Showing posts with label prose. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prose. Show all posts

Monday, 27 February 2017

Scurrying Ants

My mind and spirit soar brushing the vaulted ceiling.
The music in the stadium propels us all into a blissed out 
state of being. It feels as if my skull has been opened up wide
causing me to lose all control of my brain. I begin to feel woozy 
and terribly strange. My limbs jump about as if possessed, 
perhaps they no longer belong to me. 
My circular eyes flicker and snap into ugly 
snare drums untuned. My thick brown hair rattles
around like spinning crash cymbals close to breaking.
My ears are engulfed in fuzzy bass-lines 
humorous and light. My arms and legs now utterly foreign to me
are moved about by discordant guitar chords
that patter through the air like overweight pigeons. 
The elevated human crowd are now lost wandering
in a different sonic dimension. All of us 
smell of over-priced liquor and burnt cigarettes.
The crowd sways and splutters like swarming plankton.
Despite my feeling of being underwater I continue to 
sip my plain lemony drink in my recycled paper cup. 
Finally the band takes to the stage for their final encore,
with what little energy they have left to give. 
After a time the lights switch on abruptly ruining 
the show, it's playful illusion broken in two.

Immediately everyone is reduced to scurrying ants. 


Monday, 13 February 2017

A Russian Novel in Verse - Eugene Onegin

A painting of Eugene Onegin from Pushkin's novel in verse one of the most famous works of Russian literature. Eugene above slandered love and hurt sweet Tatyana a woman late to be married who patiently waited for the love of her life to arrive. For time she was convinced Eugene was the one. In the end being an aristocrat she was forced to marry and found happiness of a kind with and older loving husband. Eugene by contrast was eventually shrugged off by Tatyana the woman who at one time had loved him madly to which he detested her passion. It was only much later in life that he came to see Tatyana's vibrant and unique character becoming deeply infatuated by her in the Russian city of Moscow. In the end Eugene was forced to live a lonely and itinerant life desperately trying to outrun his inner demons. Scholars believe the character Eugene symbolises a westernised Russia that inevitably falls into decay producing nothing of worth. Tatyana by contrast is the inward looking Russian figure and nation. She reaffirms her connection with rural and then civic life by looking inward into herself in an act of self-mastery instead of wandering around helplessly for help or guidance from others in the world. The story is a metaphor for how everyone should embrace their past before moving onto conqueror and confront oneself to achieve lasting happiness.



Thursday, 26 January 2017

But when is it that my heart races most madly?

You send my heart racing 
even though I don't quite 
know your name 

You send my heart racing 
despite the fact I asked you out 
and you said no

You send my heart racing 
because you speak to me in
a rustic second language 

You send my heart racing 
because your so prim and proper 
while i'm a dishevelled mess 

You send my heart racing 
like a beam of light bouncing 
off the face of a pretty girl 

But when is it that my heart races most madly?

Whenever
I dive deep down into
your mesmerising crystal
blue eyes
Overcome with the sublime
intoxicated
feeling of love
that only 
bi-polar allows 






Monday, 10 October 2016

I Want to Laugh in the Face of Death


i want to laugh in the face of death 
get inked up, dead man walking across my chest 
I want to laugh so loud that my face turns red 
scream so hard that my cat drops dead
you see, im passing through, so how bout you
with our bodies worn no sign of youth
destined to become what we always knew
like worms in the soil twisting and turning
a stupid rusty screw loose in your head 
waiting to maybe take you on that fateful dance 
a long slow waltz
with deaths hand gripping your beautiful ass
your drowning in black and white
while i'm freezing in multi-colour baby
of all the sweet joys of life 
imagine music lost and unheard
For on your fatal day, betwixt two worlds
suddenly abruptly rudely wrenched from your dreams
one finds the world not destroyed but continually reborn
for what is crushed in an instant  
is destined to eternally recur 





