wb :

evolution
natural selection
divine intervention
id ego superego
DNA and how you grow
walking upright
spine straight
carved a club
slayed a beast
painted names into rock
held the burning branch
ploughed the land
built a wall
reined the horses
charted the stars
sailed the seas
tamed the hissing steam
harnessed the thunderbolt
split the elements
trapped the sun

why, why why?
why ask what turned monkeys into men

why not ask instead
what turns men into monkeys?

loosed the fury
dropped the bomb
shocked the continents
steelclad monsters of war
pillage and plunder
plotted by omens
ramapged across the plains
besieged and conquered
broke the earth
torched men and homes
painted faces for war
slayed the animal
carved a club
spine straight
walking upright
DNA and how you grow
id ego superego
divine intervention
natural selection
revolution

Labels: poetry

i am as a kite, in the swirlstreams a windwaltzing rover
a mothlike destruction- attracted and drawn to my tether
a lord and a master of all that i flit and fly over
but held to the earth by a string of the fates from land under

i am as a fish, in the ocean of purest of azure
dimensionless seas to a naked and natural swimmer
but swimming above, wanly watching the water's edge waver
and looking at shimmering surfaces, filled full of wonder

i am as a man when he tramples and crushes a clover
uncertain if luck will forsake him for his misdemeanour
though while deep in thought, the question i press and i ponder
i stare at the leaves, while ignoring the fresh-blooming flower

if fate is my mistress, then irony must be my lover-
for i cannot love one and not be seduced by the other.

Labels: poetry

coffee in brown spattered trails,
scribbles in ice lemon tea;
lost when inspiration fails,
oh my muse, come back to me.

Labels: poetry

I look for a disc.
it is a round CD
it hides under the tables, in
the drawers like a thief
with me in tow
an alchemist after silver

it is not in the living room, but I am
on the couch, gazing through the doors
at the summer sun of '93
it is evening,

the evening through the dusk-tinted windows draws me out
the moon perched on the housetops
(upon the red roof-tiles)
is adroit the scene of me
on a grassy garden, over
fences; under
gate swings wide open to
reveal a dog and her owner

and the sign of the neighbour which says 'FOR SALE'
and tugs at my arbitrary capacity for unhappiness.

those long ago nights.
long ago-nights. I knew no simple pleasures
only pleasures
only the treasures of beneath the neighbour-trees.
Those long ago-nights.

Too much, i step back in - search again.
My disc if i find it not,
i shall not be so unhappy.



adam

Labels: poetry

has anyone seen a missing muse?
i lost her when i had to leave
my crayon doodlings behind
along with my stuffed dog
and my imaginary friend
i think i threw her into the box
of all the old stuff

but then i didn't know what i had done
and tried instead to have some grownup fun
with things like metaphors and run-on lines
instead of blankly spitting useless rhymes
but in the end- i was unsatisfied
with what those forms had given me to write
so- onwards! to the land of anapest
and there perhaps desire could find some rest

but the fates are ironic and never will give
to a man any feeling of rest or reprieve
so i wrote and i smote and i broke on the shores
the old waves of inspiring had muffled their roars
by the lure of harsh order my heart was deceived
through a strainer of smoke my desires were sieved
so the rain did no longer with torrentous pours
and the flame did no longer consume with its force

but now it's late to mourn my missing muse
i made a choice when i was forced to choose
although, at times, i look and sadly see
the child i was, and could have chose to be.

Labels: poetry

what mean i say when love upon my lips
and through thin air the strings of open hearts
proclaim light music faintly harmony
but hearing only feeling does not make
when what is how and everything between
is nothing then behold it as it seems
amidst all noise a signal in the dark
a through the madness paper number guide
show you its purpose to decipher white
and nothing own themselves can tell of things
play tunes and fury blind and rhyme but sound
means what we mean to nothing mean it else
the word no more it means than what it was

Labels: poetry