This was inspired by the wonderfully abrupt way that a dodgy Facebook geezer approached a female acquaintance some years back...
I think he probably had romantic intentions. So yes, "You there!" was the perfect opening line.
You there!
You! And thus I name you...
You are a "you" distinct from any "me"
you may encounter. They say you stand apart
in a realm of your own devising
where he tells me that I would fear to tread.
She watches you. Eyes haunt you. I want you.
You are not beyond me. You there!
You! And thus I summon you. Approach
and be known, friend. Carnally or Biblically
I covet your neighbourly ass, come warm my guest chair
drink thin soup and wait for dark. You there!
For "you" are "there". I place you. I locate
your self in the world of selves. Unique and one,
individually rapt and indivisible,
inseparable from identity, your own sense of "yourself." You there!
You! I fathom your nature for you are there
by definition. You're present but tiny
a seed at the heart of everything. Embedded,
grit in oyster or gene in cell,
or minute caterpillar, asleep in the rose of the World.
You there, you! I am talking to you.
2017-05-03
NaPoWriMo - 2017 - April 29th - Bridge on the River Quand
There was no prompt, I dug out on old idea (the title) and ran with it...
Bridge on the River Quand
Every poet has touched on time as river,
for all that it's a wrong-headed idea,
the metaphor is inescapable.
The symbolism is inescapable:
I've ordered girders, concrete and steel wire
all dumped beside the water in a pile.
All piled beside the water in a dump
the people of the land that time forgot
yet they can do a proper job on this.
A proper job, let's try to make a fist
a firm foundation's how our works begin
physical strength, specifications met.
Metaphysical, the specs are hard indeed
I'll park my trailer here beside the stream
and work on cross-hatching and bracing beams.
The workers are all gone across the stream
but I'll wait here at the still point I have made
out of the river, a poet time can't touch.
Bridge on the River Quand
Every poet has touched on time as river,
for all that it's a wrong-headed idea,
the metaphor is inescapable.
The symbolism is inescapable:
I've ordered girders, concrete and steel wire
all dumped beside the water in a pile.
All piled beside the water in a dump
the people of the land that time forgot
yet they can do a proper job on this.
A proper job, let's try to make a fist
a firm foundation's how our works begin
physical strength, specifications met.
Metaphysical, the specs are hard indeed
I'll park my trailer here beside the stream
and work on cross-hatching and bracing beams.
The workers are all gone across the stream
but I'll wait here at the still point I have made
out of the river, a poet time can't touch.
2017-05-02
NaPoWriMo - 2017 - April 28th - Signs and portents
You have to imagine that the bits like this
etc are informational signs with peeling paint on the walls in a disused hospital.
Signs and portents
stairs to all floors ↗He believes in progress,
has worked on it through many years staff calendar.
Sometimes things change, his room caught fire one time, accident and
emergency
but other days he sweats ← gym to shift one item
from where it is basement storage to where it ought to be administration block.
This is the way things are these days preventative medicine, but he waves
the thought aside and shunts his occupational therapy handcart
through disused hallways. He isn't really looking ophthalmology
at the walls or unsafe floor. He doesn't really plan
the future any more; lacks accommodation staff apartments
for such mortuary errors as occur. He had lunch
with Kate in the Kings Arms. Her daughter paediatrics came too;
good grief that kid can put sausage and chips away canteen.
It felt like belonging family planning, and God knows he's better
than her ex psychiatric services--but all the while he was waiting
to be found out authorised personnel only.
etc are informational signs with peeling paint on the walls in a disused hospital.
Signs and portents
stairs to all floors ↗He believes in progress,
has worked on it through many years staff calendar.
Sometimes things change, his room caught fire one time, accident and
emergency
but other days he sweats ← gym to shift one item
from where it is basement storage to where it ought to be administration block.
This is the way things are these days preventative medicine, but he waves
the thought aside and shunts his occupational therapy handcart
through disused hallways. He isn't really looking ophthalmology
at the walls or unsafe floor. He doesn't really plan
the future any more; lacks accommodation staff apartments
for such mortuary errors as occur. He had lunch
with Kate in the Kings Arms. Her daughter paediatrics came too;
good grief that kid can put sausage and chips away canteen.
It felt like belonging family planning, and God knows he's better
than her ex psychiatric services--but all the while he was waiting
to be found out authorised personnel only.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)