Month: January 2011
Volcano
Too long dictators let the masses bleed
Over a volcano crackles lightning
Increasing repression sows a seed
Too long dictators let the masses bleed
Gunmen with rubber bullets intercede
The tyrants’ fists of fear are tightening
Too long dictators let the masses bleed
Over a volcano crackles lightning
Rambling Rose
Banksia rose
rambles in a sun salute,
new growth
crossing the boundary
finding
the neighbour’s side
of the fence
offering flowers
and its scent.
“Trespasser!”
he spits,
“It will rot
my precious fence.”
And drop leaves
to vandalise
his plastic lawn.
He gave up on
rolled turf,
told me that
it is the only way
to keep out weeds
and keep the lawn
looking good.
Cracks
In the corner
cobwebs
cunningly stuck
to the cracks
between the ceiling
and the walls
a spinner lurks
waiting for
unwary flies
to trap
their buzz of summer
or mosquitoes
to silence
their incessant whine
ever so patiently.
The spinner is my comrade
in arms against the six-legged.
Flame
A violet flame burning in my blood
Spinning through the atoms of my body
Golden heart hides in lotus lily bud
A violet flame burning in my blood
Catching my dark lies in a flowing flood
Molecules sing an unsung melody
A violet flame burning in my blood
Spinning through the atoms of my body
This is an experimental symbolist triolet for One Shot Wednesday
Fluxus Interruptus – DadaBrats at play
This collaborative poem also appears on Peter’s blog. It ‘s a collaboration between @peterwilkins1 @bookwriter222 @amoz1939 and @remittancegirl. @MissyPoem wanted to join but didn’t quite make it this time.
We used the hash tag #rengachange as we were writing it on Titter.
Old ways of doing things have a funny way of re-appearing. I wonder if the designers of Twitter ever imagined that their status update software would be used in such a way. I also wonder what Basho would have thought. I think that we did preserve subtle relationships between the verses – well we tried to anyway. We also treated the form with respect.
I feel sure that our Dada forebears would have loved to play with social software in defiance of geographical and time zone constraints.
Fluxus Interruptus
Under a cool moon/ the earth slumbers, breathes softly/ stillness and shadows
A gentle western breeze lifts / petals from a cherry tree
Blue cat very still/ watches butterflies/ admid the petals
Dragonflies smiling ~ butterlies preen in colors ~having my sake
Silver ripples on green pond/ shades of orange, Koi resting
All is quiet here / pondering the coming day / nothing stirs, I sit
Ginko trees stand silent guard/ maples bowing to the moon
Bamboo house clean and ready / sake bowls fill to the brim
Distant thunderstorm/ heron glides down mountainside/ soft patter of rain
A stranger arrives from town / the thunderstorm is nearing
horizonal rain / steals the stranger’s hat and laughs / gifts it to the wind
The hat staggers drunkenly/ spins wildly on the pond’s brink
Frog jumps out of pond ~ and landing on floating hat ~a nice lily pad
Stranger kneels beside the pond/ Koi feeding upon his smile
As dawn breaks cover / wrathful angry storm abates / I wait patiently
Air fresh and dense with thunder / dew-trapped sparks of lightning passed
Fire gives out warmth ~ all guests seated by crickets ~ thunder storm ceases
Feast of eels and sake/ appears for the dinner guests
Crickets one sake ~ waiting for a guest to come ~ eels are delicious
Violet mist drifting down/ spreading blanket over guests
As frogs leap and sing / spoken tales of woven dreams / synchronicity
No leaping frogs, no grilled eels / stops the slow drip – spilt sake
Old man sings a song/ of brave warriors, their swords/ and lovely geishas
Sun climbs high, the morning burns/ sweat trickles down guests’ faces
The mist clears away / a breeze that whispers secrets / cools the troubled mind
Breath upon a dusty glass / the ghostly geisha’s kiss print
Ghostly foot falls tap/ across the sun light terrace/ mosquitoes buzzing
Sated guests lie on futons/ soothed by ghostly lullabies
An exchange, a glance / a frisson of excitement / quivers up the spine
In the corner the koto / sounds one dark abandoned note
Kimonos rustle/ the sound of slapping rhythms/ paper screen snaps shut
Far away, behind mountains/ black ships in turquoise ocean
Surging through the waves / a promise of a future / ships that speak of change
A floating island sitting / atop a giant turtle
A demon appears/ head flaming, eyes fiery/ the gods are smiling
With lightening speed, he strikes / the gods of change start dancing
A Summer Afternoon
The sound
of water
from a hose
misting thankful
grass and seedlings
leaning to the slanted sun,
a snoozing cat
stretches her toes
in dappled
shadows dancing
in the afternoon sea breeze,
as I carry fresh dry
laundry smelling
of a summer’s day.
Little Things
These tankas and gogyohkas are about little everyday things.
Moon astride
a silvered elephant cloud
rides static solar winds
dismounts in the mountains
of Shangri-La
———————
Sentient city
with video eyes
capturing people
in flickering grids
dreams of security
———————
Kindred spirits
connect through Hertzian space
electrical impulses
transformed
into golden dreams
———————
I sheltered
in your shadow
warmed myself
in your light
until you learned to fly
———————
I will hold you hand
I will listen
in a place of stillness
I cannot take you with me
you must find your own way
———————-
Words jangle
platinum chains
confined to barracks
words plot
an escape
———————
Itchy words
in motion
in a pearl shell
agitating sand
making gems
Self-nomination
With oblique daggers
carefully sheathed in
faux leather consideration,
faces covered with
gilded masks of care,
wearing soft velvet shoes,
carrying business cases,
they prepare to cull.
People herded
into a room
with damp patches
underneath their arms,
hearts beating,
listen to words dancing
in a semantic waltz macabre
that signifies
self nomination
for the scrap heap
of a sugar coated
redundancy
where some are simply
no longer wanted…
Grids
Modernist wet dreams
of shiny machines
in elegant lines:
clanking, stamping,
assembling parts
for the greater good;
mechanical time clocks
punching remuneration.
Maniacs ranting
out of monumental
buildings in grids
baying for blood
to water the earth.
Diminutive figures,
lost people
running in mazes
with repetitive tasks
cheaply performed.
Marousia 