HALLO WORLD BALL

HALLO WORLD-BALL
Feathery old static fluff-ball
World with its upside down Russias
All over the place-
  Hallo again I say to thee
world scatter-wing a day gone turned
a worldly spin on things, a time
World-ball, I remember you
I remember when I painted your portrait
Yes, I know you.
  Clattering to the ground are
ladles, screens, tunnels, an entrance-way
to other times, afternoons,
a camp a cave a jittney-ride a spin
You have so much to offer-
  You immensely and unimaginably
rich and diverse world
that is in fact a conglomerate
ball composed of many a world
squashed together
on the surface of one ball-
  World-realm-shadow-ball-
Thought-made ball-
(...)

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JACK KEROUAC'S TYPEWRITER RHYTHM UNROLLS

Jacaranda jaculus - jaculus Caractacus
Caraway imaculus.
Hacking haikus home from traveling the page.
Merimac memory-babe, clacking keys
on your portable machine
writing the epic paperback roadflick
lickin' up ink, highways, lush-nights
and scenes of your time, your '50's
w e s t e r n    d r e a m i n g
 
Lost, mocked, most honoured scribe
scribbling in endless notebooks
with your
c h e a p w i n e
sharing-it-with-anybody -
YOU didn't mind - 
you knew we all sprung from the same meatwheel, 
the same karmic revolving circus -
From Mary's drunken Buddha-Heart.
 
In felaheen earth
in tents
in Mexico
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Hollowed

 You hollowed out my poem 
and stuck your
   (adverts)
into it
 
this made me feel pretty strange
because- 
Do we share our dreams
so you can (advert) cinema tickets?
    (advert)
shoes handbags jewellery glasses
        (adverts)
corporating insidious (adverts)
    into our dreams
       into our dreams
           into our dreams

Ghostmoney

Ghostmoney-
It’ll hauntya-
But what is ghostmoney, you ask-
Ghostmoney is the dream
of the value
of the money you spent
it all long ago.
 
Ghostmoney is foreign currency
that we all use-
 
Ghostmoney is currently collected
by the customs and exorcise-
 
This chilling private-value-system
haunts vaults
vaunts and flaunts fiscal
risks, faults, fails, falls
into a Great Depression.
Haunting stark for the gaunt poor-
Ghostmoney dreams flapped
from the wings
of a mammoth Mammon mastodon.

JACKDAW

A jackdaw
at the back door
with a hacksaw
in his black claw
made my back sore
What was that for?

Mind Knowing Light

Clean as Light in Space
Photons stream pure - no room for neurotic thought.
Photons stream pure - bouncing off illusory matter, silently.

Photons clean in space travelling-
Colour to the eye, eye to the Mind-
Mind knowing light.

Light in time sagging-
Distorting by gravity's lure-
Stars unborn seen first-
Unborn Mind seeing light between atoms dancing

Moonbeams, friendly white neon-glow
Luminous-clean, no room for stale ideas-
Throw your radiance onto the sea of the earth

Sun on earth, arriving pure - steam rising from damp earth-
Green shoots rising - young teeth and beaks nibbling-
Lizard-eye blinks, glazes, gazes at the sun

Clean as light in space-
Photons stream pure - 
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Remember When We Were Free?

Remember, my friends, when we were Free?
Remember the white sunlight on the hot dusty streets?
Remember when songs were sung without looking over our shoulders?
When poems were spoken out loud, in cafes?  In the street?
When laughter knew no check, no nervous glance?
Yes my friend, I know you do, even if you can't
Look me in the eye.

Once we danced around a fire - we spoke of whatever came into our Minds - 
I know you know this, inside yourself, I know you keep it,
deep inside your secret chest.  Under your grey 
and inconspicuous coat.

I know you all yearn for the return of a past mode.
But it will take years, war, a revolution -
and then, us survivors will be old.

Yes, we will be old, those of us who live.
Those of us who are not broken by those who wear the black.
Perhaps we'll run together into the evening sun,
stir the ashes of an old song
and look for life in it.

Shut Eyes Open

Once you twinkled and sparkled with life in life-
That was then.
Later they abandoned you
and decay rose up out of the Earth to sup 
on your juices-
But you didn't mind-
How could you?

Nothing sinister happened-
that's just your imagination,
grinding colourful thoughts.
The odd tramp sneaked in and holed up for a while-
drinking.

The mist that fell that summer night
moved the mind of the poet.

One day, soon, the people
will move back in.
Children will laugh and throw crumbs
out of the old windows-
feeding warbling thrushes and chirping sparrows.

The Caterpillar

"Who are you?"  asked the caterpillar
but I didn't know - so what could I say?

I thought about it for a bit
but realized there was no answer
and this was not a problem.

Old Crow

Old crow
your eyelids are grey
rapidly blinking
some small loose feathers fluttering
on your neck and tail.
Don’t fly away
I want to de-scribe you
I want to tell them
what colour you are.

SUMMER SUBPOEMA

Granite snowman
growanek growth of gold
lichen licks your old head - 
your grass-skirt and blessed
pointed head to the sky.

Sweet birds of summer
come to swoop by you,
fly-past swiftly African aircraft
swallowing midges a-wing -
sing simple songs flung
over dungmellow flatfields -
summer a-come.

Licking breezes cool
wrapped around old stone spool,
then a stillness
in the cloverdotted pathcrossed field,
Stone Holy to Ancients
with Oceanic view,
glimpse the stars
Look!  Old is new