold…
I went ahead into the building, where the air was cold.
Within: were glass display cases from wall unto wall…
Decorating the most large and grandly ceremonial hall.
Each case held treasures from various ages and times,
As from the ceiling hung ancient-looking wind chimes.
Serpent-like designs on pillars that rose to the arches,
That formed the supports of the domed ceiling so tall…
Reminded me of vines as clinging to old dying larches,
Which seemed to remind me of one’s capacity to fall.
The residents of the palace seems utterly enthralled…
By: their own treasures, making me entirely appalled.
The residents of the palace tried to bribe me so well,
That lesser men: would be tempted by the fine things.
I, however, knew that greed was a pathway to Hell…
And so I refused them, and all the treasures of kings.
Finally, three old women wearing masks finely gilded,
Designed like sunbursts with women’s faces etched…
Came into the chamber in ragged robes, like wilted,
Withered and dying flowers with long arms stretched.
They opened a chest shaped like a big black dragon,
Removing a crystal ball, that resembled a tiger’s eye.
Holding it before them, they seemed at last to see…
Blind they were just before, to my nearby company.
“You, son of a goddess and sister to the living dawn!
To spurn the finery of ages, you are an insane soul…
You who prefer fleeting love, to gold we can spawn!
What you seek is not here, for the Fates to control.”
And so they chased me through the ancient palace…
Their wicked claws slashing, at the flesh of my arms!
Hulking, misshapen creatures, masks on each face…
Were summoned up from Hell, by sorcery’s charms.
I ran back to the balcony, as the airship was leaving,
Forcing me to jump off, unto the craft’s high balloon.
I climbed an attached robe down to the ship railing…
And I finally was safe, but perhaps did rest too soon!
For from the floating palace came blasts of hot flame,
Which crashed into the airship, each blast the same…
Like meteors of fire, causing the ship to plummet fast.
The captain jumped first, and I foolishly jumped last.
We landed in a river that split part of the city ground,
As I struck out on my own: seeking the way around.
I was lost in streets and alleys that had no real end…
Until I emerged into a plaza where I met not a friend.
Part Two: The River of Death…
The demons of the Three Fates had come down here,
Endless in number, they possessed an aura of fear…
I ran to escape them, and left the city through a gate,
Coming swiftly to a cavern near a deep, frozen lake.
Three little girls all familiar to me made me feel worry,
For they wanted to pass through the cave in a hurry!
They each asked me to escort them thus in their turn,
Whilst behind us the demons made the old city burn.
I heard the Three Fates mocking me as they arrived…
“Do you not know, those girls are facets of yourself?
Parts of your soul long buried, that always so strived,
For you to accept them, not leave them on the shelf.
Like old books that contain knowledge, long forgot,
They beg to be remembered, now they are caught!”
And so, one by one, I escorted my buried halves…
Through that dark watery cavern: on wooden rafts.
The first child I led through the pale, frozen tunnel…
Was from a bygone time in looks as well as manner.
I beheld images on the crystalline walls in a huddle…
From past lives that I lived that struck like a hammer,
Upon my memory, until we got over to the other side.
The girl vanished, and I had to go back for the next…
Who wore clothing of this era in which she did abide.
The walls showed me images of the present context,
Which bothered me the least, of the visions I beheld.
This girl too vanished, and I returned for the last one,
Who was pale white: dressed in silver gown and belt.
The walls showed images of angels, in blue fire spun,
As they fell from the heavens, having lost their battle.
I was amongst them, and tried to block out the sight,
As helpless before old suffering and terror, as cattle…
But I could not: thusly I fell to my knees out of fright!
Suddenly, the airship captain came back to help out,
She grabbed my arm and led me from fear and doubt.
I led the final child to her destination and she vanished,
But now the demons were behind me, never banished!
The Three Fates were with them, cackling ever loudly…
Longing to take me away to some dark hellish eternity,
Yet unable to harm me, and so I heard them cry aloud:
“Before you is the river of Xibalba in the underworld…
The living cannot ever cross it so do not be so proud!”
But on the wooden raft, down the river I was hurtled,
The airship captain paddled the raft, speeding us along,
Singing at the top of her lungs, the same familiar song.
Never had it been so welcome as now it had seemed,
Causing the roof of the cavern to crumble just ahead…
So that sunlight shone down and so warmly it beamed,
That I awoke in safety from that domain of pure dread.
Tri Fortuna, Tri Semita...
Preteritus, Tendo, Infinitio!
Quis exspecto in posterus?
Scisco Tri Fortuna, scisco Hecate.
THIS IS 403 WORDS INCLUDING THE TITLE, I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS!
-Life after Life-
I never knew of love or light,
I only knew of death and darkness.
I am the one know as BringerBháis,
BringerBháis means Bringer of Death.
All around me no matter what I do,
Death falls.
Black fire from the deepest depths of Tarturus,
Falls around me in a Hell Storm.
My family and closest friends drop dead for no reason,
No reason except for knowing me.
I dare not talk to anyone for fear of their lives being taken,
How am I cursed to this extreme of an extent?
Everywhere I go death follows,
I walk by plants and they wither and die.
I kiss a beautiful girl on a magical night,
And the Fates have taken her from me the next day.
Life is so unfair,
“FATHER! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! WHY HAVE YOU DONE THIS?”
Every time I find something dear to me it is ripped away,
Is it my fault?
Could it be me?
But how can I be so bad that everyone around me dies?
I am not a virus,
Am I?
It couldn’t have been me,
I worked so hard to keep my feelings hidden.
I never wished for this,
The Fates have cursed me.
I am but an old man now,
The Fates have not bothered me in thirty years.
They have not bothered me since,
I was called BringerBháis.
I live with only myself,
I never had a son, or a daughter.
I never fell in love,
I never found light.
I die, I finally allow the Fates to see me,
I am ready to die.
The fire surrounds me,
It engulfs me.
I feel pain,
But I welcome it.
Light, bright light,
Isn’t that what heaven is supposed to look like?
All I see is a dark haze and a dark polluted river,
I only smell sulfur and the stench of burning skin.
The only thing I hear is the gentle lapping of the waves on the boat, and the screaming of tortured souls in the distance,
Is this Hell?
No it can’t be Hell; I’ve been there, its warmer and brighter than this,
The haze is starting to clear, I look to the back of the boat.
I gasp, but fresh air that’s not there,
Pushing us across the river is a skeleton, with endlessly deep eye sockets, and a black robe.
Where Am I?
-Life after Life-
I never knew of love or light,
I only knew of death and darkness.
I am the one know as BringerBháis,
BringerBháis means Bringer of Death.
All around me no matter what I do,
Death falls.
Black fire from the deepest depths of Tarturus,
Falls around me in a Hell Storm.
My family and closest friends drop dead for no reason,
No reason except for knowing me.
I dare not talk to anyone for fear of their lives being taken,
How am I cursed to this extreme of an extent?
Everywhere I go death follows,
I walk by plants and they wither and die.
I kiss a beautiful girl on a magical night,
And the Fates have taken her from me the next day.
Life is so unfair,
“FATHER! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! WHY HAVE YOU DONE THIS?”
Every time I find something dear to me it is ripped away,
Is it my fault?
Could it be me?
But how can I be so bad that everyone around me dies?
