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The Green Zone at MidnightLike human teeth, the boots crunch
the throat-clear truck revving
to ship the soldiers completely elsewhere;
beyond the stucco sheet concrete
of the barricade, the dead heft
of ordnance underwater sound
scattering stars like dark shoals.
Searchlights detonate in the hot gloom.
They spill through the cobwebs of wires
and lie white on the sand, in pieces.
Dead NoteI slipped and wrote a poem
soft as old playing cards
the plastic snapped from the keyboard,
my finger pocking rubber like
a dead piano note; dust-breath.
Missing key, lone and ridiculous
as a Scrabble tile.
I slipped and wrote a poem
blunt as a hollowpoint.
The soft silt of flour on the keys,
globes of oil left jointed sinews
spelling sharp advice from the sweating
chocolate block, the slim kitkat
of the spacebar.
I slipped and wrote a poem
dead as stardust.
The thrum of typing through the letter mist,
insect clouds of occasional undressed
punctuation, crowded like yet-to-be-formed
letters failing to imagine the quiet indignity
of their shapes.
The CometWe stood shivering, my Dad and I, shrunk
under enormous arctic air, watching
the source of all tears spin silk into the stars.
Homeward bound, this mote-borne traveller;
pilgrim after warmth and light, a shattered vase
with nothing to end its fall, spilling glass dust
into a darkness larger than the fever-dreams of God.
Four thousand years ago, it lit the night
and saw the Akkadians scattered like dolls,
a forest of flags tattered in the chalk of moonlight;
urus turning the pages of the ocean;
the hundred-year pharaoh narrowing
rheumatic eyes at the first clear gleam of bronze.
You fall back into those millennia of night;
our planet turns, tilts us into darkness and dust.
Soweto StringsTremolo dusk. Sunlight rills cast
nets along the tigerstripe waist
dusted by ringlets of rosin smoke.
Protea's loose purple shade
sediments the honeyed brazilwood,
the heartache of acacia down in Soweto;
liquid boléro of heat. Zephyrs trill the aloe's
luthier curves, the purfling of matchbox houses.
Strings tuned to four crystal fifths, glazed
by the vibrato breeze.
RuinThis sluice of swamp,
weed-throttled and starred
by lilies mossed benches
lit by lichen like a night of fireworks
and the dregs of forgotten picnics
lost to sleep crumbs.
The gunfire of a diesel ticking over,
heaping sods of dry earth teeth
polished to a gleam of blue steel
by sparked stones.
Engines row against the earth,
snarling it with mesh and acetate,
pestling stone to powder under tangerine totems
riddled like the sides of bullet-flecked tanks
straining at their hydraulic sinew.
In the ruins where we
cricked our necks,
lost in the tent of shadows
where we strung candles and
the brambles still search
over sheaves of broken bricks.
But it won't Come OffHe is trying to wipe a stain from his spectacles.
His doe eyes are shallow pools black with bloom,
nodding from the glasses in his hand to the
bench's arpeggio score of faces.
The courtroom light cuts gems from the lenses
they squeal at the silk; he blinks deep as a frog,
huffing beads of breath on the cold glass.
A mote of dust caught from the cracked earth,
baked dry by how many summers cemented
by hot spit whipped in the oven air.
There is a cough, and he fumbles like a man
catching his dreams; his glasses lurch
like splinted birds and he clips them with a breath.
He is trying to wipe a stain from his spectacles.
They flash for an instant like rain-glazed windows:
a school filled with skulls, lined up like a jury,
teeth falling into their mouths like nuts.
Can Your Parents Relate?You, the girl in the corner of your bedroom
That with each passing year since birth
Has had her confidence sold to those that stare
For so much less than it is worth
When it should be a priceless commodity
Especially to a doting dad
Is he not supposed to give to his child
All the things that he never had?
You, the girl in the corner of the classroom
That has forgotten how to smile
Are you tired of being told it’s just a phase
And you’ll snap out of it in a while?
It should be obvious that you are struggling
Especially to a loving mum
As she's already lived through those tearful days
That for you have yet to come
You, the girl hiding in the shadow you cast
Please accept your parent’s flaws
No matter what success or failure you taste
Do not let them be the cause
They created a life in love or in lust
Now nurturing has turned to neglect
A bird feeds her young till the day they can fly
So maybe now you should leave the nest
Beware Of The Bad BoySo he touches you in all of the right places
But with a clenched fist and not a gentle hand
By ‘right places’ I mean those easily hidden
By the latest expensive designer brand
Which he buys you to either keep your silence
Or to beg and to plead for your forgiveness
Is this where the attraction of a bad boy lies?
Please explain where is the excitement in this?
So he kisses you with a so-called passion
His hands round your neck steal a two letter word
It seems that he cannot feel satisfaction
Unless you show him signs that his dominance hurts
Which he tightens each time to keep your silence
Or maybe he just enjoys hearing you moan
Is this the deed of some stalker, some stranger?
No, this is your husband and this is your home
So he lays you out on the living room floor
I wonder what will fall down to the carpet first
The drops of blood from between your legs
Or the tears flowing between his regretful words
Which he whispers in your ear as you lay silent
It’s safe to say
BirdsThe birds are flaunting their wings by me
Knowing I can't fly.
What a joyful, blissful gift it is
To soar in the sky –
Racing softly through the winds
Up to touch the clouds.
That's the place to look for peace,
More is to be found.
The birds keep piercing through the morning streets
Free of people's vibes.
Reveling in the river's peaceful breeze
I'm only standing by.
Chirping merrily above
They must see best of life,
Making me, the wingless one,
Be glad that I'm alive.
The birds will always frisk across this scene,
Even when I die.
And ungodly hour colors bring
Enlightening sense of life.
No matter what may be,
Birds will be around.
Long as they are here to sing,
You'll be safe and sound.
Schrodinger's CatAm I alive? Or am I dead?
Have I just purred? Or have I bled?
Being locked in that dreadful box,
I have become a paradox.
A flask of poison on the floor,
A radioactive source in store,
And a hammer to judge my fate -
Try and define my doubtful state -
Am I alive? Or am I dead?
Have I just purred? Or have I bled?
Introspection in a Pale Moon LightAm I a dream of the universe?
A microcosm of the cosmos
A transient flash of memory
Soon forgotten for eternity
Am I a conscious collection of atoms?
Converging together at random
An essence in constant motion
Like a ripple upon the ocean
We are all made of star dust
Born when giant gas clouds combust
In a symphony of the spheres
Free from anxiety and of fears
We are never ending energy
Dancing across the galaxy
From Andromeda to the Milky Way
Like a ballerina in a ballet
Where are you? (poem)<3
Just us two,
Walking beyond the avenue,
Admiring the beautiful nature view,
Spending a moment only with you,
Is like.. a dream come true,
You're a friend worth holding onto,
O but there's one question;
Where are you?
Sleepy Summer EveningLate swallows swoop and pipistrelles skitter
To and fro across the house, skimming the eaves.
Against a soft darkening sky streaked with red
Gulls return to the bosom of mother sea.
The smell of grass rises sweet on the damp air.
While daisies quietly close their eyes in sleep
The blackbird sweetly sings a lullaby
And I to bed until his reveille.
DethronedDelicate fingertips were once against my cheek,
as were the smiles that you so affectionately cast towards me.
But then you tossed me into the gaping sea,
and I am no longer a beloved queen to thee.
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