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

salvation

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

no-one

We pray your name

no-one

we build our places of worship to you

no-one

and evocate your name

no-one

 

no-one

your raise us from dust

no-one

we are worthless and pale reflections of you

no-one

you slaughter us without discrimination

no-one

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

 

No-One

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

mesh

I break and in breaking

Fracture.

Repetition [Poems from Goya]

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All love is repetition

all life is repetition

The monotonous tone of the

metronome

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

reflection

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.