I am not a virus,
Am I?
It couldn’t have been me,
I worked so hard to keep my feelings hidden.
I never wished for this,
The Fates have cursed me.
I am but an old man now,
The Fates have not bothered me in thirty years.
They have not bothered me since,
I was called BringerBháis.
I live with only myself,
I never had a son, or a daughter.
I never fell in love,
I never found light.
I die, I finally allow the Fates to see me,
I am ready to die.
The fire surrounds me,
It engulfs me.
I feel pain,
But I welcome it.
Light, bright light,
Isn’t that what heaven is supposed to look like?
All I see is a dark haze and a dark polluted river,
I only smell sulfur and the stench of burning skin.
The only thing I hear is the gentle lapping of the waves on the boat, and the screaming of tortured souls in the distance,
Is this Hell?
No it can’t be Hell; I’ve been there, its warmer and brighter than this,
The haze is starting to clear, I look to the back of the boat.
I gasp, but fresh air that’s not there,
Pushing us across the river is a skeleton, with endlessly deep eye sockets, and a black robe.
Where Am I?
Mike, this is more a short story than a poem. Hope it's o.k
The judgment:
Well it wasn't my good judgment that had me surrendering my clothes to the nurse. It was more the rule of the court that had me signing up for the sixteen week rehab.
On reflection I s'pose I got a bit of a break there considering the charges I had against me. Thank god, the shopkeeper who came to the copper's rescue never pressed charges for the good kick in the bollock I'd
landed on him.
So I took the long train journey to the middle of nowhere. It was a battle to stay on that train; only thing that kept me there was the tin foil i had hidden in the toilet. Well that, and the bag of heroin beside it.
One last fix before I went straight. I had heard about these rehab centers. Friends of friends had passed through.
Nothing I'd heard encouraged me to feel optimistic about getting in a good time.
I knew for sure I'd miss the comfort of being numb but the look of hope on my fathers face was etched in my mind. Didn't want to let the oul fella down again. Might kill him. I did have a brush with sobriety
a few months before. That didn't last.
Detox:
There were ten beds in the detox ward; four of us were there to purge ourselves of methadone and heroin, and five were there for kicking the drink. We were a motley crew of bad ass addicts reduced
to cowering in bed shaking like epileptics and sweating like pigs on sun beds.
The awakening:
After the first day of no drugs I wanted out. Fuck that for a game of soldiers. I was losing liquid from every orifice.
Sometimes two at once.
The second day was no better. If I'd had the strength I would have taken someones car. Barley had the strength to take a piss in the right place and the drunk on the bed beside me stopped even trying
to make it to the toilet anyway. The smell was woeful.
My stomach was constantly churning since the first day.Now it was dong summersaults.
On the fourth day we started to come back to some form of alive. Shared stories, smoked, drank tea. We were allowed into the TV room where we were could meet the other patients who had already finished
their detox.
It was there I met Lisa. She was a fine thing altogether: Tall, straight blond hair down to her shoulders that smelled of expensive shampoo,
big blue eyes, perfect features and proportions. She looked so out of place amongst the hard faced drunks and addicts.
Her smile was infectious. She had a little dimple that would appear under her chin and she reeked of class. The kind of girl you would spend a week's wage on taking out to dinner.
Just looking at the way she carried her perfect proportions on her long legs, I knew I wouldn't need to order her a glass, she'd order her own bottle of Chardonnay. All she needed was an extender for her cigarette to round off that near caricature level of class.
We got to talking and she told me her story. She'd been a chronic alcoholic and liked to party, took ecstasy and other party drugs on a regular basis. Child Protection had been called in to take
her two young boys so she'd gone out drunk and burned down the unit offices. She was there because of a court order too.
I told her I couldn't give her alcohol but I could sure give her ecstasy. We both laughed, but I was not joking.
Hell, I was awake for the first time in years. Reckoned I could have whipped up some good lovin' on the spot. I clearly did not understand the workings of the body during the process of getting clean.
I am glad I did not peruse the line at that time.
It was then that Sister Mary approached; she must have been in her seventies. She stood in the middle of the room, "No coupling," she screeched. All went quiet, eyes fixed on us. She must've
smelled the plan forming in my head. That old bat crushed my plans of an easy sixteen weeks. I would keep in touch with Lisa via letters passed in daily church.
I was totally smitten.
The regime:
All hopes of an easy ride were dashed when Sister Mary outlined what was going to be happening over the next fourteen weeks.
We, the four that were there for kicking drugs, were being moved to the house across the way taking the places of the four who had finished their sixteen weeks. We would have no more contact
with the drunks unless it was when we were doing our work or in church.
Work would either be picking potatoes or have us out in the bog stacking turf. I fucking hated both of them jobs. My legs were still playing up over the lack of drugs. I got into a bit of trouble when I persuaded
everyone to break up into two teams and have a war throwing spuds at each other. Caught a few spuds with my head. They do hurt.
So they put me to work with the hens, collecting eggs and washing them, cleaning out all the hen shit and refurbishing the coop.
(continued in next post)
The judgment:
Well it wasn't my good judgment that had me surrendering my clothes to the nurse. It was more the rule of the court that had me signing up for the sixteen week rehab.
On reflection I s'pose I got a bit of a break there considering the charges I had against me. Thank god, the shopkeeper who came to the copper's rescue never pressed charges for the good kick in the bollock I'd
landed on him.
So I took the long train journey to the middle of nowhere. It was a battle to stay on that train; only thing that kept me there was the tin foil i had hidden in the toilet. Well that, and the bag of heroin beside it.
One last fix before I went straight. I had heard about these rehab centers. Friends of friends had passed through.
Nothing I'd heard encouraged me to feel optimistic about getting in a good time.
I knew for sure I'd miss the comfort of being numb but the look of hope on my fathers face was etched in my mind. Didn't want to let the oul fella down again. Might kill him. I did have a brush with sobriety
a few months before. That didn't last.
Detox:
There were ten beds in the detox ward; four of us were there to purge ourselves of methadone and heroin, and five were there for kicking the drink. We were a motley crew of bad ass addicts reduced
to cowering in bed shaking like epileptics and sweating like pigs on sun beds.
The awakening:
After the first day of no drugs I wanted out. Fuck that for a game of soldiers. I was losing liquid from every orifice.
Sometimes two at once.
The second day was no better. If I'd had the strength I would have taken someones car. Barley had the strength to take a piss in the right place and the drunk on the bed beside me stopped even trying
to make it to the toilet anyway. The smell was woeful.
My stomach was constantly churning since the first day.Now it was dong summersaults.
On the fourth day we started to come back to some form of alive. Shared stories, smoked, drank tea. We were allowed into the TV room where we were could meet the other patients who had already finished
their detox.
It was there I met Lisa. She was a fine thing altogether: Tall, straight blond hair down to her shoulders that smelled of expensive shampoo,
big blue eyes, perfect features and proportions. She looked so out of place amongst the hard faced drunks and addicts.
Her smile was infectious. She had a little dimple that would appear under her chin and she reeked of class. The kind of girl you would spend a week's wage on taking out to dinner.
Just looking at the way she carried her perfect proportions on her long legs, I knew I wouldn't need to order her a glass, she'd order her own bottle of Chardonnay. All she needed was an extender for her cigarette to round off that near caricature level of class.
