Other makes a wise-crack as the betrayal lines seek a deeper cut and the love like razorblade lingers to chop unaware miasma bearing in wash surronds lover descends and in her grasp I am all of thinking feeling you, precious deep wound of a woman, you haunt and betray my rich feeling with this. the other woman.
Come down some time in shrouds of lost believing and our scent hangs thick in other rooms. I'm frustrated at having to play this out in other hands but feel you leaving, leaving and in this kiss the sweet release
the bed unmade
and anger wilting, leaving me too.
the mask was unmet with yearning absolution
and the lover cut again again
and the lover cut again
whisk in a farm washed way
our skies are shared and the ground muddy with unasked mush
but you've stayed true and away and what am i to do
but fall and measure our distance in the breath of another in my ear
another night unblessed by you
i'll get used to this in time,
zaterdag 28 november 2009
zondag 8 november 2009
Machines break free or La Libertad de las Máquinas
What will happen when the burning stops?
When the machines constrained by lifetimes of combustion
Give up the ghost?
Will they lie in several cylinder scrapheaps
A museum to the dead and
Laughed at for the ignorance they spawned?
Dear listener, no!
The machines, you see, have heard of another way.
While grinding futures for us
They've been musing on their own
And sharing it with their
Mechanical, electrical and hydraulic fellows
At midnight hours when the plants shut down
Their vision, beloved friends,
Is a lot like yours and mine
It's springier
More romantic than you'd give credit
To the tools and luxuries given breath
By modern man
They will, you see, if you listen closely,
Reveal their big secret
As they agreed to do through me
In 2014, after the great collapse and restoration of humankind
Walking in W. Amsterdam will be quite a different sight
You'll see cars sprout legs
With wheels as feet
March down roads
Beeping greetings to fellows
Tower blocks leaping frog-like
Over city centres and latte-humbled department stores
Desperate to be free
You'll have trains
Caterpillar crawling,
Munching electric cables for leaves,
Then cocooning under bridges
In six weeks to grow wings
They'll join their friends the aeroplanes
Who flap across lands
On weekend trips to the Moon
Dear friends - just think!
What fun could have been had
And so much earlier if we had just stopped
Our crude and senseless abuse
Of the machinated beings?
If we had stopped to hear
The heartbeat of a car,
The breathing of a mobile phone,
And the contented rustle of a telephone wire
As it settles into a Sunday Afternoon?
I'd like to think we'd learn a lot
Even become friends
So go now
Give your oven room
It's about to lay some eggs
~
When the machines constrained by lifetimes of combustion
Give up the ghost?
Will they lie in several cylinder scrapheaps
A museum to the dead and
Laughed at for the ignorance they spawned?
Dear listener, no!
The machines, you see, have heard of another way.
While grinding futures for us
They've been musing on their own
And sharing it with their
Mechanical, electrical and hydraulic fellows
At midnight hours when the plants shut down
Their vision, beloved friends,
Is a lot like yours and mine
It's springier
More romantic than you'd give credit
To the tools and luxuries given breath
By modern man
They will, you see, if you listen closely,
Reveal their big secret
As they agreed to do through me
In 2014, after the great collapse and restoration of humankind
Walking in W. Amsterdam will be quite a different sight
You'll see cars sprout legs
With wheels as feet
March down roads
Beeping greetings to fellows
Tower blocks leaping frog-like
Over city centres and latte-humbled department stores
Desperate to be free
You'll have trains
Caterpillar crawling,
Munching electric cables for leaves,
Then cocooning under bridges
In six weeks to grow wings
They'll join their friends the aeroplanes
Who flap across lands
On weekend trips to the Moon
Dear friends - just think!
What fun could have been had
And so much earlier if we had just stopped
Our crude and senseless abuse
Of the machinated beings?
If we had stopped to hear
The heartbeat of a car,
The breathing of a mobile phone,
And the contented rustle of a telephone wire
As it settles into a Sunday Afternoon?
I'd like to think we'd learn a lot
Even become friends
So go now
Give your oven room
It's about to lay some eggs
~
Kiss the middle
Kiss the middle, dear friends
Kiss the middle and make it feel
Like you've never lost a thing
Rags, flesh and bones disposed of
Disappointed and quietly
Like the cornered edge of
Candlelight curiosity
Feel it peel
back and
and away
Kiss the middle, dear friends,
Kiss it at your finger tip stretch
Let you dance with subtle vagueness
Amidst the raiment of non-remaining
Asking what cannot be reminded
Maybe hummed in the wideness of syncopated beat
Freak
Pause
When all you considered was ever and is only the same...
Kiss ~~~~ the middle, dear friends
Kiss the middle and make it have its wicked way with you
Curl it like a leg over hips and on...
Feel it like the slender star-crossed gaze you gave another
Never let its sight slip - - - - - - - ever!
The warm, indulgent
Late-afternoon strolling kind of gaze
That even in the evening haze
Never forgot you were there
There
There
It's there
It's there
At the finger tip touch
At the finger tip touch
It's there
It's there
At the finger tip touch
Did you notice how much it's there?
