Naïveté ~ Sunday, 23 December 2018

Touched in the head by an oblique angle, 

only answers to his bread and butter, 

under the weather next to never, see 

cash money can't fix nothing but dinner, 

hovers over a harmonium drone, 

eclipsed by the sound of the sarangi, 

diminished by augmented fourths and fifths, 

introspective, not worth a dime to spare, 

not worth a crisp one dollar bill, holler 

to the top of the mountain, the echoes 

holler back until the skies turn clear blue, 

even the ocean will never weigh smoke, 

hostile island natives kill a stranger 

elected by God as emissary, 

acting in good faith with incurable 

diseases, he only wants to save them 

bloody heathens murder missionaries 

yet, live contentedly with no knowledge 

as God is a figment of language games, 

noble savages know nothing of God, 

only it takes one man to make the news, 

brilliant for a servant of the Good Book, 

little did he notice in the mirror 

important facets in his face they read 

quicker than the indigenous people 

under occupation in the New World, 

each sailor gave them small pox blankets, 

angles hit him in the head until stars 

nudged his brain to drink more water, dizzy 

gyre whirls tilted a kilt with bagpipe drone, 

little did he realize his mistake, 

enter his body, arrows for a corpse. 

Inconsistent ~ Monday, 17 December 2018

What I noticed, what I could not help but notice,  

how the words, the words speak, you speak these very words, 

again and again, when repetition, again 

takes flight, sits still, takes flight, lands, again and again, 

I can't stand still to hear your dumb repetition, 

no more, I can't take it, no more, stop tickling me, 

only these words matter, matter of fact these words, 

tuck me into bed, kiss me goodnight, goodnight prince, 

if you listen, if you listen closely, you speak 

crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, total crap, you speak 

even when, even when no one listens, no one 

dares call your bluff, on stage, calls your bluff, in public, 

why do I sound, I sound like I stutter, stammer, 

hammer the nails, repeat the task, hammer my head, 

art is not, not about the words, the words themselves, 

to speak of difference and repetition, again, 

I repeat myself when under stress, I repeat 

cancel that, cancel that, myself when under stress, 

only these words matter, black ink across the screen, 

under stress, I repeat, under stress, I repeat, 

light revolves in circles, light, a firefly, circles, 

dances around the light, whether flame or a bulb, 

no more, I can't, no more, stop tickling me, no more, 

only these words matter, for whom does the bell toll, 

tolls it does, tolls it does, does it, for whom, for thee, 

help, help me, help me please, goddamn it, please help me, 

even if you listen, you will never hear me, 

lift yourself off the ground, lift off, take flight, again, 

please help me, Lord Jesus, please help a lonesome lamb, 

but I repeat, repeat after me, I repeat, 

under stress, I repeat myself when under stress, 

to see, see if, see if I still liked it, I did,

no more, you're hurting me, no more, I can't, can't breathe, 

only these lives matter, black lives, around the world, 

take flight, lift off, sit still, hover in midair, dunk, 

if for a moment, if for a moment, you hear 

cries and murmurs beneath your feet, inside the hold, 

even if no one hears, they are still there, the ghosts.

Vruvvi ~ Saturday, 15 December 2018

One day, a moth landed over his long, white beard, 

no one saw the difference, so he left the white moth 

exactly where it lay, to do as it pleases 

day or night, the moth stayed quietly attentive, 

antennae slipped below the white hairs of his beard, 

yet, he felt their movement from time to time, subtle 

as a warning device, on silent mode, vibrates 

minutely with light strokes, almost unbearable, 

on his chin and under his jaw, her antennae 

tickled his face, his tongue curled, as if a dog licked 

his face, the sensation, similar but different 

little by little, time and again, the moth wove 

a tapestry over his beard, no one could see, 

nobody knew a moth landed over his beard, 

diligently, he combed his white beard everyday, 

even his own girlfriend couldn't tell when they kissed, 

did the moth disappear into his long, white beard 

only Casimiro knew about the white moth, 

very few people asked about his long, white beard, 

every now and then, words tumbled to question 

reality, people could not believe in time, 

his patience grew shorter as his wisdom grew chill, 

in Goa, his family descends from sossegarde, 

still, poor Casimiro felt no luck in friendship, 

longing for his own death, Casimiro felt ill, 

only the Spirit knew of his disappointment, 

nothing in this world kept him in one place for long, 

greatness avoided him as he gained in wisdom, 

wicked, deep in his heart, he tore roots from the soil, 

how they kept growing tall bewildered his sad mind, 

if he could do nothing worthwhile, why be alive, 

to suffer abuse, his fortune, stupidity, 

egocentric people could not see their blindspot, 

blessed be the white moth, to calm Casimiro, 

everyday, she let him know she cared for the man, 

as if she descended from a cloud to confer 

real world understanding to a man all alone, 

despite friends surrounding him in his grave sorrow. 