We got to talking and she told me her story. She'd been a chronic alcoholic and liked to party, took ecstasy and other party drugs on a regular basis. Child Protection had been called in to take
her two young boys so she'd gone out drunk and burned down the unit offices. She was there because of a court order too.
I told her I couldn't give her alcohol but I could sure give her ecstasy. We both laughed, but I was not joking.
Hell, I was awake for the first time in years. Reckoned I could have whipped up some good lovin' on the spot. I clearly did not understand the workings of the body during the process of getting clean.
I am glad I did not peruse the line at that time.
It was then that Sister Mary approached; she must have been in her seventies. She stood in the middle of the room, "No coupling," she screeched. All went quiet, eyes fixed on us. She must've
smelled the plan forming in my head. That old bat crushed my plans of an easy sixteen weeks. I would keep in touch with Lisa via letters passed in daily church.
I was totally smitten.
The regime:
All hopes of an easy ride were dashed when Sister Mary outlined what was going to be happening over the next fourteen weeks.
We, the four that were there for kicking drugs, were being moved to the house across the way taking the places of the four who had finished their sixteen weeks. We would have no more contact
with the drunks unless it was when we were doing our work or in church.
Work would either be picking potatoes or have us out in the bog stacking turf. I fucking hated both of them jobs. My legs were still playing up over the lack of drugs. I got into a bit of trouble when I persuaded
everyone to break up into two teams and have a war throwing spuds at each other. Caught a few spuds with my head. They do hurt.
So they put me to work with the hens, collecting eggs and washing them, cleaning out all the hen shit and refurbishing the coop.
(continued in next post)
The hen parties:
I was able to persuade the supervisor to let Fat Dave help me out in the hen coop, something he did not quite appreciate at first.
Dave was a big cunt. Jet black hair that nearly covered his eyes, neck like a jockeys bollocks, hands like shovels. He had jewelry in his lip and his tongue. He also had a quick temper;
shifty fucker that would probably have you robbed and dead in an act.
He was also from Dublin. That was handy when nearly every other cunt was a redneck.
He was what I would call a hard core addict, throwing needles into any and every vein that would carry the buzz. He knew every tablet that would give a stone and every dealer north of the river Liffey.
Dave took no shit from nobody, except now he had to take shit from the hens. He hated the hens more than I did.
One day out of boredom, and possibly evil, we left a trail of feed stretching from the coop into the little hut we used for cleaning eggs. The first hen that followed the feed got the shock of it's life:
Dave grabbed it, held it down and I chopped the dirty bastard's head off.
There was blood everywhere. I flung it back to the coop, its head hanging on by a piece of neck. It ran crazy, head dragging on the ground. Shit, we laughed like maniacs.
I sort of regret that.
It wasn't long before we got wind of the parties that were going on at night.
Over in the drunks' house things were different. They could get visits every day and no one was checking what was being brought in by the visitors. We, in the addict house, got a visit once a month and
everything was checked; hell, we weren't even allowed money and only got to watch TV once a week.
One day in church I got an invite to one of their parties from a letter Lisa gave me. She said she had to go back to court the next day, show the judge she was doing well. But I hoped she'd be back.
That was the last day we had to do church.
The addicts got barred for two weeks for not taking it serious.
You see, mid-way through the service we were s'posed give a blessing for something. The usual shit was being thrown out. "Lord bless the the nuns for their patience," followed by a collective
"Lord bless them". I spoke up, "Lord bless the poor hen that lost it's head yesterday". If it hadn't been for the laughter I might have got away with that one.
We eventually figured out why the priest had stopped sharing the wine at Eucharistic. He was filling the goblet with vodka.
A night of music drink and the craic:
I had two weeks left to go when one of the lads quit. It was my job to try and stop him; I was group leader but I couldn't have cared less if the chap went home or not. He went. Died of an overdose a week
later. I felt like shit.
They brought in some other chap. He arrived in wearing a three piece suit and tie. Dave and me took an instant dislike to him.
Dave wanted to beat him up after talking to him for five minutes and I didn't blame him. He was a snobby fucker who had a small coke problem. Took coke three times, got caught and pleaded addict in court.
He hated having to mix with us.
One week to go and the party was on for that night. Dave and myself were invited. He'd wanted to shift some farmers wife he was eying up in church; guess she wasn't bad looking for a redneck.
First we had to deal with the night porter. He was a nice enough chap; afraid of his shadow, though, which worked out well for us. He agreed to turn a blind eye while we sneaked out to the big barn across
from the hen coop.
Time came for the session. Me and Dave got up, dressed and calmly walked past the night porter. When we got to the barn there was plenty of drink and a small radio. Nelly Furtardo was singing.
I got talking to Lisa and asked how the court went. Didn't want to talk about it... Her time was nearly up too, Only a few days left. She wanted to make plans for me to go visit her once she got out.
Handed me a mobile phone so we could stay in touch.
A couple of hours passed and everyone was pissed.
We needed entertainment. Our thoughts, naturally, turned to the hens.
Me and Dave went and got two of them. First we tried to race them. That didn't work out well. Then some bright spark decided to re-create that scene in the Rocky film where Rocky chases a hen.
Fuckin headcase chased it around that barn until he went arse over tit. We lost two good hens with that idea; they saw the exit and ran off into the night.
We got two more and tried to fight them. Rather, tried to get them to fight each other. There were calls of "hey hen, that other hen says you cluck like a bitch when you drop an egg! Ya gonna take
that?" No joy there either. We gave up on the hens and concentrated on our own layings.
Three days later Lisa went home but we kept in touch for the rest of the week. Dave had plans to make up with his missus. He had a feel for the clean life.
I had plans to move in with my aunt who lived in a posh part of Dublin close to where I had pinned down a job.
The day came quick enough when we were finished our time. I did say "time". I was not there because I wanted to be, I was made to. Had I gone off my own bat things might have worked out better
in the long run.
.
I was able to persuade the supervisor to let Fat Dave help me out in the hen coop, something he did not quite appreciate at first.
Dave was a big cunt. Jet black hair that nearly covered his eyes, neck like a jockeys bollocks, hands like shovels. He had jewelry in his lip and his tongue. He also had a quick temper;
shifty fucker that would probably have you robbed and dead in an act.
He was also from Dublin. That was handy when nearly every other cunt was a redneck.
He was what I would call a hard core addict, throwing needles into any and every vein that would carry the buzz. He knew every tablet that would give a stone and every dealer north of the river Liffey.
Dave took no shit from nobody, except now he had to take shit from the hens. He hated the hens more than I did.
One day out of boredom, and possibly evil, we left a trail of feed stretching from the coop into the little hut we used for cleaning eggs. The first hen that followed the feed got the shock of it's life:
Dave grabbed it, held it down and I chopped the dirty bastard's head off.
There was blood everywhere. I flung it back to the coop, its head hanging on by a piece of neck. It ran crazy, head dragging on the ground. Shit, we laughed like maniacs.
I sort of regret that.
It wasn't long before we got wind of the parties that were going on at night.
Over in the drunks' house things were different. They could get visits every day and no one was checking what was being brought in by the visitors. We, in the addict house, got a visit once a month and
everything was checked; hell, we weren't even allowed money and only got to watch TV once a week.