Monday, 19 September 2016

this is for the ones who didn't make it

You seem trapped like a stoat slowly dying
Lost in a cycle of self-destruction and praise
One finger on the button of the nuclear bomb, hand on your crotch
Could you do it kill woman, children, husbands indiscrimantly
In an instant flesh burnt to dust by the man made sun of Hiroshima

Underlining pain and turmoil married to social unrest
Black slaves in the street know the real pain of the oppressed
Are you reader willing to fight even die at my side
 in an army of citizens swaying marching left right left right
Reaching out hands poised with serated knives
 or will the state do us in and steal our lives
Why not simply save face and conceal the magic of swines

A hundred years a thousand more and were still no closer to peace on earth
Locked in the throws of rapture brought on by torturing your toes
 we languish embedded in a holy war of symbols ruled by an aristocratic asterisk
The rich the poor everyone suffering due to impounded interest and slanted economics
Our world the great leveller crushing us into a small tidy compressed trash can
Of False humility and wickedness black grimy and festering
We grow and improve forever imprisoned in a cacophonous groove
In an eternal return to dance across stars like a melancholy moon
Who speaks "life is so pretty but it always ends so soon"

Onwards upwards climbing pecariously in the pit of hell
The work must be done our minds reforged for a labour ensues
Fighting off depression evil thoughts sharper than sickles and swords
At the same time we are becoming what you dreamt a million times
For Inside us lies dormant the keys to a universe of joy
Like a newborn child humanities essential character is good

Sunday, 18 September 2016

musing on ideas in Zarathustra

Dry your eyes, there's no use in crying
we all live under the moon at night
were wolves howl and nightmares roam
that is until the flaming sun comes out
bringing life renewed to those who wander 
like scared animals being hunted we hide
praying for one last day to feather our nests
before our bodies decompose under moss covered trees

Monday, 29 August 2016

For Love is Not Cruel Torture

Rainbows sting
like scorpions
poisoning the cloudy winds
your hazel eyes
weeping salty tears
sorry not sorry i shan't be giving in
For love is not cruel torture
nor a contract drafted up for commercial gain
true love is simple friendship inside a searing twin flame
so burn on burn on like a neon highway lighting my lovers way
as i am quite certain I shall never return from whence i came
snoring down a highway
slumped over drooling on a cloud
i sink back into my couch
upholstered with freezing water vapour
as I mis-pronounce unkempt wedding vows

Thursday, 25 August 2016

Electric Blanket Lover

the only lover i ever needed was my electric blanket its hot as hell but knows how to cool down and stay chill when i need it too plus when im not ready for it there no quams it just waits for until i'm ready for it to engulf me and when im out of town on work or on vacation I know it won't cheat either or demand that it come too plus for the amount of unconditionally love i get from it im onto a good thing pity it's a guy and im not gay i guess no relationship was made to be perfect also sadly you never break up from an electric blanket they tend to die on you like your favourite pet animal or maybe they decay in a crumpled pile on a sweltering hot afternoon in Summer then full of remorse and guilt you shamelessly attempt to resusciatate the love you thrust it back onto your bed like the wedding night of your platonic consummation despite this primal display of wild dissarray the chilly depths of Winter overpower your union and it wont heat up properly like it youse to and your forced to throw all that good loving in the trash anyway Thank god there a more were that came from with electric blankets lining the fully stocked shelves at Briscoes But from my observation sadly they all seem to be getting shittier and shitter kind of like human beings overtime maybe one day electric blankets will resemble shitty human beings completely so much so that given the choice they will all choose not to work at all given the choice the poor old sods

Monday, 15 August 2016

Inspired by a Woman of Unearthly Beauty

You have the most
Beautiful eyes and nose
Your beauty is like a dancing muse making love to centaurs
Your eyebrows only accentuate the maddening affect your appearance has on my soul
I was once a lion now fully transformed I'm like a child one stones throw away from enlightenment
Inside my body I sing and preform sonatas in your honour
Though they never do you justice
I fear I have been reduced to a rambling fool drunk on love swinging on a bar stool
Lusciously and lavishly your lips seem to me worth more than riches
What a real woman can inspire in man knows no bounds
I would devote myself to slavery if it meant having you!


