Day: Nov 11, 2013

Tears in your eyes

Autumn 2013 070Until the very end of time I’ll be loving you.
Until the end of all my rhymes,I’ll be writing you.
Until the day I die,I’ll be unintentionally annoying you.
Older and older,I’ll never leave you,but I will,no doubt, grieve you and deceive you,misperceive you.
Otherwise I’ll think of you,wink at you and make a hyperlink to you
Still,for ever,I’ll be all over you..looking for fleas in your floes, and
B’s in your Y’s.
I’ll be looking for tears in your eyes
and making you feel surprised.
That’s a love poem,innit?
Well,innit?
Wot!I’m British,innit!
Oh, geddit!

You’re on fire

Lear Book of Nonsense 106.jpg
Lear Book of Nonsense 106.jpg (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

He’s sadder than a wet fountain pen;find his cap!
A man with no hat is like a cat with no whiskers.. he has nothing to guide him through the park
I said it with the cap of my breathalyser off.
He’s made of honey I can smell it!He’s attracting all and sundry….quick!
Why not have an outing to a Dole Hill and stone the crows,as it were?
Letters,they make friends meet in the spirit
I wait for dead fiends or start gales…what’s your goblin doing?
Wake up with a tree up your sleeve tomorrow.
We make no bones about breasts.
Make haste or streak to the town alone…I have stolen your clothes.Signed,your wife.[The unnamed woman in your bed]
They make out,like,a man created the world as God was depressed for aeons.He didn’t even want to get better.Do you believe that?It#s the plot for my novel
They made me grade students so I buy watercolor and grey t hem instead … fifty shades of grey plus mixes!
Make cracks about my poetry and I’ll never leak to you again
Please make me up,Lord.I am your creation,so they say.. so make me betterer
I made Waves for Virginia Woolff and created Mrs.Halo-Hey-Grey in many shades and colours….I’m a genius,in a very real sense
I make you move like no other human… you’re a guerrilla in bed
Religion makes my blood turn to oil.A miracle!I believe a brawling bird… above the storm would still be feared
Faking love sent me round the twist…I invented modern dance.why,i was in a frenzy all night.
A man,for all sorts of reasons,may wish to turn into a woman and vice versa.So if you both marry transsexuals you will be fined.Or redefined as the case might be.
A man’s home is his hassle.
A woman’s home is not her own but hey,that’s good…She gets to live rent free in exchange for being a slave… who could ask for more?
You’re joking…. no,smoking!You’re on fire.I am not a liar.
Seventy years went by mumbling,tick tock tick tock.Why not ask for mercy?
Did they ever say?Who was Sylvia? Nobody special……but someone loved her,at least.

Say no more

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Trying to recreate the world

 

The Lindens of Poissy, by Claude Monet (1882).
The Lindens of Poissy, by Claude Monet (1882). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Claude Monet, photo by Nadar, 1899. Français :...
Claude Monet, photo by Nadar, 1899. Français : Claude Monet par Nadar en 1899. Türkçe: İzlenimcilik akımının öncülerinden olan Fransız ressam Claude Monet’nin, fotoğrafçı yurttaşı Nadar tarafından 1899 yılında çekilmiş fotoğrafı. 1840 ile 1926 yılları arasında yaşayan Monet, bu fotoğraf çekildiği sırada 50’li yaşlarının sonundadır. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

The bus is late and I’m

Thinking of what you said,

trying to understand, but

I’ve never met you,so

I have nothing but written words

which,however beautiful,may not give

enough for me to truly imagine

the depths of your heart.

My legs hurt and I have a cane,

but I don’t like it.I can’t accept

my own infirmity,my troubles,

my pains,my disagreements,my mistakes.

Rain falls over me and drips down the lens

in my spectacles,as if the world is weeping

the tears I can’t shed.

If I cried now,standing at the bus stop,

for all the years of pain

noone would know,they’d

think it was just

raindrops running down my cheeks.

The bus comes,but it’s half term…

The shops are too crowded,I can’t

stand in queues…imagine how most of you

say it’s boring.Well,I’d love to do it

but I’ve decided the pain is greater

then the rewards.

The bus driver stops at a place where

the pavement has been lowered to allow

the owner of this house to drive

their car into the front garden

so they won’t need to buy

a resident’s parking permit.

It makes it a harder task to descend

from the bus and I hope he won’t

start while I’m still getting down.

In the coffee bar are exhibits from

a local museum,and I think,one day

my cane and my watch from Argos,

my shopping bag with a picture of Monet–

such vulgarity…..

they may be in a museum too…

along with my door keys

my bike lock and my spectacles

and will somebody try to conjure me up

in their imagination.

Someone who used to like Topology.

knitting,writing and holding hands with lovers

on the top deck of the bus

crossing central London without noticing

anything except their reflections in the eyes

of the other.

Light bounces to and fro.

My mind shuts down, the words

packed away in boxes,till there’s only

you and me and a few elementary particles

trying to recreate the world

with the big bang

that will end it all.

 

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Moonlight Sonata

Very beautiful

fokg's avatarjonahcomplex

What is this feeling
I do not know

It pulls, hard,
At my very soul

While I sleep
While I cry

To no avail, I try and try
To run,

Escape, I must
Not even myself
Do I trust

The pain increases ever more
Killing things
I do adore

This feeling, that I don’t know
Has it’s own tune
O, hear it go
Washing, washing
Over me
Seemingly, stuck in repeat.

It is now, that I crack,
Giving in to the black,

It is here that I see,
What truly horrifies me,
My own soul,
Hung in the sky,
Round and white,
Was it all a lie?

Here I lay, and,
Here the Moonlight Sonata plays.

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I know that’s how death will come.

I know that's how death will come,
Suddenly flying into another orbit
when I am photographing flowers.
It's not a gentle transition.
No-one will know where I've gone.
One step wrong and I'm
off the high wire
And plunging into the no safety net.
Flying for a while;
Jumping into hyperspace,spinning electrons
Startle my grey eyes.
Transiting the new black sun
I'm on a double gold helix,
Spider on your web,
Knitting furiously
Into the future heaven on gossamer wings.
Butterfly goodbye,I'm off to see the stars.
And the black holes.No one will come with me.
I'm shaking off,evaporating into mist.
I'm a flying saucer on a circus mission.
I can't say no to a new invitation.
Make it fast and break with tradition.
Time is passing smoothly till that break
In the music,I've been transmuted into a different key
someone else will play me on their violin
I'm a tune,
I'm a thought,
I'm a whisper in your vision.
Goodbye,darling.I'm under orders
Ready to leave for my performance
On the electric carpet.
Death dancing to a tune on a violoncello,
Arpeggionne sonata
I'm playing your words upside down
In a new foreign translation,
Accompanied by solo artists,ice cracking
I'm going in.It's too sudden.
I'm flying.
Spinning faster to amuse the clowns,
too many ups and no downs.
I'm going right out of orbit
I've broken the pull of gravity,
And fly with pure equanimity
Into my future life,
I'm off at some moment.
An instant ,a crack,a loud smack.
That was me passing,
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