Old skool poetry 4 - 2004

Warm Kiss

To kiss the sun
slow and deep and long
would be an experience
titillating I think
hopefully the tongue of flame
will reach right down into my inside
and warm me from the toes up.
It is too cold in this place
and lonely.


copyright of Po

Ok this one I can still relate to. I was clearly suffering my first endless winter in the UK. I feel the same way right now, someone cancelled summer for the last 2 years over here. I want to get the sun switched back on but I feel that the complaints department of English weather is a call centre based somewhere foreign like Timbuktu, and when I phone, after 4 days of endless repeat dialling, all I will get is the song "you are my sunshine, my only sunshine" played back at me.

Old skool poetry 3 - 2004

Desinconstructegration

I'ts buried deep and unseen
a sharp and silver stone
lodged behind the dutiful heart,
inflicting obdurate, yet subtle pain.
Enclosing them, both pump and flint-
a machine, cage construct, shell so cold
with glowering pallor it looms
motionless, with power off.

Decommissioned it comes undone
each screw loosenes, wires ripped out
and final crash into metallic heap
then with a sussurus of slow decay
the stone dissolves
and settles in a shimmering haze.

This molten mass of sharpened dust
that shreds the throbbing orb of blood
in a scream of minced up shards and flesh
is how it feels, chaos, collapse,
a secret stony storm of hurt
deep inside the ribbed cage
behind the plastic smile.


copyright of Po


Dunno what to say. I hadn't learned the art of "minimalism" at this stage of my life. And I clearly really wanted to use the word "sussurus". My word.

Old skool poetry 2 - Humpty dumpty

Fall



It falls slowly

tumbles

through a sludge of time and distance

the jelly of dramatic slow motion.

It's screams are silent

mine have more volume

the despair of the helpless onlooker

I watch with gravity

as impact occurs:

the shatter of shell and bowl

the spill of yolk and transparent goo

that egg is dead.



I must just point out that I was not smoking mari-joo-ana at the time of writing this.



copyright of Po

Old Skool poetry volume 1 - cow on a hot tin roof

I found this book of poetry that I wrote in 2004. The poems are awful but it is quite hilarious to think that I actually wrote this stuff!

I would love to know what I was smoking at this time.


Suburban cow

There is a cow on our roof
my sister told me
I ignored her
I thought it was April fools
until the mooing grew louder
then I went outside and there it was
a cow
on the roof of our suburban house
a bit embarrassing really
what will the neighbours think?
I know what they will think
It looks like there is a cow on that roof
but there isn't
cows do not stand on suburban roofs
and moo and moo til the...
cows come home?
So we did what seemed best
up the ladder and down again
with a bucket of fresh creamy milk.


(What the fack?)

copyright of Po

Poetry

Well, Litnet just published some of my poetry. I was in a definite phase when I wrote that stuff. It was stuff I needed to get out, but hopefully now I can move on and... write something different.

Here are the links:

Homecoming :http://www.litnet.co.za/cgi-bin/giga.cgi?cmd=cause_dir_news_item&cause_id=1270&news_id=46713&cat_id=190

The middle generations:http://www.litnet.co.za/cgi-bin/giga.cgi?cmd=cause_dir_news_item&cause_id=1270&news_id=46714&cat_id=190

Splat of angst: http://www.litnet.co.za/cgi-bin/giga.cgi?cmd=cause_dir_news_item&cause_id=1270&news_id=46715&cat_id=190

The maids:http://www.litnet.co.za/cgi-bin/giga.cgi?cmd=cause_dir_news_item&cause_id=1270&news_id=46716&cat_id=190