Fathers' Day

My third father ran away today;
deserted the mothership.
On our planet things work differently;
I am fathered by three men who have left
one
by
one.
Each donated their seed;
our technology is very advanced.
I am a three-father hybrid
a tripod grown from a tri-seed
a triumph of modern engineering.

The first could have been a hologram
a holy telegram from god to stop me getting cocky.
It worked.
Hard to be conceited when a spaceship implodes.
He was in the heart of a star,
a supernova, for one white-hot minute. Maybe it was worth it;
baptised by fire and the spirit
he gave me spirit and form, a wavering
projection of himself.

The second was an astrologer;
he charted my stars and planets
yet I hardly remember him.
Maybe he watches over me
from the horoscope columns
of the local paper, I don’t know.

Today my third father ran away.

I count the stars
one
by
one,
and watch the pregnant moon, frantic
in its mad orbit, deserted by the sun.

I do not feel very creative today

I would like to cook
Something new and exciting,
Fresh tastes and flavours;

But all I can do
Is reheat stale leftovers
From the day before.

Tired

I must confess, I
am tired of being human.
tired of the stirring

of prehistoric
fronds, urges like flaccid tides
sluggishly oozing.

tired of income tax
supermarkets, superman
too many people

so I resolve finally…

to stop pulling on
you with my slack green fronds
of instinct. Homo

Sapiens my ass…
more sap, amber and sticky,
fills nostrils of dead flies.

and so I retreat
eat a hole in an apple
and curl up inside

in that crisp clean white-
ness, crystal walls with the scent
of water sifting …

I must confess, I
am tired of being human
so tired of thinking.

As a consequence

As a consequence
Of your absence
There are no birds in my skies
Plants don’t photosynthesise
I can’t drink tea
Or watch TV
You’ve cut off my electricity.

As a consequence
Of your absence
I can’t speak English anymore
The doorbell’s vanished from my door
The radio spits static
Like a semi-automatic
And the cat won’t sit on my knee.

As a consequence
Of your absence
Religion seems a punishment
And prayer an empty blandishment
God isn’t a romantic
The traffic’s got more frantic
And I'm an extra in my own movie.

Something indefinable ...

it’s something indefinable
it’s a lack of peopling in my world
it’s an underpopulation;
it’s the truth of an oyster un-pearled
being merely a crustacean.

it’s something inescapable
it’s a vagrant purposeless
it’s a beggar without shoes
it’s a clown circus-less
and it’s the expulsion of the Jews.

it’s something unpredictable
it’s a faint indigestion
it’s a there’s-something-missing
it’s an unanswered question
and an unasked dismissing.

it’s something indefinable
it’s all-on-my-own-liness
it’s rag-and-bone-liness
it’s no-calls-on-the-phone-liness.
it’s no-place-like home-liness.

Insomniac

The moon is a coffee cup
glowing fatly, spilling a sweet, sticky sky
lapped up
by the tiny sharp-edged tongues of stars.

Spiced with caffeine,
thoughts fall like dandruff on black shoulders,
like a skyful of stars in a magician's top hat.

Skating

First day I skated
I realised that walking
On water is a miracle
Made possible by first
letting go of the wall.

Embryo

Hello tadpole
My how you’ve grown; you learned to swim
The egg-smooth milky hammock of water
Rocking like a lullaby
Your pre-pubescent soul.

How brave
To flick your tailed, slick
Body out into the acid world, too bright
It dries and crusts you, now
You’re too hard to save.

Here’s a thought;
Would you rather stay dim, cool
Mole-nosed and velvety in the dark
Or nudge out towards the light anyway?
Just wondering.

Homesickness

"Ich habe heimweh"
Is the only German phrase
From years of classes

That stayed in my head.
It is not hard to see why:
ich habe heimweh.

It is sunny and warm today!

Good Hair Day

waking up shampoos the mind
(because we’re worth it)
sweet lemon-scented day - unwind
fingers from tangled hair, let
silky sun condition and embalm
everything and everyone in creamy
sunspun light to gloss and calm
and lend emulsive softness - dreamy.

Haiku

Sun, you tease! I thought
I could wear short sleeves today
But no. Time to change.

Haiku

Good morning sunshine
The earth says where the hell are
You? Come back! Come back!

Winter

Cold has white knuckles
It raps on the doors
Peers in the windows
Of young women
Getting undressed.

Potential

I was cut out to be someone special
But they didn’t piece me together
I was meant to be a day at the beach
But was cancelled because of the weather.

Idea

An idea I had today
Is sieving through my mind
Like too-thick soup
Through a lazy stomach

When usually,
like vodka,
it would go straight to my head.

Haiku

Where did Monday go?
Can't believe I'm already
This far through the week.

...

He has won again
You can see it on his face
And I’m surprised I expected
Anything else.

His lip glistens with sweat
He is wearing a shirt with his own face on it
He is shaking his fist, as he always does
It has all gone wrong, again.

I never thought I would be one of those people
Out here in the West
Who watches it all on television
Who makes concerned noises
Who switches it off.


"Mugabe Muoffice, Tsvangirai Muoffice, Mugabe kuHondo."

A Load of Old Rubbish

I

I wonder what happens to all we throw away?
In a typical day
I throw out cotton balls, tissues, empty soda cans
All the other paraphenalia that spans
A comet tail behind a life- What
A lot
Of equipment we need.

What a lot of rubbish I generated!
But of course it’s all fated
To end up somewhere or other,
A modern-day Golgotha.
Still, I’m clean
My house is clean
It’s really none of my business.

And what a streamlined life I lead!

II

I think when I’ve cleared out every last
Cobweb, stuck Elastoplast
On every scab
Hid traces of the drab
Garbage in my pedal bin,
Thrown out that old baked bean tin,
Deep-cleansed my skin
Cleaned out my closet
And made a deposit
I’ll be able to get on with my life.

A week ago I bought some free-range eggs
That, if I’m honest, are on their last legs
They’re eco-friendly but already late;
A little past their sell-by date.

III

Well isn’t this splendid?
(a question rather open-ended)
I spring-cleaned from top to bottom
Then again in case there was something I had forgotten.
I have a fat, complacent sack
Of loot for the nice rubbish men to stack.

IV

My skin’s clear and glowing
My wardrobe showing
No rip, rent or tear
And no sign of wear
My hair’s lovely and clean
My house is pristine.

And all the rubbish has been
Flushed
Pushed
Drained
Strained
Contained
Or otherwise
Disposed of.

V

Still;
I have a nightmare
That one day I’ll forget to clean.

Then
Like a volcano
The rubbish will erupt back in

And
All of the neighbours
Will see me as I really am

Covered in
Grime
Slime
Crisppacketssodacanstissuescottonballscrust
Chickenlegscobwebsmilkcartonsdeadfliesrust
Ancientcheesetamponsdirtybathwaterspidersdust
Angermeannessignorancedishonestyandlust
And turn from me in horror and disgust.

VI

You see
Dirt always comes back.

Haiku

Nutella's frozen;
Coffee, once poured, is stone cold;
Must be a Monday.

Colin McCahon Poem

I forgot to post this on Friday last week ... just a two-minute, jotted-down poem after my visit to the art gallery.

Colin McCahon

The simple, violent act
Of slicing a white line through black

Of writing God's words
In laborious paint

A simple thing.

And then

From the black well of glass
Someone stares back.