Saturday, 26 September 2020

At the end of atonement

*

This time

    he knew

This time

    he'd come

This time

    to behold

*

To be and to hold

*

Not to pass judgment

Not to rule, not to fight

Not you, not even hisself

*

And in his dream

he contemplated

on atonement

when the mother

hurriedly entered the room

where he was evading

rowdy family life

She, the mother,

forcefully put it shut

followed by an exclaim

of hurt, of pain 

by the mother's brother

as he saw the man's fingers

caught and crushed 

between door and frame 

suddenly it were the fingers

of a toddler -petite-

pushing mother aside

he freed the little fingers

of the before cross brother

there was no more rage

but the hurt of a child

babbling injuredly

in a language he didn't speak

the fingers whole, not hurt

but he understood just the same

he comforted the man-child

soothing the hurt by the mother

locking out, wounding him

and there he forgave the brother

his anger, awakening his soul

as he lay open his chest 

and the dream then told him

*

This time

    you're in the know

        to forgive

This time

    you'll conquer rage

        to comfort

This time

    forgive and comfort

        fools and by that me

*



© 2020-09-25







Wednesday, 23 September 2020

As i never witnessed her face

.

Her ancient beauty

wells the flower

she hides inside

her one vice 

loving fast cars

but who am i who

to retort on that

where i drive

easily too fast 

and out of lane

.

She said she felt my pain

she felt the pain of the mother

but did she feel the booth

in her neck

of our brother

the pain of the mother

as a mother

she could feel

and she replied

what is next....

.

It takes empathy

to be compassionate

but can she go beyond

i repeled by saying

well it's a start....

where i shouldn't've

i just wanted 

to push her beyond

her ripened beauty

sweetest desert flower

.


Triggered by the comments of and therefore dedicated to the poetess Willene.... 


© 2020sept09






Why I live abroad -again- she sailed off

 .

She would never

set foot on land -again-

and sailed away

.

As I would never

feel at home -again-

living on foreign soil

.

She would speak

to seagulls and dolphins

and expect no reply

.

As I would speak

to locals and natives

and not be understood

.

Both of us knew

for different reasons

we preferred to dissent

.

Voluntarily exiled -again-

awaiting the winds of change

that would blow their minds

.



© 2020sept23



If not already someone's....

.

When he was 

young

he scribbled

lyrical and lyrics 

after his father

had read 

and understood

the words and worries

he offered

freely to publish 

the collection

of this son

.

Yet this son 

assessing his works

declined gently

and then changed

course

not dropping out

but ignoring

brush and pen

for years

in favour of

gainings

and position

.

As time aged

so did he

retiring early

free from want

and weight

lifting a brush

wielding his pen

searching for

talented kindred

some able to

write

their heart out

.

Children

of someone

that could

write so exquisitely

pungent perhaps

even cruel

genius recognized

endowment

he would adopt

these adepts

if not already

someone's

.

Yet even better still

from experience

he'd learned

let them be

their own

as I am

.





© 2020sept09 - 2020nov13





Wednesday, 16 September 2020

A concentration of flashbacks

*

Also for my late friend Thomas O.

*

Once 

i was

and once

he was a human being

now 

he's thorn apart

though 

he's just the second generation

he's still a victim of crimes done

Barbed wire fences

the volts burn into his brain

the smell of corpses

every now and then 

it hits (back) 

again - 

he's surrounded by fences.

Flashbacks

though he wasn't even there.

*

Dream 

he's running

in a dream

travelling fast and slow

by train

like sheep to the slaughter

he's a sheep

left....right

death or survival

once 

he was a human being

The smell of gas 

the smell of death

the overcrowded barracks

barbed wire fences

he runs and runs

he touches the wires

the volts burn my brain

i cry myself awake

he's thorn apart

second generation

victim of evil

once 

he too was 

a human being

*



© 1983Oct23 - 2020Sept16



Triggered and inspired by some of my nightmares as a child and the book of Primo Levi.





  

The Bird House


The village farmhouse
was build with an outside
gallery and a roofed terrace

The couple that lived
in it were such that 
given the opportunity
they would act on or
gladly offer the gift of
a small kindness

The people saw 
the swallows fly in
searching for a place
to nest a new home

Near the entrance
under
the roofed terrace
was 
a convex lamp
and that
decided the swallows
would be the base
for their nest

The man and wife
welcomed the swallows
and saw the birds
building their nest
on the white glass ball
with mud and twigs

The people in the house
watched with care
the work and lives
of all the smaller wildlife
in their courtyard

The couple stopped 
using the lamp 
as it had now become
a swallow's home
while
their indoor cats too
watched with interest
from behind the glass

Yet there was
one threat
for the two birds
and their nest
it was one of their own
another swallow
that flew in to disturb
the peace
under the roofed terrace

The couple in the house
looked at the fight
and the flight 
to and fro
they -too- worried
for the eggs
in the nest and
thinking that nature
sometimes resembled
once too often 
human life

But -also- wondered
the people
on the third swallow
wether it was to be hated
for trying to join
the couple on the nest
or to be pitied
for not being included
by the couple
on the nest

The people 
in the house recalled 
some stories 
of old
of Adam and Eve 
and
a snake and an apple
and
of Cain and Abel
the fighting brothers
and
of Sarai and Hagar
the quarrelling mothers
and 
the couple wondered
if there was
any resemblance 
with 
being kicked out 
of paradise....