Vengeance ~ Tuesday, 11 December 2018

As if the universe, itself, breathes, the Spirit speaks to each sentient being through the Other. 

Instruction in matters beyond the physical, for instance, makes no sense to most people I meet. 

The exception being people who profess faith, harmless in some cases, or proponents for war, every person must decide for themselves where they stand. 

Understanding belief in others, allows faith, nothing less, than a point of view to defend us in the struggle of God and believers in faith versus the faithless rest of humanity deemed equal under the law, we cannot cause them harm, reason regulates acts of violence and war, suffering needlessly, conflict causing grave harm, entering the mirror of power, we reflect. 

Indeed, actions cause harm, collateral damage, taken when the object of intentions is lost, simply put, all actions either help or cause harm, enduring violence accounts for trauma, stress, life losing all meaning for the soldiers of war, for when they return here, they've lost their one true goal. 

Breathing, respiration, occurs in all creatures, resembling our own God, we construct our stories, either legends or myths to make sense of the real, as we live in the world, we reconstruct our lives to make sense with the goals of our church and our God, helping others when we can, harming them when we must, instruction in Spirit comes at a cost, lost faith, nothingness overcomes the passive mind of faith, giving humanity strength to exact revenge. 

Take a moment to breathe, it comes easy for some, however, when asthma strikes a patient, her breath, even before asthma, becomes staggered and short. 

Spirit breathes life into each person at their birth, passion to survive, breathe, live, just as others live, invites us to reflect on the mirror of war, resolving conflicts takes diplomacy, not hate, in emotions we find photographs of our past, truth be told, history judges us already. 

Blind ~ Monday, 10 December 2018

I'm waiting for my luck to change, maybe it will or maybe it won't, I've been burned so many times, ask and you shall receive, a joke in which I play the central role, take this life one day at a time, in fact, how do I, otherwise, not take life one day at a time, guaranteed life insurance left for somebody else to suffer, on top of the world while I run, resting sick in recovery, my game lost during winter break, yesterday I coughed up a cat, luck is a funny thing like that, under certain circumstances, chance would look down kindly on me, kiss me and tuck me into bed, take this life one day at a time, only having no retirement, changes come quick with golden years hovering over my halo, angel, devil, I've been called both, nothing but metaphysical garbage, rubbish outside the bin, everyone for themselves, I see. 

Heaven ~ Sunday, 10 December 2018

Anything can happen in the realm of fiction, 

not even gravity bears weight once suspended, 

you can make bears appear and disappear, to scare, 

to console like a priest or a kindly father, 

however certain rules do apply, unless rules 

in themselves become things, arbitrary and void, 

no one can stop you from stopping time, or floating, 

gravity, as I said, is itself, meaningless. 

Caution thrown to the wind, a town burnt to cinders, 

ashes and dust, returns, as to burn in reverse, 

nothing need be explained, the flames are magical. 

However, fantasy can tread a path unwise, 

as imagination breaks down laws of physics, 

pretends to subvert cause and effect to what end, 

playing games with science speculates possible 

environments where fire heals, lobsters survive heat, 

never boiling in hot water, growing gigantic 

Instead, nothing makes sense, imagination rules, 

nothing surpasses mind in overcoming space, 

Time, and the illogic of our three dimensions, 

humans can waste their lives in drudgery, or think, 

enter worlds of their own making, just to construct 

Reality as if they could just wave a wand, 

everything happens how we want, not for reasons 

accountable to dead industrialists, damned, 

living in hell, or not, metaphysical realms 

making just as much sense as your own fantasy. 

Only power, control to govern and demand 

fictional tribute, Church and God as false constructs. 

Fiction can save coral from rising temperatures, 

imagination can create, maintain, destroy, 

can go beyond the real to offer ultimate 

truth, absolute knowledge, the realm of the Spirit, 

indeed faster than light, where nothing is constant, 

only the conviction of faith in the absurd 

nonsense that none of this makes sense to anyone. 