One day in church I got an invite to one of their parties from a letter Lisa gave me. She said she had to go back to court the next day, show the judge she was doing well. But I hoped she'd be back.
That was the last day we had to do church.
The addicts got barred for two weeks for not taking it serious.
You see, mid-way through the service we were s'posed give a blessing for something. The usual shit was being thrown out. "Lord bless the the nuns for their patience," followed by a collective
"Lord bless them". I spoke up, "Lord bless the poor hen that lost it's head yesterday". If it hadn't been for the laughter I might have got away with that one.
We eventually figured out why the priest had stopped sharing the wine at Eucharistic. He was filling the goblet with vodka.
A night of music drink and the craic:
I had two weeks left to go when one of the lads quit. It was my job to try and stop him; I was group leader but I couldn't have cared less if the chap went home or not. He went. Died of an overdose a week
later. I felt like shit.
They brought in some other chap. He arrived in wearing a three piece suit and tie. Dave and me took an instant dislike to him.
Dave wanted to beat him up after talking to him for five minutes and I didn't blame him. He was a snobby fucker who had a small coke problem. Took coke three times, got caught and pleaded addict in court.
He hated having to mix with us.
One week to go and the party was on for that night. Dave and myself were invited. He'd wanted to shift some farmers wife he was eying up in church; guess she wasn't bad looking for a redneck.
First we had to deal with the night porter. He was a nice enough chap; afraid of his shadow, though, which worked out well for us. He agreed to turn a blind eye while we sneaked out to the big barn across
from the hen coop.
Time came for the session. Me and Dave got up, dressed and calmly walked past the night porter. When we got to the barn there was plenty of drink and a small radio. Nelly Furtardo was singing.
I got talking to Lisa and asked how the court went. Didn't want to talk about it... Her time was nearly up too, Only a few days left. She wanted to make plans for me to go visit her once she got out.
Handed me a mobile phone so we could stay in touch.
A couple of hours passed and everyone was pissed.
We needed entertainment. Our thoughts, naturally, turned to the hens.
Me and Dave went and got two of them. First we tried to race them. That didn't work out well. Then some bright spark decided to re-create that scene in the Rocky film where Rocky chases a hen.
Fuckin headcase chased it around that barn until he went arse over tit. We lost two good hens with that idea; they saw the exit and ran off into the night.
We got two more and tried to fight them. Rather, tried to get them to fight each other. There were calls of "hey hen, that other hen says you cluck like a bitch when you drop an egg! Ya gonna take
that?" No joy there either. We gave up on the hens and concentrated on our own layings.
Three days later Lisa went home but we kept in touch for the rest of the week. Dave had plans to make up with his missus. He had a feel for the clean life.
I had plans to move in with my aunt who lived in a posh part of Dublin close to where I had pinned down a job.
The day came quick enough when we were finished our time. I did say "time". I was not there because I wanted to be, I was made to. Had I gone off my own bat things might have worked out better
in the long run.
.
A day in my life
The car alarm goes off piercing the blotted silence
I wake up from my chemical stupor and check the time
The clock on the wall greets me with indifference
The hour is bad and the hour is a tad sad, it conveys
I walk up and grab a bottle of ice cold water from the freezer
And walk up to the view of the insomniac town
The city greets me with fleeting headlights and stranded denizens
That is so not new and the predictability is a drag
I walk back to the soiled mattress
And shut my eyes enough to catch the blades of the fan
In sheer, rhythmic action
Another day of my life
I walk around the corners
And see pepped-up faces
Flushed and bright and looking ahead
I go from corner to corner
Filling my cavities with bitter acid
And look around at my city
The city drains me
and offers more each time to be drained later
The sadist positioning the masochist
A hypothetical question, my mind tells me
I glance upon the multitudes
Stopping, stretching, smiling
The millions pain me
In limbo, in transition
In vogue, in void
Insane, insipid
The city breeds and burns
And the zombies sleepwalk
I rush back to the elevator
The watchman dozes, oblivious
My apartment stinks of yesterday
While my door bids adieu
As I shut it, trapped inside
Behind the blinds and wrapped newspapers
The street flashes and fudges
Another day in my life
Without purpose, truth or communication
With my graduate degree in communication
Its easier to talk to the computer
Hours later I wake up and a stranger is in
He stares at me from the broken mirror
The second year of bad luck
I jump streets and come across a thong
Assembled-smoking, patting, smiling
I glance upon all the unfamiliar faces
Looking for truth-in the men and women
A fleet of old cars block the pavement
Stripes of black and yellow with scars crisscrossed
An expected drizzle kickstarts the party
The black umbrellas mushroom all around me
Figurative Hiroshimas in unison
I gaze and lip read behind the ‘scratchproof’ glass
As the hordes drag themselves chained and pained
And they acknowledge my presence and smile
The kind which comes when you stand in attention
In front of a gun squad in joker's outfits
With real guns and real bullets and real death
The pouring stops as the sky goes blank-metaphor!
Purple haze diffuses in the air losing its essence
As heads roll in the corners of the park
False pretence of higher planes and newer dimensions
They dream of simulated death but far from the goal
They slide the casket into the minivan
And collective ignition follows suit with honks
Leaving past the lies, the surgery and long life
I walk back to my den feeling like a mouse
Secret prayer on my lip-for anthrax and sarin gas
I want to smile-even the comics make me gloomy
Showing the inconvenient half-truths in polychrome
I want mood-equalizers and an electric chair
I want to sing as my body sings
Just can't wait for another day, straight away..."
The car alarm goes off piercing the blotted silence
I wake up from my chemical stupor and check the time
The clock on the wall greets me with indifference
The hour is bad and the hour is a tad sad, it conveys
I walk up and grab a bottle of ice cold water from the freezer
And walk up to the view of the insomniac town
The city greets me with fleeting headlights and stranded denizens
That is so not new and the predictability is a drag
I walk back to the soiled mattress
And shut my eyes enough to catch the blades of the fan
In sheer, rhythmic action
Another day of my life
I walk around the corners
And see pepped-up faces
Flushed and bright and looking ahead
I go from corner to corner
Filling my cavities with bitter acid
And look around at my city
The city drains me
and offers more each time to be drained later
The sadist positioning the masochist
A hypothetical question, my mind tells me
I glance upon the multitudes
Stopping, stretching, smiling
The millions pain me
In limbo, in transition
In vogue, in void
Insane, insipid
The city breeds and burns
And the zombies sleepwalk
I rush back to the elevator
The watchman dozes, oblivious
My apartment stinks of yesterday
While my door bids adieu
As I shut it, trapped inside
Behind the blinds and wrapped newspapers
The street flashes and fudges
Another day in my life
Without purpose, truth or communication
With my graduate degree in communication
Its easier to talk to the computer
Hours later I wake up and a stranger is in
He stares at me from the broken mirror
The second year of bad luck
I jump streets and come across a thong
Assembled-smoking, patting, smiling
I glance upon all the unfamiliar faces
Looking for truth-in the men and women
A fleet of old cars block the pavement
Stripes of black and yellow with scars crisscrossed
An expected drizzle kickstarts the party
The black umbrellas mushroom all around me
Figurative Hiroshimas in unison
I gaze and lip read behind the ‘scratchproof’ glass
As the hordes drag themselves chained and pained
And they acknowledge my presence and smile
The kind which comes when you stand in attention
In front of a gun squad in joker's outfits
With real guns and real bullets and real death
The pouring stops as the sky goes blank-metaphor!
