Tag: poetry

for thirty-years
and a little bit more
you had become pacified

the past still haunts us
as long as there are
those who remember it

brightly but not luminous
you leave us
we are grateful, not sad

for not since
two centuries
has this happened

an orderly and peaceful
end to the gentle
quietude of your reign

by your side
the strength of your queen
so to speak

and now it shall continue –
the common good even
if it is with spiritual overtones

welcome
welcome
new era

we are forever
building metaphors
bridging gaps
between meaning
and form

transmitting
our intentions
our perfect,
static, timeless
ideals

from the mind
extended, like
antennae
now this –
my simile

constructed
and unplanned
the metaphor is
the foundation of
our abstractions

cultures posit this.
give it an existence
despite any evidence,
apart from its name.

this thing
is essentially
(                )
no-thing.

& those left behind
gaze at the soul
as though it is there
on the other shore

when in reality
even the shoreline
is a necessary part
of the illusion.

sometimes
you just dont want
to know, when
everything
is running fine
running smoothly
it doesnt matter
if the metaphorical “oil”
is just a little dirty

starved
of food and water
i wait for my turn
along with the other
starving people
in the hospital
white rooms
that are never
quite white

the stale stench
fills the space
patients reading books
swiping screens
not wanting to know
not wanting to wait
the ping of machines
marking time, timing
the inevitable

we have no idea
we never do
what pains do people
have inside

a private space
for some
a suffocating prison
to others

my advice:
leave the door
open or at least
unlocked

let others in
keep plates
cups and cutlery
for guests

have seats
for friends to sit
keep it tidy
for unexpected
but welcome visitors

you are not there
only in name
not fiction
not real
either

i woke to horrors others
had seen with their eyes
and i, only through
this tiny screen

but still
it was terrifying
to watch the heat &
the synchrony of it

that evening waiting
on a sydney pier
waiting for a friend
to arrive by jet plane

i watched this
faraway yet near
not dear skyline
in unnatural fear

slow but not
slow enough
is the sunday rest

tapping keyboards
before going to listen
to that strum and rap

all so uncanny
what technique is that
talking, talking

to lost acquaintances
before being bored
with the sunday afternoon

it isn’t being “naked”
they are different things
meaning is there from
our point of view
pet dogs see
nothing in our
flesh anymore
than we see
eros in theirs
in art the nude
is a symbol of
some deeper
misunderstanding
as man nothing more
rushes to our heads
than those very
curvatures and
as woman
lean strength
signals
security
that more
or less
guarantees
our future

(In response to Nude: Art from the Tate Collection exhibition currently showing at Yokohama Museum of Art.)