Saturday, 12 September 2020

Teenage rhymes; the rage of a student in one wave.

.

.. ding dong / cling clong / so confused / i know about tomorrow / is there a tomorrow / circulation bloodstains run upstream / get up steam / ocean runner / walk on air bubbles / miles from shore away from troubles / paintings talk across the border / we all know that we ought to / talk / in riddles instead of rhymes / because so says the Financial Times / perspective / think i lost all / my feathers / down i fall / deeper than the ocean runner / diving in the freetrade zone / when we all are free / from blindness / will we still nill we still / sad eyed lady body heath is your profession / twenty bucks a session / the clouds snowy white in a purple sky / when you were / shot on sight / radioactivity gave you that karma / now killed by industrial pharma / your skin / peel it off / sunlotion / do the frying pan locomotion / chucklehead you're now *prime minister* / guess it's getting rather sinister / but the publicist was not impressed / the fox wanted action / needed mayhem / loved gossip / despised any other coloured race / that's why they praised him / he who would press the button / for that was something / yeah / something really new / their report on the launched missiles was top news / well at least it was some news / but now we're dead....


© 1983-05-20


* prime minister can also be read as president*


Note 2020-09-13: With a president such as this creature in the USA, corrupt prime ministers in the UK and Israel and the current rulers in China, India, Russia, Turkey, the Arabic peninsula, Brasil, shall I continue (?), I thought publication in 2020 of this old lampoon does make sense....

 

 

Friday, 4 September 2020

A Black Hole


I know nothing

  not a thing of you

As i know nothing

  not a thing of worlds 


I know nothing

  not a thing of inside 

As i know nothing

  not a thing of outside


I know nothing

  not a thing of a life 

As i know nothing

  not a thing of the living


I know nothing

  not a thing of want

As i know nothing

  not a thing of worth


I know nothing

  not a thing of nothing

As i know nothing

  not a thing of nonbeing



© 2020sep03.


When sleep is never ever grey; the bedtime stories (Grey).

 

Well now, 

my bene elohim

I promised you a story.


This one is 

from the book of 

great expectations,

a fairytale collection,

from the sons of sons.


It is rather prosaic, but, well, just listen.... 


"

Look, look, 

an opening, 

to heaven.


Between the gray grey mass of clouds 

a small blue aperture to the light. 

Slowly this inlet too was blocked.


There appears to be no way out, 

the young one thought gloomy.

Although, 

when he focused less on that one narrow crack 

and searched the skies on the left, 

he saw there too heavenly blue.


After a brief while 

that path too 

was cut off by the grey, 

but that first inlet 

to which he intuitively had sent his will 

was still present. 

Tiny but there. 

Straight in front of him.

As if El had not yet written him off. 

Still extant in the book of books.

An odd and nervous calm descended upon him. 

But for a miniscule opening 

heaven was completely closed 

to him by the gray and grey. 

Still he realized 

that behind that veil 

the light was ever present.


Despite his understanding 

and foreknowledge, 

his future was him obscure. 

That, that what he wanted 

and, what he momentarily did 

was not congruent.

That only what he pretended 

to want went rather succesfully.

In short, a brilliant career 

and future in society.

But just that distressed him

for he knew 

in his heart of hearts 

that he wanted to

and was supposed to 

do something else.


Anguish, 

he felt so often.

And he wanted out

but where to and how.

Meanwhile

the whole sky had turned

to somber grey.


He wondered

to what extent he

himself was liable,

while he saw no way

out, well not yet....,

that his fear

and reluctance

for his current future

smudged the skies grey.


He knew 

that tomorrow

he would

....or the day after....

he would

delude himself

he would,

but ever aware

of the guile,

feign happiness

or at least contentment

with his more than less

successful li(f)e.


Meantime it had even started to snow.


His heart yearned

for a sign -from Shalom-.

And....

he thought honestly

Lailah at his side

who would endorse

his uprising

against the status quo.

No...., more than that,

she would welcome

his insurgence.


He wanted out

out of a homeland

out of the old worlds

out of himself mainly....

to where it began

to the universe

or anywhere.


He wanted 

thát

right now

for which he

was destined

And,

just as he thought

anxiously

that just maybe

his destiny

was his current li(f)e,

he saw 

light and blue

on the horizon.


Part of the grey dissipated....


He calmed down

again

and he knew

that the last 

panicky thought

would not become

true....!?....


Slowly his calm mixed 

with a sense of love 

and he thanked Elah.


That only

with which he 

kept on struggling 

was

the when the how the where.


The strength in him

and the reassuring

eternal presence 

of HaShem

kept him up

....where others

had fallen....


Ah yes, he even felt sorry for the Fallen....


He pondered

that his initiation 

and reaching 

the seventh step

complicated 

an earthly and social li(f)e.


No, it made it, in fact, impossible.


He wondered therefore 

how long 

he would have to stand out

being grey.

"


And with that, my little brethren, 

this chapter of his li(f)e ends.

Yet it does have a sequel.

But that's another 

bedtime tale.


Say your prayers, colour your dreams,

waltz in and do your deeds of emancipation....

Good night.




© 03 Nov. 1984 - 03 Sep. 2020







Xmas '84 Orwell's eve.

 


I have given 

my life

on a dark

but blessed eve


I painted the fiery painting black

to conceal the truth 

that none would understand

except He and I


And tears ran down my cheeks

as I tore out my heart and

offered it to my hunger

for His dazzling love




© 1984dec24.