Purple haze diffuses in the air losing its essence
As heads roll in the corners of the park
False pretence of higher planes and newer dimensions
They dream of simulated death but far from the goal
They slide the casket into the minivan
And collective ignition follows suit with honks
Leaving past the lies, the surgery and long life
I walk back to my den feeling like a mouse
Secret prayer on my lip-for anthrax and sarin gas
I want to smile-even the comics make me gloomy
Showing the inconvenient half-truths in polychrome
I want mood-equalizers and an electric chair
I want to sing as my body sings
Just can't wait for another day, straight away..."
KASHMIR
“Discovery of pain? An ode to pathos
a life less ordinary? A dream of retribution
Few diamonds from the sea of eyes
Freezing in the extreme cold
The blood shoots up fast
(And the newness is being a nuisance)
The shikara. afloat the day before
On brightly lit snow that refused to melt
Had left an image? A mirage?
The coldness is felt
As the armies march ahead
(On the streets and in the cave!)
Love blossoms and a life takes form
Formless? A brilliant zygote?
The high rise and the low pay
and some brief moments of humorless escapism!
Along with some insignificant escapades
There could not be a higher high
Or a whiter lie… so pristine white
The weather is a frenzied euphoria
The elephants in the sky are all paeans
For some unknown god of lost cause
The fire burns deep inside
And a misogynist lies awake
Filling his lungs with purple haze
Counting his days? Or kills may be?
A jihadi? A spy? Or a workless lad
who smokes pot and dreams all the time
Of ‘Jannat’, ‘hoor’ or his burnt house?
And the receiver sits by the window
Ghost reveries haunting her
Her crystal blue eyes exploring the nude blue
the connection has been found and another begun
the age old myth… coming true?
Defloration proving to be a painful affair
(How the denizens of the jungle do it so effortlessly!)
Questions and tears welling up, swelling up
Rape by army man? A virgin girl?
Separatist march? Political pot boiler?
Lovelorn lovers? Long gone !
Who cometh first-„love, lust or lucre.?
Or land.…the land of a thousand dreams?
Or the land of the dead?
Answers are hard and answers are many!
The bottle of industrial dye would be empty tonight
and the eyes of a dozen speechless puppets dried
Possibilities are endless…ditto for progeny
and ditto for penury! What’s the story, morning glory?
An intrepid soldier with a tepid cup of black tea
gets shot in the eye-his nerve ends severed
(Unable to see the dirt alongside the rim of the cup!)
The lame dog watches the crutches as the kids play
and as the kids lie
And dream of prosthetic limbs falling from the high heavens
for their sisters and mothers and brothers and fathers
In stead of Kalashnikovs and Uzis and flags made from cheap rayon!
Mass hallucination? Mass murder? Mass graves? Or mass prayers?
Or mass journeys? The masses raising their voice
“Peace” being a relative term finds its meaning lost
in the mortar shells stuck in the school walls
Accepted with acrimony-could it be nonchalance?
The cluttering and fluttering and the muttering and the uttering
The stories of closed shutters and habitual stutters
Tell stories of great glory, gory glory! (Laughs! Claps!)
The terror can be seen in the trees, in the lake
In the schools and mosques and the gunny sack carrying men
the paradise lost? Love long gone? Ecstasy drenched in agony
the principles of evil made wisdom, the Karma? The Dharma?
Who is who? And what is what?
What is dream? And what is illusion?
Who is Allah? Who is muhajjir?
Who is the jehadi and who is Rama?
Deep lake and deeper meanings say nothing as you stand
In front of demolished guest houses or empty streets
and if you listen closely you could hear the shrieks and howls
from the distance-innocence getting gang raped
and gangrenous roots of hatred sinking deeper…
So don’t listen or judge-it’s a never-never land
the dead valley like the dead sea- dead and bloated!
Amen!”
“Discovery of pain? An ode to pathos
a life less ordinary? A dream of retribution
Few diamonds from the sea of eyes
Freezing in the extreme cold
The blood shoots up fast
(And the newness is being a nuisance)
The shikara. afloat the day before
On brightly lit snow that refused to melt
Had left an image? A mirage?
The coldness is felt
As the armies march ahead
(On the streets and in the cave!)
Love blossoms and a life takes form
Formless? A brilliant zygote?
The high rise and the low pay
and some brief moments of humorless escapism!
Along with some insignificant escapades
There could not be a higher high
Or a whiter lie… so pristine white
The weather is a frenzied euphoria
The elephants in the sky are all paeans
For some unknown god of lost cause
The fire burns deep inside
And a misogynist lies awake
Filling his lungs with purple haze
Counting his days? Or kills may be?
A jihadi? A spy? Or a workless lad
who smokes pot and dreams all the time
Of ‘Jannat’, ‘hoor’ or his burnt house?
And the receiver sits by the window
Ghost reveries haunting her
Her crystal blue eyes exploring the nude blue
the connection has been found and another begun
the age old myth… coming true?
Defloration proving to be a painful affair
(How the denizens of the jungle do it so effortlessly!)
Questions and tears welling up, swelling up
Rape by army man? A virgin girl?
Separatist march? Political pot boiler?
Lovelorn lovers? Long gone !
Who cometh first-„love, lust or lucre.?
Or land.…the land of a thousand dreams?
Or the land of the dead?
Answers are hard and answers are many!
The bottle of industrial dye would be empty tonight
and the eyes of a dozen speechless puppets dried
Possibilities are endless…ditto for progeny
and ditto for penury! What’s the story, morning glory?
An intrepid soldier with a tepid cup of black tea
gets shot in the eye-his nerve ends severed
(Unable to see the dirt alongside the rim of the cup!)
The lame dog watches the crutches as the kids play
and as the kids lie
And dream of prosthetic limbs falling from the high heavens
for their sisters and mothers and brothers and fathers
In stead of Kalashnikovs and Uzis and flags made from cheap rayon!
Mass hallucination? Mass murder? Mass graves? Or mass prayers?
Or mass journeys? The masses raising their voice
“Peace” being a relative term finds its meaning lost
in the mortar shells stuck in the school walls
Accepted with acrimony-could it be nonchalance?
The cluttering and fluttering and the muttering and the uttering
The stories of closed shutters and habitual stutters
Tell stories of great glory, gory glory! (Laughs! Claps!)
The terror can be seen in the trees, in the lake
In the schools and mosques and the gunny sack carrying men
the paradise lost? Love long gone? Ecstasy drenched in agony
the principles of evil made wisdom, the Karma? The Dharma?
Who is who? And what is what?
What is dream? And what is illusion?
Who is Allah? Who is muhajjir?
Who is the jehadi and who is Rama?
Deep lake and deeper meanings say nothing as you stand
In front of demolished guest houses or empty streets
and if you listen closely you could hear the shrieks and howls
from the distance-innocence getting gang raped
and gangrenous roots of hatred sinking deeper…
So don’t listen or judge-it’s a never-never land
the dead valley like the dead sea- dead and bloated!