Blackbird ~ Sunday, 9 December 2018

Well, it never entered my mind, but now that you mention it, yes, I do remember when you died. 

I remember when God peered down over your shoulder at the words on the page of your typewriter. 

You left a suicide note, but for whom no one will ever know, since no one can decipher it. 

Not that it matters really, now that you are no longer with us, you might as well have moved to Chad. 

Smack in the middle of nowhere, with all the time in the world, nope, you decided to visit hell. 

At least, that's what the priest told me, when he said we couldn't bury you in our cemetery plot. 

Remind me why I put money into the collection basket every Sunday since I turned five. 

It's a rhetorical question, no need to attempt an answer, not like you really can now, huh? 

You sit on the mantle between all the urns of dead cats you found over the years in the alley. 

All strays, you gave them each a name, one after another, they found our home just welcoming enough. 

What more could they ask for, you fed them, took them to the vet, even gave the feral ones as much love 

as they could ever want, as cats go they had it all, you took them in, when no one else cared a lick. 

Now what am I supposed to do, go on living after you left, no, it never entered my mind. 

Rebellion ~ Saturday, 8 December 2018

At fifty years of age, I will put these childish 

things away, they belong in a box for old age. 

Fifty years will soon pass, at the end of next June, 

if I am so lucky, I will celebrate with 

friends I have known over decades, I live 

thousands of miles away, in Chicago, 

yet they may come, all from California. 

Yes, when I turned rwenty, they threw me a party, 

everytime I look back, I can't believe how Scott 

arranged with Cat to pick me up and drive me there, 

remember our last year together in H.B., 

surprised at how dizzy Cat drove me in circles.

Only, with a blindfold over my eyes, dizzy 

fell to knowing my way in our hometown, backwards. 

As she drove in circles, in a school parking lot, 

given my awareness, she drove counterclockwise, 

ending any remote chance to sense direction. 

I lost my way in life, long, long before that day.

Will all the LSD I took while in high school 

induce enlightenment, hardly likely, so why 

let hallucinations lead me down the wrong path, 

let me ask why one path is right, the other, wrong? 

Perhaps this revision to my own misguided 

understanding lacks morals, or even clarity 

to decide what was best for myself as a kid. 

Truly, how different life would be if I never 

hungered to see beyond this strange reality, 

endless waves crash on shore, I couldn't fathom time 

simply because my grip loosened over those years, 

endless waves wash out, back to sea to go nowhere? 

Cherish my days with friends in a defunct punk band, 

how will I ever get those days back, those years lost, 

in old H.B., back then, we made friends and grew up, 

letting Spirit take each of us on a journey, 

dance partners for the rest of time, we kept in touch, 

indeed, for forty years, two went professional, 

still the others, like me, found our art, in writing 

however, I found time to understand the world. 

Bitter ~ Thursday, 6 December 2018

In a flash, it's all gone, all that you own, 

nothing but cinders, ashes blown to dust 

a moment to gather all that remains, 

fire tears through homes as an unwelcome guest, 

lament your loss, it is real, and pick up 

again somewhere else, or rebuild from scratch, 

sorrow will pass, eventually, each day 

hits you smack across the face, once you take 

in the will of God to destroy the earth, 

then grace, as the gift of patience, will come, 

still, it's not easy letting go of pain, 

ask for forgiveness, though you did no wrong, 

leave the past in the past and memories 

leave you gutted for things no longer here, 

granted, the mercy of God makes no sense, 

only the priest, or the pastor, ponders 

nothingness when it appears as the will, 

even a madman has reservations 

as to God's plan, he can say what he thinks, 

lost in the tragedy, the children seek 

love and comfort, their world, out of control, 

take a moment to give thanks for your life, 

humans cannot fathom necessity 

as a cycle of total destruction, 

take a moment to care for each other, 

yesterday follows you until the end, 

only when you let go of attachments, 

until then, the past holds you in its grip, 

only when you wake up to a fresh day, 

when the sky, clear of smoke, no longer blows 

nothingness in your face until you cry.

Apprehension ~ Thursday, 6 December 2018

Death comes for all, whether we wait or not, 

eat what you like, but please observe others 

as they may have compunctions of some sort, 

take what you want and leave the rest, they say, 

however, what you don't take, may take you, 

of course it's only a rabbit, not Bugs 

fucking Bunny, or anyone like that, 

a fact, our food may take you by surprise, 

rabbit, for some, is a delicacy, 

as cuisine around the world goes, one meat 

bites as well, if not better than others, 

bite into the rabbit head to rapture 

if your taste buds don't explode, your mind will, 

terrible to imagine it's your pet.

