Longfellow’s Middle Finger

Remember how it was said
Anyone can write poetry
All that is needed
is to make sure it’s not prose
(rose is a rose is a rose)

If you can, rhyme it
To a repetitive beat, time it
Obfuscate
And make the meter mellifluous
(and let the women talk of Michelangelo)

Then gather around in a circle
or amongst the stage lights
Read it with passion,
enunciate and moan
(fuck fuck fuck)

Bow once it’s done
Applaud your peers
Nibble on the cheese
sip on the wine
(real poets don’t drink beer)

Kiss the critic’s ear
Ideally the air around the ear
Pat everyone’s back
Buy the house more wine
(Who’s your favourite poet? Bukowski & Dylan)

Then wear a dreamy look
And remember
how tough it used to be
this poetry shit
when you din’t know the rules

Untitled

Who will buy from you if you keep an empty shop
Who will come to you if your shelves are empty
People walk by and glance at your dust covered sign board
Where once they waved to you, now they peek
to know if you are still alive, if the shop still stands
if the walls still hold
or have they toppled to entomb you within

If you will not sell or buy or laugh or cry
then shut this place down
whose once happy memories rankle
and slight passers by who once knew it
as a place where they could stand
look at your wares
the candles and the books
bookmarks, ribbons and coloured papers
paints and dyes and shells and angel wings
rubik cubes of a single colour
a jigsaw puzzle with a piece missing
which if they went looking for
they would find their one true love holding it

Heed the call of the children who pelt you with stones
turn the key in the lock and lock it in a box
weigh it down with stones
drop it into the deepest sea
and
let yourself go

acta est fabula

If I ignore you will you go away?
Fade from the whorls of my fingertips
like your kiss on my face feels ancient today.

There is a method to my madness
as I burn every bridge between us
in small, sure, secret installments.

Where once all my days were owned by you
Today is an orphan girl
who sits and cries silent tears by the kerb.

My sad days I make into little piles
burn them and sit by on cold evenings
as the smoke rising from them stings my eyes.

Happiness is a mango

Happiness is a mango
wrapped in a newspaper
given to you
on a train station in the ‘burbs
with a sarcastic remark
about the effort it cost
to carry it to you
when what I really mean
is something else

Pearl

A grain of sand
in the universe of my eye
around which my world revolves
constellations and stars
rise and fall.

A grain of sand
holds hope within
of a life unseen
where the sea rushes in
to feed the dark rivers of my soul

A grain of sand
between us, to
share and to slaughter
to fight over and forgive
for the before and the after

A grain of sand
in the universe of my eye
makes waters swirl
a pearl forms
a tear drop carries it away

Absenthe

Forgive me,
the feast I promised
is dead
the rivers of my lands are dry
no poetry will flow from these lips
parched are the eyes
as they stand at my doorstep
beseeching hope
while all I can offer is
some of the things which I no longer have use for

I care for you not my traveler friends
I shut down my tavern
That night the village pulled it down
built a temple
or a mosque
I cannot be bothered which
No one drinks of wine anymore
I will not bother you
and you will not follow me
or ask me why

A mans life must be measured
only on his passing
Consider me dead
don’t hold me a wake
judge my deeds
find me guilty and exile me
let the memory be a grain of sand
in the eyes of the travelers
who came so far
to curse me at my grave

Happiness 2.0

My 7 day trial version of happiness
expired on Friday
They had promised me 21 days
I guess I clicked a wrong button
now it won’t make me happy anymore

I spoke to their representative
A nice lady with a nice accent
She asked me to pay $19.95
for one year of happiness
version 2.3

She said she liked my name
my voice was hot too
so she threw in some love
version 1.6
for only $10 extra

She asked me for my credit card number
I don’t have credit card I said
I have a debit card
Suddenly she did not sound so nice
my voice was not so hot either

I searched the forums for a hack
which would allow me
a few more days of free happiness
But most tried to sell me Viagra and crack
None of them offered Prozac

I have my own shop now
Sell happiness from Juneau to Japan
If you don’t have credit cards, even debit cards will do
I also take post dated checks
Even a friendly hug will do

The Keys

You have forgotten
the keys you gave me
on a bright summer day.
I was never invited
But told to visit when I felt like

That was in March
and now its December
Hunched against the wind
I have come like a thief
I know you are out

I take my shoes off
and walk on your carpet
It rubs between my toes
as I walk around the room
Look at your pictures on the shelf

I sit at the dining table
wondering how you look
when sunlight streams on to you
through the windows
on early winter mornings

In the kitchen, near the oven
I imagine you leaning
against the counter
as you tell me over the phone
of the dinner you burnt

I climb the stairs
peep into your study
at your desk I see you write
One door I leave untouched
some doors even love can’t open

I wonder if you will notice
one missing picture from so many
I take the skeletons out of your cupboard
lock the door behind me
and throw the keys as I walk away

The Search Engine’s Lament

Someday all your questions will be answered
Everything you search for will be found
All that is written will be indexed
And every photograph will be tagged

Every music file you covet will be uploaded
That movie DVD ripped and seeded for eternity
No more software will you look for
Nothing left to execute

Malware and viruses will be history
A cult of hackers commit hara-kiri
For no passwords will be used
It will all be out in the open

Then I will rest my crawlers
My indexers I shall idle
The rotten caching of pages can stop
For no one will ever care

No more queries will you ask of me
No more reason to know me
Not that I shall miss you
As I lay me down to sleep

Motherland

I cut her down from where she hung
And chopped her into pieces
I took some home to bury her
The rest to make a feast

In the lime fields I dug a pit
Kissed her head and tossed it in
Her eyes they watched me lovingly
As I piled on the dirt

I left no marker on her grave
Nothing to show where her beauty lay
The day was done, so was I
Weary I walked away

At home I put a pot to boil
Tossed in what was once her
Beautiful hands with perfect fingernails
Painted a crimson red

In the light of the lamp
I ate her flesh
Flavoured by my tears
As I wept