Amen!”
The start without an end
1
“You have questioned yes
The gamma burst of profound curiosity
With dark ominous clouds of doubt
Which linger beyond reason
Or beyond the realms of rational phenomena
And I have known your question
Before the start of time
Before the end of us and them
This is the question of everyone
The opiate of the opaque mass
Who are but transparent, naked
The question is about the seamless existence they have
2
‘Who I am really’ you asked
Not recreational standstill or
Nor existential ennui, not even
Some momentary yet grand stupor
It was direct, this question
Just like Venus asking for Adonis
Back from the afterlife
To the great lord himself
3
And I pondered a bit about
My unfinished poem and..
Drifted away to my realm..
Familiar with my signature
And before I could even realize
You had deserted me
The emptiness of the white walls
Whirred and whined in my mind
You had walked out of that moment
But my love! Did you ever try
To see yourself thru my eyes
4
Did you see all the punctuations
Did you see yourself in my anatomy
In my mid sentence pauses
In my faltering, in my silence
The crumpled pages and the softened paper
5
My love! Did you not see yourself in
The irreverent bold brush strokes
In the myriad landscapes
Which I bleed in my hours of ceaseless chattering..
Yes! I am the artist
Savage and random
And you are my art...
6
Yes! I am the dying od man
Seated beneath the tree devoid of life
With the rain lashing at me like a requiem
And you are the fluorescent new leaf
Which sends down a few droplets
Of sweet water before my wordless farewell
7
Every stop, every dream, every smile
Every drop of tear, every awakening
Every moment of bliss in my world is you
And I would have never let you know it…
As once you know, you would take it in
Swallow it into a vault
One inside the tiny one-that I am aware of
You would let the knowledge drift
Into a bigger vacuum within
With layers piling over time
And my fathomless emotion would
Just end up as another souvenir
Something to look at and appreciate
In the moments of my non-existence
8
I don’t want you to
Know and remember my love
As a stoc pedestrian half-thought
Or some suspended story
Of a beautiful void
I want you to know yourself thru
My eyes and fall in love with
The jangled bundle of contradiction
That you have been and would be..always
9
I want to be the sun that gives
Warmth and life and light to you
In the glorious hours of the day
And let the moon shower silver
And soak in your longing
Bathed in my own light…"
1
“You have questioned yes
The gamma burst of profound curiosity
With dark ominous clouds of doubt
Which linger beyond reason
Or beyond the realms of rational phenomena
And I have known your question
Before the start of time
Before the end of us and them
This is the question of everyone
The opiate of the opaque mass
Who are but transparent, naked
The question is about the seamless existence they have
2
‘Who I am really’ you asked
Not recreational standstill or
Nor existential ennui, not even
Some momentary yet grand stupor
It was direct, this question
Just like Venus asking for Adonis
Back from the afterlife
To the great lord himself
3
And I pondered a bit about
My unfinished poem and..
Drifted away to my realm..
Familiar with my signature
And before I could even realize
You had deserted me
The emptiness of the white walls
Whirred and whined in my mind
You had walked out of that moment
But my love! Did you ever try
To see yourself thru my eyes
4
Did you see all the punctuations
Did you see yourself in my anatomy
In my mid sentence pauses
In my faltering, in my silence
The crumpled pages and the softened paper
5
My love! Did you not see yourself in
The irreverent bold brush strokes
In the myriad landscapes
Which I bleed in my hours of ceaseless chattering..
Yes! I am the artist
Savage and random
And you are my art...
6
Yes! I am the dying od man
Seated beneath the tree devoid of life
With the rain lashing at me like a requiem
And you are the fluorescent new leaf
Which sends down a few droplets
Of sweet water before my wordless farewell
7
Every stop, every dream, every smile
Every drop of tear, every awakening
Every moment of bliss in my world is you
And I would have never let you know it…
As once you know, you would take it in
Swallow it into a vault
One inside the tiny one-that I am aware of
You would let the knowledge drift
Into a bigger vacuum within
With layers piling over time
And my fathomless emotion would
Just end up as another souvenir
Something to look at and appreciate
In the moments of my non-existence
8
I don’t want you to
Know and remember my love
As a stoc pedestrian half-thought
Or some suspended story
Of a beautiful void
I want you to know yourself thru
My eyes and fall in love with
The jangled bundle of contradiction
That you have been and would be..always
9
I want to be the sun that gives
Warmth and life and light to you
In the glorious hours of the day
And let the moon shower silver
And soak in your longing
Bathed in my own light…"
I am a solider.
I did my first tour in fields of green grass
burnt ounces daily,
slept on pounds.
I got my pilots license on acid
dropping bombs on pages
writing staged plays plaguing
courts with words.
When we invaded cocaine I was on
the front lines.
Three jobs and no time.
They tried chemical warfare,
we fought back with ether and
Two Cee Eee.
There were ecstasy air raids
and I lost my love to that war.
Six years of heroine through
functions, statistics, and trigonometry.
I fucked then, and that's what I called it.
Don't get bent about that.
You don't like it,
you love it.
We lost good men back then.
Overdoses and bunk hits.
I was one of them, broken down,
and they shot saline into me.
I came crying back,
born again.
Critics tell me it was worth nothing.
We swear too much.
We're maladjusted.
We're vulgar.
I came back from that war,
and those trenches still haunt me.
I held my love in my arms as she gave in
to false friendships and hope broken.
Coming back meant spit in your face,
they labeled you a liar.
air meant hard breathing
and dealing was just another thing
you did.
Loss became a daily event again,
I lost loving people who loved
themselves over love they thought they did not
need from others.
I'm telling you now, I served through
hallucinations and methamphetamine.
I smoked crack like an IED
set off
to clean houses that weren't mine
at seven dollars an hour.
You don't want to hear it, it's true,
a heroin addict on Pee Cee Pee
that sees canyons in asphalt.
I am among you
I have broken through
On Dee Em Tee
I have stolen for drugs.
I have passed out everywhere you
can imagine.
I have fucked all the wrong people.
There were broken bones,
I knew nothing.
Gun shots and barrels pointed
in my face and now
at you.
There was cancer mixed
with land mines and
people screaming.
Don't tell me to be someone else.
Weaker ones would kill to leave that life
and have I?
Still surrounded by believers in old ways
in saying you can't,
you cannot—
but you can.
Cunt is just a word
and I am a faggot
who fucks broads in
daylight like
colliding with road before
it is killed.
Words that people did not fear there
shock now;
no one can interpret
what love means when they cannot
read fuck the way they love.
No one can fight for so long
without hope
taken.
The enemy did capture me
with my Dr. Thompson suit
case, a drug one. I have been a POW
for twelve months now—
But I am no prisoner.
There is blood in me
darker than black.
No cage is mine but
mind.
You build your cages
from precious metals
you were taught to cherish,
but mean nothing.
The fight is not over.
You do not love me like I love you,
you will not let me love you,
your no is the yes to my question.
Are you becoming—?
Them, who told you what right was when.
Your parents held the letter
that ordered them to raise you how.
So you howled once,
some never stopped.
Tell me my love is not love and
fuck is not a word that loves
like cock and cunt were meant to be
together like cock cock and cunt cunt
do not go better together.