Volcano ~ Wednesday, 5 December 2018

I fall in love with what I cannot have, like a psychological language game, as a little boy in my parent's house, apparently, whatever I wanted had to pass what the majority rule decided was right for the family as a unit, in all its dysfunction, but how could I know I'd carry the bag for the rest of my life after I left their home, which was not my home, my castle. 

As a child, I wanted to live elsewhere, in a castle, or even, a lighthouse, like a hermit living inside a cave, my hero became that eccentric man, a recluse hidden from society, like a crab beneath its armor plating, I wanted to hide away from the world, defenseless against a world so hostile, so violent, never to shed a tear in remorse, without a heart, for actions irreversible, irretrievably lost to paranoia, fear of power unobtainable, inexcusable, my parents were not dictators, but were dictatorial in their decisions. 

What I wanted then, I surround myself with today, like a crazy cat lady, I have become someone so repulsive to myself I want to hide from myself, but as Felix carries his bag of tricks, I carry my childhood inside my head, hidden away from prying eyes, my own and others who would sooner boil a crab than see that we all mirror each other, as the mind is a diaphanous glass to mirror both the self and the other, I became someone I could not foresee, a man without a future, nor a past, only an eternal present, a gift from the gods, high up, on Mount Olympus, only Prometheus was entitled to see the future and the past as one. 

Time became a hobby for me, like trains, motorcycles, sports cars, the need for speed, for others, objects become property, a source of pride and of recognition, but what is time to most people extends beyond the clock, beyond the sun and moon, an object of study to understand, a property of our humanity, we are ground to dust by time, within time, like a prison we can never escape, not at least within this lifetime, but death is no release if the lock is still latched, to figure out the lost combination may take an eternity to unlock, but time does not care, it has all the time in the world for me to solve the riddle this life presents to me as a small gift, I see time as the key to imagine life as fiction, as guided imagery. 

To reimagine myself and my life as a character whom I can rewrite certain details to let go of the bag that I carry as my childhood burdens, who wants to bear this weight for their whole life, so, it is necessary to rewrite, or more, reimagine my character, beyond childhood struggles on the playground, beyond family conflicts behind closed doors, no one could see, no one could know, the pain hidden inside their home, why, I don't know, maybe because my father's father died when my father was a child, so he lacked that paternal presence some children find a comfort, a luxury, a given, this gift of time, of presence made present, when filled with love becomes a container, a vessel that radiates love to all, but when filled with confusion and anger, must be emptied and cleansed, scoured until clean, before love can enter, or I am wrong, for it is love itself that cleans the wounds. 

My past becomes poetry on the page, since I never grew up as an adult, I got stuck in the pain my father beat into my heart, anger and confusion, became my gateway to understanding who I am, who my father was, and why our family was the way it was so long ago for such a long time, I must sit on the cushions to unravel my past, to meditate on the present, this gift of love, trapped within my childhood, my past. 

I fall in love with what I cannot have because I seek the love I cannot share, I cannot radiate the love within, it lies dormant, a volcano at rest, asleep for all intensive purposes, a sleepwalker come back to rest in bed, there is no metaphor for love, but death. 

Unexpectedly ~ Saturday, 1 December 2018

It feels as if I have fallen into a deep trance, sleepwalking through life, as if nothing were real. 

Feelings no longer have the power to persuade, even infatuate an old man like myself, endlessly meeting smart, witty women who play language games as well as the master of the house, sleeping inside his corpse before death steals his breath. 

Answer me this question about love, to flatter slowly rotting corpse flesh with words of light banter... 

in time, will it make sense, will I ever wake up from my childhood mistakes to reclaim my own life? 

I cannot see beyond the fog before my eyes. 

Humbly, I ask my wife for a divorce, the pain as we both inflicted on each other at will, virtue cannot prevail under these conditions, each to their own, we say, but the repercussions... 

fail to awaken me, my spirit wanders, lost, aggrieved by the mistakes I continue to make, left alone for decades, perhaps this is the best, leave me without a stone to call my own, to love, even to cherish, found in my shoe, a pebble, nothing in this life means more than this grain of sand. 

