Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Rock of the Boat
The poems which I am posting in this blog are a sample from my next book of poems, which I expect to publish this year, titled: Rock of the Boat
Holy Days
Holidays are a time to feast
On our most cherished concepts.
Time to savour the Tinderet.
Till the memories are fully full.
Meals at the table are but a ruse,
Yet they are fully taken.
So, some have had a full week to remember?
Some but three sundowns and an execution?
There's not more place to hide now, then.
Not more time to hide quiet places in.
No more taunting
Of those who will never see morning again.
The bees are back on earth. Earth, pinch thyself!
The exhibitionists are back in town.
All the noise and all the gadgetry!
All the rush home and in every direction!
It's not like we were down, again,
To the last 2000!
Life as we don't know it gotta go
On, baby.
Life's gotta go
On!
Genghis Khan's got a number on each 200,
Of each of your warring, faithful, clans.
There's a bend in the road at the next gorge.
There is a George at the next bend in the road.
Nor is he a bad Godfather, or king, really.
Nor is he our idea of James Brown. Or Brown Tsu!
Yet he bends with the road as the next King.
Caprice is in the air, has left us a bitter taste bud.
And all the pardon moi sounds rather like
A reverse horoscope --
In which the future sees us hazily,
Unsure that we will come to pass!
We will become what we are that yet awaits us.
And play for the casual vanquished,
Who declared a war they couldn't wage.
Those who flash, let them not know you'll not call.
May you never be a pan in which they splash.
May those who rattle their sabres be not near you.
Hamahre! Let it be.
Yet let us stone the devil with pellets!
Full memories carry us a full cycle.
And the concepts are fully taken --
We are truly rotund!
Yet some we cannot hold down.
And so let us be!
On our most cherished concepts.
Time to savour the Tinderet.
Till the memories are fully full.
Meals at the table are but a ruse,
Yet they are fully taken.
So, some have had a full week to remember?
Some but three sundowns and an execution?
There's not more place to hide now, then.
Not more time to hide quiet places in.
No more taunting
Of those who will never see morning again.
The bees are back on earth. Earth, pinch thyself!
The exhibitionists are back in town.
All the noise and all the gadgetry!
All the rush home and in every direction!
It's not like we were down, again,
To the last 2000!
Life as we don't know it gotta go
On, baby.
Life's gotta go
On!
Genghis Khan's got a number on each 200,
Of each of your warring, faithful, clans.
There's a bend in the road at the next gorge.
There is a George at the next bend in the road.
Nor is he a bad Godfather, or king, really.
Nor is he our idea of James Brown. Or Brown Tsu!
Yet he bends with the road as the next King.
Caprice is in the air, has left us a bitter taste bud.
And all the pardon moi sounds rather like
A reverse horoscope --
In which the future sees us hazily,
Unsure that we will come to pass!
We will become what we are that yet awaits us.
And play for the casual vanquished,
Who declared a war they couldn't wage.
Those who flash, let them not know you'll not call.
May you never be a pan in which they splash.
May those who rattle their sabres be not near you.
Hamahre! Let it be.
Yet let us stone the devil with pellets!
Full memories carry us a full cycle.
And the concepts are fully taken --
We are truly rotund!
Yet some we cannot hold down.
And so let us be!
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