Sharing stories of the sex I sold for drugs,
telling you I've been raped,
begging you to listen when I say that fucking means
I love you.
But your blinders divide us.
Your desire makes you dull.
You're reaching for words is full
blown bull
like cocaine cut with pixie
stix.
There is no poem here.
There is nothing that will chill you.
No drug can bring you up from where you
pigeonhole yourselves.
I will get back in those trenches,
I will fight for love,
for Fucking
every one raped by what you want,
I will scream for dykes and faggots
all without a permit.
Our nudity will spill into the streets
and you will see
I am still coming up.
I am still feeling it.
My truth saves me from you
and I cannot blame you
for trying.
I did my first tour in fields of green grass
burnt ounces daily,
slept on pounds.
I got my pilots license on acid
dropping bombs on pages
writing staged plays plaguing
courts with words.
When we invaded cocaine I was on
the front lines.
Three jobs and no time.
They tried chemical warfare,
we fought back with ether and
Two Cee Eee.
There were ecstasy air raids
and I lost my love to that war.
Six years of heroine through
functions, statistics, and trigonometry.
I fucked then, and that's what I called it.
Don't get bent about that.
You don't like it,
you love it.
We lost good men back then.
Overdoses and bunk hits.
I was one of them, broken down,
and they shot saline into me.
I came crying back,
born again.
Critics tell me it was worth nothing.
We swear too much.
We're maladjusted.
We're vulgar.
I came back from that war,
and those trenches still haunt me.
I held my love in my arms as she gave in
to false friendships and hope broken.
Coming back meant spit in your face,
they labeled you a liar.
air meant hard breathing
and dealing was just another thing
you did.
Loss became a daily event again,
I lost loving people who loved
themselves over love they thought they did not
need from others.
I'm telling you now, I served through
hallucinations and methamphetamine.
I smoked crack like an IED
set off
to clean houses that weren't mine
at seven dollars an hour.
You don't want to hear it, it's true,
a heroin addict on Pee Cee Pee
that sees canyons in asphalt.
I am among you
I have broken through
On Dee Em Tee
I have stolen for drugs.
I have passed out everywhere you
can imagine.
I have fucked all the wrong people.
There were broken bones,
I knew nothing.
Gun shots and barrels pointed
in my face and now
at you.
There was cancer mixed
with land mines and
people screaming.
Don't tell me to be someone else.
Weaker ones would kill to leave that life
and have I?
Still surrounded by believers in old ways
in saying you can't,
you cannot—
but you can.
Cunt is just a word
and I am a faggot
who fucks broads in
daylight like
colliding with road before
it is killed.
Words that people did not fear there
shock now;
no one can interpret
what love means when they cannot
read fuck the way they love.
No one can fight for so long
without hope
taken.
The enemy did capture me
with my Dr. Thompson suit
case, a drug one. I have been a POW
for twelve months now—
But I am no prisoner.
There is blood in me
darker than black.
No cage is mine but
mind.
You build your cages
from precious metals
you were taught to cherish,
but mean nothing.
The fight is not over.
You do not love me like I love you,
you will not let me love you,
your no is the yes to my question.
Are you becoming—?
Them, who told you what right was when.
Your parents held the letter
that ordered them to raise you how.
So you howled once,
some never stopped.
Tell me my love is not love and
fuck is not a word that loves
like cock and cunt were meant to be
together like cock cock and cunt cunt
do not go better together.
Sharing stories of the sex I sold for drugs,
telling you I've been raped,
begging you to listen when I say that fucking means
I love you.
But your blinders divide us.
Your desire makes you dull.
You're reaching for words is full
blown bull
like cocaine cut with pixie
stix.
There is no poem here.
There is nothing that will chill you.
No drug can bring you up from where you
pigeonhole yourselves.
I will get back in those trenches,
I will fight for love,
for Fucking
every one raped by what you want,
I will scream for dykes and faggots
all without a permit.
Our nudity will spill into the streets
and you will see
I am still coming up.
I am still feeling it.
My truth saves me from you
and I cannot blame you
for trying.
Anonymous
Stunning, Mr Strawbridge. Welcome.
DP.
DP.
Through the years you've learned how laughter can evaporate the tears, so you've turned yourself into a clown centered upon only the performance and, alone with your light swirl of vodka straight, you find that purity comes in toxins too.
You'll never make it to the level of everclear, but are content to settle here and slumber the pain in mixed signals spoken from numb, wet lips.
Pull up a stranger, strike up a story peppered with lies....
From this point on, we will only leave a confused series of stains that we don't remember spilling but are happy to claim.
Realize Now
everything you don't say matters....conversation is soil for burying secrets and eventually you forget your own and mistake the costume for the naked skin.
The stranger's name is something you will dream with once you've achieved the climax of absence you knew all along.
This is the day after no tomorrow
And
Carpe diem is burning every bridge like it is the last and the future shock of an island isolation is inviting a flood without escape.
----------------------
One day the effect will return to sleigh the cause.
----------------------
For the lack of being human, there's a chase for a shadow claim and everyone stakes a reflection and calls it Name.
I've wasted fantasies on praying knees, tasted the space between parted lips, the act of theft fades the stolen value of her prize, and I'm locked in a kiss that won't let me scream.
Love wants me spread on the wall.
Now
Trapped in a traffic prison of speeding steel,
fiber-glass monsters steered by the will of maniacs who are in a hurry to make it on time to their complaints, they don't want to disappoint their ghosts or lose the respect of the ones they hate.
Occupation. Money. Children. Funeral Bills.
I survive the time, wading through the routine that pulls to drown me, thinking about wet vaginas
and arms
and soft voices and laughter serenades and stupid jokes that aren't funny but are and
hips, thighs, pillow breasts, and eyes that understand and keep me, and tiny hands, and-
Love is a slender nail piercing the thickest skin. Glorify a halo from this puncture wound and my eyes
would be a vacant reflection for you to gaze. See us stripping despair like
Suicidal Royalty. I wish we were dead, where borders are outlaws and distance is a renegade
unpresent.
clouding bad weather to the lines of your face. What love is nothing to believe and what use is this machine. To me.
After Now.
Through the years the colors bleed to a single jaded shade and
rainbows look like scars and
stars look like holes. Pavement is a maze through the jungle architecture of efficient boxed living,
hand in hand with a compromise, fingers laced together like a noose, we lynch one another in judgement
and disguise our fear in knowing best. The polar shift, hate goes to heaven, love goes to hell.
Insecurity is security.
Fear is courage.
Immorality is morality.
Slavery is freedom.
And
War is peace.
Here
The wind blows to you the rejected breath of lives
gambled on their second chance. In the background, the same instrument kills a different chord.
The seductive quake of a violin. The migraine of a piano. The sobbing of a horn.
The silence that fills the hollow of an abandoned drum--the last tune echoes just out of reach
and remembers her clearly. forever.
A child has been hibernating in intoxication and awakes
in the barren drought of summer scorching age onto its face.
You'll never make it to the level of everclear, but are content to settle here and slumber the pain in mixed signals spoken from numb, wet lips.
Pull up a stranger, strike up a story peppered with lies....
From this point on, we will only leave a confused series of stains that we don't remember spilling but are happy to claim.