Unexpectedly, time pushes me off the cliff, never waiting for long, I learn to fly, to soar, endless days searching for wisdom over the sea, xenophilic delights, the love of the other, people dismiss this love as uncertain, unreal, enter the cave to hide, to find a deformed boy, created out of myths we cannot understand, taken literally as half bull and half man, even I see beyond the gibberish, the lies, deliberately hidden between the lines of verse, long overdue to read again, to interpret yet once more to seek truth beyond our ignorance. 

Ignorance is not bliss, we forget the poem, neglect the source of truth for confusion and lies, take folly for wisdom, only to face ourselves in the mirror called mind... 

as we describe our world and people as ourselves. 

Delve deeper in the dark, hold the deformed child's hand, efface the ego, wipe away the young man's tears, enter the truth of mind, sweep aside the rubbish, ponder the vast ocean before you, down a deep... 

whirlpool which tumbles me around so that I can humbly, ask God to stop the madness, my patience increases the level of acceptance I seek, revolving in circles around the gyroscope, lapping up the insight to see my condition, particularly well considering my place on the totem pole, climb the ladder if you can, on the other hand, watch others as they climb up leaving their friends behind, this we accept with joy... 

without a doubt, except for the fact that bridges holding the rest of us aloft get burned, tumble into the freshwater, the river embraces children, mothers, husbands, swallows them all into hell, these fallen angels, burnt wings, singed, smouldering... 

tragically lost to news reports that destroy life under the glare of lights, trying to find answers, mumbling something tragic only to segue with glee, brighter than a thousand suns at a heart patient, left to wait in her bed until Chance visits her, even I smile at hope when she receives the news, soon her transplant will take place and she can find joy...

mentoring other kids as they play basketball, even I smile through teeth clinched in cynicism. 

Around now, memories hit me between the eyes, rolling my eyes back, up, inside my head, to see only red, like a bull, though bulls cannot see red, understand I make things up, I fudge the facts, for news is journalism, a story to be told, despite the narrative arc of the storyline. 

Sadly to say, I am a poet who writes slant, others may judge my words, but I couldn't care less. 

This is just a poem, get over it, your mind happens across these words, or another poem, as I write ceaselessly, to arrive at the truth, this truth is but my truth, find your own wave, baby. 

I speak my mind freely, I do not mind if you...

cannot accept my words, my use of this language, accepted in childhood, as an immigrant son, no, I will not hold back, I will not cease, I can...

neither stand at bottom, nor swim up to the top, either the whirlpool eats me whole, or I survive, in either case, I lived, even for a moment, this is enough for me, I succeeded to death, however sad you think death appears in our minds, even I know nothing but this, death is certain, rejoice that life is won and lost on battlefields... 

stake your claim on this life, your time is uncertain, take a moment to breathe, to enjoy the body, as you choose to kill it, slowly but surely, drown neatly in your whiskey, as I will in bourbon, drown in a haze of smoke, of cigarettes and weed... 

on the bottom, you find God, deep in the darkness, nothingness is nothing but to philosophers. 

Touch the invisible fish that swim in the depths, however long you stay is up to you and me, enticing isn't it, the bottom of the sea?

Bottom doesn't mean "rock bottom", unless it does, only you know, and I know what is rock bottom, touch your hand to the wall, does it feel real to you, tell me if you can't swim to the surface, we'll find other worlds to traverse, this is just a poem, make things up on the fly, am I still sleepwalking? 

Nothing can stop us from rising to the surface, only pressure keeps us from rising to the top, reach the top rung and look down at everyone else...

Sink or swim, no option at the ocean bottom, win or lose, run the race, we always train to win, in the darkness, the light is dim inside the mind, maybe I can wake up and flip the switch to on? 

Under circumstances out of my control, time pummeled me as a child, brought me here to this land. 

Tranquil, shy and reserved, the boy learned to act out, on demand, negative attention, positive... 

Trust fell by the way side, learn to mistrust, learn to hold others at distance, don't talk, don't trust, don't feel, everyone loves my dad, the dead alcoholic. 

Tear up the blueprints, start over with my own plans, our own plans from the depths of the ocean bottom, plant a thousand seeds, grow ten trees, start again, start...

---

"It feels as if I have fallen unexpectedly into a deep whirlpool which tumbles me around so that I can neither stand on the bottom nor swim up to the top." 

Second Meditation: "The nature of the human mind, and how it is better known than the body" 

 

René Descartes

John Cottingham (Editor and Translator)