deepundergroundpoetry.com
'the poet writes the history of his own body'
just killing time at ‘The Slavery Museum’ waiting for the train to suburbia
Oh yes, I have seen Africa
In the trinket shop @ Liverpool Dock.
what the spaceman heard when the world ended
Laughter
Universal.
& now in the morning I sit here looking through the window as Erik Satie weeps
Embalmed trees wax limply;
Seventy-five fields away, the sea dreams of suffocation.
the rust on the bone factory gates peels off like eucalyptus bark
Wherever we tread
We walk on buried ground.
chapter in your life entitled ‘I touched the face of Christ once…..’
Beyond Berlin, thrust of another 747 left parts of his flesh on tarmac,
Forever arriving at the departure lounge.
where we neither fear nor know the geometry of the land
These cups of tea, this ordinary light,
This journeying into unfamiliar countries.
I would eat through her dry hills if we were river
My mind flowers on the stalk
She holds in her loving hands.
Oh yes, I have seen Africa
In the trinket shop @ Liverpool Dock.
what the spaceman heard when the world ended
Laughter
Universal.
& now in the morning I sit here looking through the window as Erik Satie weeps
Embalmed trees wax limply;
Seventy-five fields away, the sea dreams of suffocation.
the rust on the bone factory gates peels off like eucalyptus bark
Wherever we tread
We walk on buried ground.
chapter in your life entitled ‘I touched the face of Christ once…..’
Beyond Berlin, thrust of another 747 left parts of his flesh on tarmac,
Forever arriving at the departure lounge.
where we neither fear nor know the geometry of the land
These cups of tea, this ordinary light,
This journeying into unfamiliar countries.
I would eat through her dry hills if we were river
My mind flowers on the stalk
She holds in her loving hands.
Published 28th Apr 2021
Author's Note
ERULGCT # 95. Uma xx Title c/o Thoreau. What can it all mean? Just experimenting on the dissection table. ALL STAY SAFE & many prayers for India. Never forget - the world is but a village.
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28th Apr 2021 9:12pm
28th Apr 2021 9:17pm
I never said there was! Writing from a 'Theatre of Absurd' perspective.
30th Apr 2021 5:32pm
All i feel holistic in these essential continental drifts. of poetic minimalism afloat aloud in mysterious endless cyclical motion.. .. is l o v e that holds us , in life death beyondness.. humming as cosmic mantra . despite the light n dark n shades in play in search in traverse.. we are nothing but eternal energies.. from unto that singing singularity.
To say of content & style.. love immensely love this!!. You know i diehard love minimalism & esp.experimental ones.. striking unto perfection..or newness realms. I think you touched reached both here.. hithard title running title of a poetry by itself & then a slapping irony to it in the wrapped up meaning & length of body .. juz amazing fusion of prosaic typa poetry.. in woven fab sarcasm~intensity~metaphors~ existential ~ spiritual etc etc etc all-in-one each shorts interconnecting to that one singularity in feltness..
Awwe excuse my overbrimmy wordisms.n thanks for the note , yezz india need those prayers nowww🙏♥️
To say of content & style.. love immensely love this!!. You know i diehard love minimalism & esp.experimental ones.. striking unto perfection..or newness realms. I think you touched reached both here.. hithard title running title of a poetry by itself & then a slapping irony to it in the wrapped up meaning & length of body .. juz amazing fusion of prosaic typa poetry.. in woven fab sarcasm~intensity~metaphors~ existential ~ spiritual etc etc etc all-in-one each shorts interconnecting to that one singularity in feltness..
Awwe excuse my overbrimmy wordisms.n thanks for the note , yezz india need those prayers nowww🙏♥️
2nd May 2021 9:21pm