Realize Now
everything you don't say matters....conversation is soil for burying secrets and eventually you forget your own and mistake the costume for the naked skin.
The stranger's name is something you will dream with once you've achieved the climax of absence you knew all along.
This is the day after no tomorrow
And
Carpe diem is burning every bridge like it is the last and the future shock of an island isolation is inviting a flood without escape.
----------------------
One day the effect will return to sleigh the cause.
----------------------
For the lack of being human, there's a chase for a shadow claim and everyone stakes a reflection and calls it Name.
I've wasted fantasies on praying knees, tasted the space between parted lips, the act of theft fades the stolen value of her prize, and I'm locked in a kiss that won't let me scream.
Love wants me spread on the wall.
Now
Trapped in a traffic prison of speeding steel,
fiber-glass monsters steered by the will of maniacs who are in a hurry to make it on time to their complaints, they don't want to disappoint their ghosts or lose the respect of the ones they hate.
Occupation. Money. Children. Funeral Bills.
I survive the time, wading through the routine that pulls to drown me, thinking about wet vaginas
and arms
and soft voices and laughter serenades and stupid jokes that aren't funny but are and
hips, thighs, pillow breasts, and eyes that understand and keep me, and tiny hands, and-
Love is a slender nail piercing the thickest skin. Glorify a halo from this puncture wound and my eyes
would be a vacant reflection for you to gaze. See us stripping despair like
Suicidal Royalty. I wish we were dead, where borders are outlaws and distance is a renegade
unpresent.
clouding bad weather to the lines of your face. What love is nothing to believe and what use is this machine. To me.
After Now.
Through the years the colors bleed to a single jaded shade and
rainbows look like scars and
stars look like holes. Pavement is a maze through the jungle architecture of efficient boxed living,
hand in hand with a compromise, fingers laced together like a noose, we lynch one another in judgement
and disguise our fear in knowing best. The polar shift, hate goes to heaven, love goes to hell.
Insecurity is security.
Fear is courage.
Immorality is morality.
Slavery is freedom.
And
War is peace.
Here
The wind blows to you the rejected breath of lives
gambled on their second chance. In the background, the same instrument kills a different chord.
The seductive quake of a violin. The migraine of a piano. The sobbing of a horn.
The silence that fills the hollow of an abandoned drum--the last tune echoes just out of reach
and remembers her clearly. forever.
A child has been hibernating in intoxication and awakes
in the barren drought of summer scorching age onto its face.
A quest
Open plains of my imaginings'
or is it a racial memory?
visions of the age of before
a grey tunnel, life time of cycles
in a world of swirling cosmic dust
there I seek you my soul-mate
Gone but not forgotten
to another world, another time
where dreams may come
and promises, old, be honoured
by lips on lips, whispers of the ancient
in old vines of conception
How did I miss you, my love
In this cycle of existence
when before I held your hands
and pledged this very life and existence
how did the parting happen, indeed
for memories deep are ever
present, pages of them, no, stacks
of books on the walls of time
too many existence in one soul
Was it the lance of Ashoka's men
A sword from Atilla's army
Or a field in Maryland?
Oh yes and the parting, pain
exquisite, accused of a witch
I feel the drowning still
The angry hurt humiliation
Of being flogged by the switch
To be stoned and killed
o so painfully, so slowly
Dragged along a gravelly street
My many doors to death
while I quest for you
A wily spirit on the move
Smiling from the mind's eaves
I forget, o yes, I forget
the faces of the mothers
the fathers nor even my siblings
Only you I remember well
Smiling eyes, laughter,
the wedding chants
the pootu on my fore head
the bangles on my wrists
The clanging of church bells
the horse drawn cart...
you and I, laughing
joined by the falling snow
The wedding, the wedding
The beautiful wedding
The cotton in the fields
Your handsome wine-coloured
face, looking at me
Full of love, of need
We want to be free
But not from love's slavery
Under the tree I said I do
and you kissed me
I held you so hard
that you laughed in glee
I live for the delight
of your existence my Love
My friend, my beloved soul-mate
On this threshold of creation
A special birth I await
To be born at a time of death
to awake from sweet oblivion,
Swift prayers, accompany your return
Offer me peace and linger, my beloved
Grant me your love again
Hold these hands, mine for now
For the circle's cycle never ends
On this, the terrain of my mind
I sit and wait, eyes black, grey to blue
Words in babbles, unconcerned
Medium of communications
uncared for, why should I
when love is lost in the circle of time
where Jamuna flows in between
Or maybe Styx, who knows
Need I scream at the Valkyrie
Who carried you away to the darkers halls
of Valhalla
Or should I mourn against Hades?
I care not, my love
I spit at the spirits
that take you away before
I can touch and hold you
I rant against the gods
who suffer the children
to come unto them and then laugh
with derision at human pain
I stand here alone
and wait your return
a thousand births
a thousand deaths
I wait
Open plains of my imaginings'
or is it a racial memory?
visions of the age of before
a grey tunnel, life time of cycles
in a world of swirling cosmic dust
there I seek you my soul-mate
Gone but not forgotten
to another world, another time
where dreams may come
and promises, old, be honoured
by lips on lips, whispers of the ancient
in old vines of conception
How did I miss you, my love
In this cycle of existence
when before I held your hands
and pledged this very life and existence
how did the parting happen, indeed
for memories deep are ever
present, pages of them, no, stacks
of books on the walls of time
too many existence in one soul
Was it the lance of Ashoka's men
A sword from Atilla's army
Or a field in Maryland?
Oh yes and the parting, pain
exquisite, accused of a witch
I feel the drowning still
The angry hurt humiliation
Of being flogged by the switch
To be stoned and killed
o so painfully, so slowly
Dragged along a gravelly street
My many doors to death
while I quest for you
A wily spirit on the move
Smiling from the mind's eaves
I forget, o yes, I forget
the faces of the mothers
the fathers nor even my siblings
Only you I remember well
Smiling eyes, laughter,
the wedding chants
the pootu on my fore head
the bangles on my wrists
The clanging of church bells
the horse drawn cart...
you and I, laughing
joined by the falling snow
The wedding, the wedding
The beautiful wedding
The cotton in the fields
Your handsome wine-coloured
face, looking at me
Full of love, of need
We want to be free
But not from love's slavery
Under the tree I said I do
and you kissed me
I held you so hard
that you laughed in glee
I live for the delight
of your existence my Love
My friend, my beloved soul-mate
On this threshold of creation
A special birth I await
To be born at a time of death
to awake from sweet oblivion,
Swift prayers, accompany your return
Offer me peace and linger, my beloved
Grant me your love again
Hold these hands, mine for now
For the circle's cycle never ends
On this, the terrain of my mind
I sit and wait, eyes black, grey to blue
Words in babbles, unconcerned
Medium of communications
uncared for, why should I
when love is lost in the circle of time
where Jamuna flows in between
Or maybe Styx, who knows
Need I scream at the Valkyrie
Who carried you away to the darkers halls
of Valhalla
Or should I mourn against Hades?
I care not, my love
I spit at the spirits
that take you away before
I can touch and hold you
I rant against the gods
who suffer the children
to come unto them and then laugh
with derision at human pain
I stand here alone
and wait your return
a thousand births
a thousand deaths
I wait
