Month: January 2014

Not Expectations [Poems from Goya]

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Your hair glitters in the

corners of my eye

a sharp, soft, subtle glow

that fills the spaces

that fills the gaps

that fills the beating of the heart


Long-strands of glittering wires

that slice the heart

Atrium, Ventrium

A multitude of wires

that slice the soul into

a multitude of fractured parts


Your glittering blond hair

a torture.


Dead [Poems from Goya]

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What is the relevance of


In a world of Auschwitz and Treblinka

In a world of growing terror and anxiety


We are wretched beasts of the ground

Run into the ground, plunged into the mud

Deserving of nothing of the ground


In the world of beasts

we now longer deserve salvation

or forgiveness


The dead cannot be forgiven

The dead cannot recieve salvation

Beasts of the ground we dead inside


Do not ask for salvation

for it shall not come

Do not ask for forgiveness

for forgiveness is not deserving

No-One [Poems from Goya]

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We praise your name


We pray your name


we build our places of worship to you


and evocate your name




your raise us from dust


we are worthless and pale reflections of you


you slaughter us without discrimination


you have abandoned us


we now

must bury you

bury you

must bury the suffering you have wrought

must obliterate  your name

must destroy your very essence



only then can we free ourselves

of you

Fracture [Poems from Goya]

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Murderous rage fills the case

that contains page, and

page and page;

murderous rage that plagues

and ravages the mind


And the golden locks of Helen’s

hair sit and burn

another Troy


They whip and lash the fragility

of peace

And whip the soft seas that Sophocles

gently glazed


Lapus Lazuli pierces

the fragments of my solitude


The soft knocking at the

chamber door

That breaks the silence

and unbreaks my heart

The cage ensnares

and tears

Rend my felsh into bloody


I break and in breaking


Repetition [Poems from Goya]

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All love is repetition

all life is repetition

The monotonous tone of the


Second after second

it flits away

till the till ticking

sinks in

and the days begin to listen.


All love is repetition

All love is the same

And the old lie that our

own love is special

is an empty lie


all love is repetition

and all repetition is love

Birth [Poems from Goya]

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I gave birth to you

the evil thoughts of my


I smashed the mirror again and again

and again


I gave birth to you

but in your birth you were full of bright

harlequin colours


Now that you live

you are brown, and dull

and black and tar


So ready to become a truth

I gave birth to you

and now I feel your death

at my hands.


A Contemplation on my Death [Poems from Goya]

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When I consider my own death

terror strikes, a feeling

of a done thing alone.

Simply the coming and going of

an empty body

Ready for the cold hard grave.

When I consider my own death

I think of that time

before my birth

and conception

and project it forward

and find emptiness

Where emptiness is the end

and the beginning

of this mortal life

a fragile, sensitive life

We are given birth

and then we are given death.