Monday 22 April 2019

What Is Space










what is                                                                                                                                       space
                 
is the clean part of the poetry page
unsullied by words
usually on the right-hand side >>

                                               << sometimes the wrong-hand side


that my friend is a poem ~ your lightbulb moment ~ space maketh the poem
still you say                                              uh     huh

only because  they never taught you that at school I bet
or those creative writing classes..colon
                                                                                                                                                          okay
                         so today we will learn about how to do perfect space and challenge words



                              Great poets have always utilised space - discuss

Answer (without calculator):

pan-psychists dropping naut droplets and flying
the sweat lodge the shaman the cactus
mother ayahuasca flew to space more than nasa
a garden gnome a tea cosy a non-gender specific air cabin crew trolley..

n           ever                                                                                                  ot
a
s           traight                                                                                              pace
a          nswer                                                                                               gency


Answer (with calculator):

operation paperclip formula

                                                    = what could go wrong


End of Answer


I sometimes spend more time filling in the space
than

       f
           a
             /

                  __
                        !
                          
                                Z
                            
                                       g
                                                 on the words
the words are incidental
have you any idea the poet-thought that goes into thinking of
                                                         
                                                                e
                                         c
                   a
                                         p
                                                                 s
                                                                                          
philistines might argue
all the trees that would be saved
all that space that would be saved
if poetry was not a thing
like a soft drink that claims to be the real thing ~ that real

question scientific orthodoxy will get you banned for being unorthodox
so i will say my mind is outside my head
in the past esp still existed
hang on to the streisand effect
as scientific materialists phase-locking fear mission-drift
they do not believe miracles exist ~ apart from their big baaaang..

fewer pages equal fewer murdered trees
no tortured men with tresses
see what I did there
trees/ tresses
when was the last time a dinosaur did that
or a tree.. 
                           r         s           e
                  t                p                   e
                                     a
                                     c
                                     e
                                     =
                                                                                                                                                                                              
how many virtual trees and dinosaurs have died just for that last five lines
and if you were not reading this they would still be alive
you encouraged me to write this
do not dare pass the buck

your fault entirely

you are not the victim here
 
                                            it is all mememememe                              with you

s            pac                            e                                          s                pac                              e

(for beginners
the space above has been underlined for ease of reference
like the space above)

if dinosaurs were dead french wordsmiths named

m                  allar
        me
they might have bulldozed their horns on trees

<<                                                       




                                                                         >>
and make more of that  (see above)


if a dinosaur dropped on a forest
would this word make a sound..


        
                  would said dinosaur still be alive today
or certainly no deader than mallarme..

and they would have evolved
ditched their lizard scales
for tresses ~ manly tortured poet tresses
if poetry was their thing ~ manes flowing
maidens sitting astride racing tyrannosauruses pondering buttercups..

a
n
d

the planet too might be in better shape
or then again perhaps not
fewer trees = less carbon dioxide from trees yes
so yeah it is all good
I am saving the planet
that is why the dinosaurs died
all the trees killed them..

~ when there were no poets
and now everywhere there are tortured men with tresses
making space where dead trees once lived
pumping out carbon dioxide
in a sick dinosaur-population reduction scam..

no wonder trees never sport tresses..

 the                                space
was hanging out the wrong side back then..
deforestation must continue
or tree-carbon dioxide will kill us all
the way they wiped out the mythic dinosaurs...








Sunday 14 April 2019

Looking Glass Dunes



Up-lit child bathes velutinous
On the school stage the sweet sparrow sings
And parents grasp the clutching maw machines
Vanishing heads present arms raised to stream
Fleshly branches fluoresce process
Obsidian rectangular masks fracture verisimilitude geometric Picasso
The child blink-blinks for the glass forest asway
The ousted eyes triangulate flashes
Broadcasting mobile Sieg Heils sotto..

The child finishes so softly and awaits alas
Clasped seconds of silence roar a smear
Mobile salutations ceasefire
And mural beef fists in flowering repose applaud
The child slightly bewildered
Smiles a sliden relief..

One hand clapping Mumsnet Buddhas
Tap-tap the smart plastic
An echo of pregnant applause reverses
Someone presses open together hands
Circling dragons dance around the time-broken reserve..

Hands parting hands press together apart in one claps..
And a pregnant pause-cheer whoops a Theremin
A car alarm attunes for a ghost..

Relayed new memories lap double-glaze
The phasing phased in out in
The fled bleed around looking glass dunes
Childhood paused uploaded prefaded
Windows if waves crash mirrors cast..



Monday 1 April 2019

The Lost Sheep With No Name


i met an organic meat farmer 
he claimed boldly he also owned the world’s first truly organic abattoir

he asked well would you like to see it
i said i’ll pass 
i have some ice i wish to sell to a penguin
must be going..
he smirked don’t tell me you are a fucking veggie..
i pondered okay i won’t
oh very droll he said 
my abattoir is truly organic he insisted
we don’t care for technology
we breed and let them go humanely
totally natural
and all in accordance with nature..
i should have walked away but being the crowned city idiot
and for many a year now..
i have the certificates..
>>
he ushered in the first lucky animal
while earnestly reminding me
and anyway animals don’t feel pain..so..case closed..
an abattoir hand nodded in agreement
ah you a veggie..you a veggie..
before walking off to the pub..
the animal gazed trusting limpid doe-like 
the laser guided pathos stung my eyes
here goes then said the world’s first truly organic abattoir owner
are you ready he asked
i wasn’t sure whether he was addressing me or the animal
he then grabbed the animal round the neck
see thing is we feed them natural food
so they taste lovely not of american chlorine
we give them the minimum of antibiotics and vaccines
and we let them out to run and eat grass
fewer little ones get autism
and animals don’t require a high eye queue anyway..
it was brightly lit outhouse
wispy rays of silver bathed the glass ceiling
but enough of the poetry..
after a few minutes of punching it in the head
it lay on the floor twitching..
where did you learn to do that i asked
oh sometimes while i am in the field
i watch the humans having punch-ups
i’ve been training in the barn
under the light of the moon hitting haystacks
my farmer friend forgot to mention all the steroids he forces upon us too ~
au natural
although i hate to say it the steroids really helped me bulk up
so i am filled with puss as well as muscle
yeah i’m gonna go to detox
before i walk onto another farm
do the same all over again..
by the bye
the ones who know 
call me the lost sheep with no name..
he then got on his equine friend and rode away..