Ye Caterpillar | |
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Ye Caterpillar, 5 lutego 2012
Detached, loosed, struck off on The Strand,
Dubstep Hubcap rolling and tumbling cross the land,
losing the race with th car what shedya,
spinning, turning, trundlin’ so graceful long th Strand,
scatterinya blessin’s all the way from Lhasa
past piers of fish, ashphalt avenues, iron-mongers,
ale-mongers, monks, friends – you Holy dish -
set alight the street you did,
set alight the Strand.
“Stuck behind a rubbish-collection-bus”
‘Don’t you mean a dustcart?’
Trash wagon, a flash flagon of flim-flam filth -
OVERTOOK the hubcap,
gazed directly into the Heart of the whirling Blessing Deity.
Dubstep hubcap of spinning spontaneity
Ye Caterpillar, 17 lutego 2012
Fresk kommolek ebrenn
glas pilenn hwyth a-ves
tarosvann-pallenn
ha treusnija-leurienn dhe an bran
glyb gwels ---
mar nebes gwyr kath vlewek slynka
yn krogenek surkot
Dhuchais
Ur scamallach speir
glas giobal seid chun shiul
taibhse-cumhdach
agus eitilt-cairpead do an preachan
fluich fear - bideach bolb tealtaigh
sa sliogan cota
My Home Land
Fresh cloudy heaven
blue/grey/green rags blow away
ghost-blanket
and flying-carpet for the crow
wet grass ---
as a little furry caterpillar creeps
in carapace overcoat
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Notes:
This poem is cast in Cornish, Irish and English. Apologies to the Kelts for the liberties I've taken with these ancient and noble tongues.
'Glas' in Cornish can mean 'blue', 'green' or 'grey'. I associate this word with the changing colours of the sea. Occasionaly houses in Cornwall are called 'Glas Mor' - Grey/blue/green sea.
Alot of Irish words have accent-marks over them, but not sure if my machine will do this, so you'll have to put them in yourself...
I've asked the 'Jynn-amontya' (engine-amounter, or computer) to do a Polish metaphrasis - it's in the hands of the 9 Muses of the INTERnational NETwork - I hope they do a good job - I have no way of checking!
Moja Ojczyzny
Swieze zachmurzenie nieba
niebieski / szary / zielony szmaty zdmuchnac
duch-koc
I latajacy dywan-za wrony
mokra trawa -
jako maly futrzany gasienica skrada
w plaszczu pancerza
Ye Caterpillar, 21 lutego 2012
Inveterate invertebrate
embrace a vertical rockface
facade of vetinary race
inverted, braced, a molecule's pace
mollycoddled molusc lusting
for the last bus,
in a flap
in a fuss
roaring full-born
dew-drop bull-horn
Tide swirling your
side twirling ripples
slithering in rivulets
letters ripped from catalogues
log-jams, lumbering word-jams,
verbose invertebrate
syllables coagulate
veering off a typeface
tentacles scrabbling for limp
pictorial hieroglyphs
glyphics mystic and molten cliffs
larva slips - hatching
in lunar eclipse
graphics grappled - coming to grips
inveterate invertebrate -
must it come to this?
Ye Caterpillar, 4 lutego 2012
Greenhornhood heavy hung however wholly
haloing halfling’s holy head. Thinking
through these thick thoughts thoroughly though therefore that’s thought’s
threnody thus through and through. Greenhorn
gores dirigible though, punctiliously and pitiably deflating the gasbag
envelope. Avidly attempting to avoid
responsibility though he attempts to involve the antelope in culpability. However heavy though hung the halo halflight
around Greenhornhood’s head.
Ye Caterpillar, 1 października 2012
A jackdaw
at the back door
with a hacksaw
in his black claw
made my back sore
What was that for?
Ye Caterpillar, 1 kwietnia 2012
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.
Ye Caterpillar, 17 lutego 2012
Lorekeet Laureatte
You'll peck those words,
Motormouth motivatin'
Berries, cherries,
Pickin's rich in birds
Wingin' it, wordin' it,
Wearing whirring wings
Absurd i'n'it?
Spreadin' the word in it
Fly like a bird in it -
Land in the laurel,
singing
Lyre-Bird!
Now for your lyrics laurels
are conferred on you!
And subjects once taboo
You blew so open wide
Now the people see
inside of things
So spread those wings
Lauretta Poetta
Give those words
Some peacock feathers,
Aye?!
Ye Caterpillar, 5 lutego 2012
Mallow the fleecy slumberquilt of owl-down folds
as glinting obsidian chips shatter to steel picks
glycerine meniscus slithers, slips gelatinous quivers
on dusty towels of blotting sloe-deserts at closing time
Dazzling wattage of solar brilliance
blinks dilating mole’s eye eclipsed by fogs obscuring dulling lids
cactus scimitars bristle at hedgehog’s scalpel point
while boulders rolling hills globular orbs around
Jocular punning jesters teasing comic clown jollities
lost money, brown envelopes soggy with stale rain
strange minotaur glaciers promise unsolved wonder
but late tax tellies brake cold tabloid price-rises
Egyptian fossil farthings recall yore grandfathers
now today’s internet chart-toppers skype new youth
spiders shock rejected by bully-thief’s cruelty
as warm coco-friendly cottages enjoy blue skies
Faulty computer fails, dull music rankles tired mind
awakening fresh glittering cool water splashes girls
shoes stepping path, kicking footballs as footsfall
shakehands fingers ring guitarists point to nailpolish
Formulaic wordhopper churns swilling unpop to critics
amusing the chucklers with bubbling playful verbdance
stay within your constructs if you will so continue thus
naught concerning consensus, joy rears again surprised
Ink-symbols convey conceptual synaptic lightning
the ever-curious gazer drinks from media’s swirling sea
the dualistic key-tapper hurls the project out
and life-life returns to paths familiar and mallow
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