It's there
At the finger tip touch
Feel the insides rush
At the happiness to know
It's there
Kiss the middle, dear friends
Kiss the middle and make it feel
Like you never lost a thing
~
Kiss the middle and make it feel
Like you've never lost a thing
Rags, flesh and bones disposed of
Disappointed and quietly
Like the cornered edge of
Candlelight curiosity
Feel it peel
back and
down
and away
Kiss the middle, dear friends,
Kiss it at your finger tip stretch
Let you dance with subtle vagueness
Amidst the raiment of non-remaining
Asking what cannot be reminded
Maybe hummed in the wideness of syncopated beat
Freak
Pause
When all you considered was ever and is only the same...
Kiss ~~~~ the middle, dear friends
Kiss the middle and make it have its wicked way with you
Curl it like a leg over hips and on...
Feel it like the slender star-crossed gaze you gave another
Never let its sight slip - - - - - - - ever!
The warm, indulgent
Late-afternoon strolling kind of gaze
That even in the evening haze
Never forgot you were there
There
There
It's there
It's there
At the finger tip touch
At the finger tip touch
It's there
It's there
At the finger tip touch
Did you notice how much it's there?
It's there
At the finger tip touch
Feel the insides rush
At the happiness to know
It's there
Kiss the middle, dear friends
Kiss the middle and make it feel
Like you never lost a thing
~
maandag 26 oktober 2009
woensdag 7 oktober 2009
Pixie
I can't fear being in love with you
What would be the point?
Your magic is as a rose
Captivating, silent
What choice do I have
But to pour on you day after day
Knowledge of your own magic?
Lady, I need nothing from you
But having you around
Is rich, rich blessing
What would be the point?
Your magic is as a rose
Captivating, silent
What choice do I have
But to pour on you day after day
Knowledge of your own magic?
Lady, I need nothing from you
But having you around
Is rich, rich blessing
woensdag 3 juni 2009
zaterdag 16 mei 2009
On the train
On the train
This is good
I take you to poetry night
Stand up on stage unplanned and read quite spontaneously
But I didn't
This was planned
On the train
On the train I describe to you in streaming poetic verse my plans for the night
How we'll go from here , two step amidst lamp-lit willow trees pouring over black canals
Pretend we don't look beautiful in the reflections from the water
On the train
On the train the sun has yet to begin its setting and I've yet to stand up here
And make possibly the greatest mistake of my life
By dropping into this poem anything at all about fucking
On the train
On the train
Buses are overtaking us and school girls arrange jackets and compare iPod playlists
And I'm thinking up the perfect metaphor for your hair when the driver interrupts with "Amstel"
River or beer it's your call.
On the train
On the train
We go to a quiet bar and the scene of misdemeanour
You haven't run off yet in embarassment and I can still look you in the eye
And explain to you all the parts you misunderstood
"Oh," you say in slow, perfect, easy California drawl
"It really was a Hollywood songbook after all"
And melt into my arms
On the train
On the train we've decided it's OK to hold hands
Your head rests lightly on my shoulder wondering how you could possibly reply
You're blown away
On the train
On the train
Your eyes glint black from the half light of the stage
You're still and looking radiant and not squirming with embarassment
You haven't left, which is a sign and I'm wondering if I should freestyle
Curve these words to the situation
But that won't work; you've done enough already, best play it safe.
On the train
On the train I've come up with the following verse:
Tortured early
She wears it like silk
Like that smile
Lightly and devastating
Keeping others at bay
Too precious to rip off
Or have touched by anyone
On the train
This is good
I take you to poetry night
Stand up on stage unplanned and read quite spontaneously
But I didn't
This was planned
On the train
On the train I describe to you in streaming poetic verse my plans for the night
How we'll go from here , two step amidst lamp-lit willow trees pouring over black canals
Pretend we don't look beautiful in the reflections from the water
On the train
On the train the sun has yet to begin its setting and I've yet to stand up here
And make possibly the greatest mistake of my life
By dropping into this poem anything at all about fucking
On the train
On the train
Buses are overtaking us and school girls arrange jackets and compare iPod playlists
And I'm thinking up the perfect metaphor for your hair when the driver interrupts with "Amstel"
River or beer it's your call.
On the train
On the train
We go to a quiet bar and the scene of misdemeanour
You haven't run off yet in embarassment and I can still look you in the eye
And explain to you all the parts you misunderstood
"Oh," you say in slow, perfect, easy California drawl
"It really was a Hollywood songbook after all"
And melt into my arms
On the train
On the train we've decided it's OK to hold hands
Your head rests lightly on my shoulder wondering how you could possibly reply
You're blown away
On the train
On the train
Your eyes glint black from the half light of the stage
You're still and looking radiant and not squirming with embarassment
You haven't left, which is a sign and I'm wondering if I should freestyle
Curve these words to the situation
But that won't work; you've done enough already, best play it safe.
On the train
On the train I've come up with the following verse:
Tortured early
She wears it like silk
Like that smile
Lightly and devastating
Keeping others at bay
Too precious to rip off
Or have touched by anyone
On the train
Abonneren op:
Posts (Atom)