Friday, 29 July 2016

my mum thinks I'm more talented than Mozart

My mum thinks I'm more talented than Mozart
But I can't compose a beautiful melody
My prose and words come out like deformed versus of poetry
My tempo and time always race or decline
My mum thinks I'm more talented than Mozart, She's so kind

Friday, 3 June 2016

Random act of Kindness

Random act of Kindness
Not everyone’s suffering from blindness
I man grabbed my hand said good day
Smiled and walked away
i was taken aback
Surprised, taken aback by such a random act of kindness
But then I thought back
And placed his face finding it in a lost memory bank
I recognized him from days gone past
He was the man I saw walking around in daze
Encircling the mt albert shops
months ago seems like years
When I was waiting for some takeaways
The proverbial fish and chips
I saw the same man in a black hoodie
Breathing frost out of his nostrils on a windswept night
He combed the streets like a well trained assassin
Or a hairdresser on drugs
He scanned up and down the pavement for cigarette butts
His search was futile but he seemed happy enough
I watched him as he gave up
Before he crossed the the street at the traffic lights
He turned to me with an exuberance you rarely see
I smiled back genuinely
Is it not strange how he remembered me

Wednesday, 1 June 2016

cheap Hollywood ass flickers like a pixelated picture


There's a fine line between love and hate 
Hell and heaven are just minutes away 
The champ said the weak break 
And only the strong survive 
Does that mean I'm destined to fall
While others thrive 
Like a glass window shattering
Contorting falling snapping 
can this bad luck stop happening
i need to feel real magic no smoke and mirrors
cheap Hollywood ass flickers like a pixelated picture 
was Iverson wrong when he said the strong dont crumble 
like a pill turnt to white powder
Roses in Full bloom perish too 
The weak grow strong 
when you save their lives
Strengths a foundation that's constantly shaking 
dont exist just live but avoid indoctrination 
by the status quo of developed nations
the irony is that powerful seal their fate 
to play the victim, when we turn our backs
We're all born with nothing and leave so quick
To be reborn brand new and come back to earth
Falling from the clouds in and out of love  
can we Break up to Make up so i forget the hurt 
another long lost love affair repeating endlessly 
I cry my eyes out but they dry Again 
Am I
I am
I'm ready 
I'm ready too 
I'm ready to fall in love again

Wednesday, 13 April 2016

A poem/prose inspired by an evil bartender with eyes darker than a blackhole in Ponsonby

                                   

(1) 

Painted whores with
missing teeth clutching
desperately at their dignity 
and fleeting youth
Impaled desecrated 

discarded

If you find yourself

in the unenviable position to be
part of the unread zombie crowd
of this detestable Ponsonby bar beware of
the satanic pantomimes and lack of exuberance
that festers
preserving the great unwashed like a lost frame of 36mm drained of all colour overexposed and cut to pieces 

hipster i feel i must warn you that once
you enter the establishment you should quickly grab hold of the nearest alcoholic at hand
A tick of approval if their a belligerent 
ass-hole

bring them close and engage in mindless folly 
rabbiting on about epic tales of half truths and flamboyant lies dressed up in leather jackets adorned with sequins dreams
and rest easy knowing they are the best company the tragic beautiful lead actress in the radicals play of life and death the lest pretentious diva of the aquatic drinking environment polluted with human toxicity
For Though we may seem drunker than a runover family of skunks homeless in L.A
In reality the well sneakered stronghold of hipsters are dripping in lethal hemlock 

waiting to waterboard our minds into mangled American indoctrination 
be very careful for they know only one thing how to hold a grudge
like iron their hands bleed with exploitation
farce fills their eyes their callous worn hands a remainder of their low existence 

If you do insult them commit to the end
for they are more bitter than the very last drop off granny smith cider freefalling from the lushes mouth into the bottom of the barrel constructed out of envy hatred and discontent