CUT OFF FROM EACH OTHER
Let us sleep
and in dreams
reach each
other in
that deeper
level of
minds & bodies
joining -
what the
life now
denies us,
two becoming
one, once.
10.01.2018
torstai 11. tammikuuta 2018
THE GUIDE OF VENUS
When Venus visits you in your dreams,
giving you visions of passion and ecstasy,
and the morning with its feeble light
like Orpheus drags you back
to the dreary waking world -
then don't lament what has gone
with the night and the touch
of the goddess; the vision
lingers in your memories,
like a guide waiting
for your sign to
seek again that what was given by dreams
and what, the daring
may recover until the greater sleep.
10.01.2018
keskiviikko 10. tammikuuta 2018
AFTER MIDNIGHT
Classical music doesn't fit with Egyptology.
An illegal Israeli settler's little red car with windows shot out.
"This promotes snowfall on the shelves, and also melting of their undersides."
I don't know where I have put my eye-glasses.
'Home to countless coral fish.'
Curfew in occupied Nablus with Israeli tanks on streets.
"It is another example of the complexity researchers need to grasp as they try to gauge how Antarctica will react to a warming world."
For some reason this evening and night I have drank less coffee than usually.
The twenty-meter-long ships of Hatsepshut
on her expedition to Punt.
A middle-aged man dressed like an Orthodox Jew,
with curls and beard.
"Once the scientists had removed the long-term negative trend, they found a variable signal that could be tied to the El Niño/Southern Oscillation (ENSO)."
I have eaten sandwich after sandwich, and one small pizza, since I woke up.
Classical music most certainly doesn't fit with Egyptology.
Condition deteriorated on the way to hospital.
'The divers arouse the interest of large bottlenose dolphins..."
"In La Niña years, the reverse happens: less snowfall, but also less melting on the shelves' undersides. This works briefly to slow the ongoing, long-term negative trend."
I have drank four to six mugs worth mix of water and orange juice.
Died.
'Overgrown with sponges a large bronze anchor lies on the seabed...
They were mashed on the reef in storm and sank.'
"Nasa has not done as well as Esa. It has a allowed a gap to develop between its satellite laser missions, which make very similar observations to radar over the Antarctic and the Arctic."
I am not yet truly tired.
10.01.2018
tiistai 9. tammikuuta 2018
sunnuntai 7. tammikuuta 2018
sunnuntai 31. joulukuuta 2017
A SONG TO THE MOCHE
In gold the Lords of Sipan slept,
in silver the Lord of Ucupe.
The years made hills of their pyramids,
the years brought down their towns.
In gold the Lords of Sipan slept,
in silver the Lord of Ucupe.
Empires rose and fell,
and from afar came death and ruin.
In gold the Lords of Sipan slept,
in silver the Lord of Ucupe.
But in death and decay lay those
who sacrifice bound to the dreaming Lords.
31.12.2017-25.02.2022
THE LAST DAY OF THE YEAR
A bit of blue sky
thrown over the afternoon,
no Sun
(naturally, that would be too much);
a hasty end
to a year
that took so much -
took a an axe and chopped off
a chunk of my life with you.
Gone, so much and now
the blue behind
tattered clouds
a brief 'Happy End'
to a year
when my own death began.
31.12.2017
torstai 28. joulukuuta 2017
FATHER, TALKING TO YOU
The video is nine months old; you had been dead
for twelve days when it was loaded up. Thunder
in the background, rain falling
as the archaeologist explains
the rainwater collection system, the stucco
panels at El Mirador, abandoned
for two millennia. The thunder,
the rain has no effect on him. He is dead
as I read from the comments,
dead and with the kings and the artisans
and the workers who build the pyramid.
Dead, like you, dead these eleven months.
The thunder and the rain,
the snow and the gray ashen sky
don't trouble the dead. They live
in the past, walk the causeways in the
shadows of the red pyramids.
28.12.2017
keskiviikko 27. joulukuuta 2017
THE WINTER DAY IS OVER
The brief winter day is over,
taken over by the mystery
we call the past;
darkness has come,
a flood over the land -
we lie in the ocean depths,
we sleep in the trenches
of the night.
27.12.2017
tiistai 26. joulukuuta 2017
THE PRESS
Nabi Saleh
whiny whiny whine
poor israeli occupation soldier
gets slapped
so terrible evil
whiny whiny whine
never mention
the 14-year-old
shot in head
moments earlier
just
whine whine whine
and praise
Guatemala and Honduras
26.12.2017
A SUSPICIOUS CHARACTER
the youngest dog
is barking
at the neighbour's
snowman
and clearly
he's a very
crooked
one
one
almost falling
over
26.12.2017
sunnuntai 24. joulukuuta 2017
perjantai 22. joulukuuta 2017
AMBROSE BIERCE(1842-1914?)
Perhaps
you never went to Mexico,
perhaps you never faced
that firing squad;
perhaps
you went through the old
Civil War battlefields,
perhaps you went through death
same as the day's;
perhaps,
perhaps you just
disappeared, unknown
even to yourself -
perhaps the dusk,
perhaps the dawn mist
embraced you
faint light fading, rising -
faint light,
perhaps.
21.-22.12.2017 - 25.02.2022
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
keskiviikko 20. joulukuuta 2017
THE GHOST OF THE PAST
To Brian Aldiss(1925-2017)
He is here;
I hear his
rasping breath,
how he struggles
to fill his punctured lungs.
I turn in my chair,
and amidst all that is unclear to my
old eyes
he stands there
in his bloodied, dirty uniform
with bloody bubbles of air on his lips.
His gaze
is the same as it was
on that day in 1944.
It asks
'Why?',
it pleads
'Help me.'
Like then
I turn around
and like I put away my
rifle with its bayonet
on that day in Burma
I put away my
pen and wait,
wait for the rasping breath
to end,
for the last gasp -
for the hand
that one day
shall touch my shoulder
and the voice
that will say
in language all understand:
'Come.'
tiistai 19. joulukuuta 2017
maanantai 18. joulukuuta 2017
TO MY FATHER, LOST FOR 324 DAYS
Yesterday you would have been 70.
Today it's 138 years from the birth of your grandmother
you never saw; the maternal one -
you didn't see your paternal one either,
neither your paternal grandfather.
Your grandson will never see you,
your grandson 28 days old
on whose face I see you.
We have him, we have
your grand-daughter who asked,
when told of your death,
why couldn't your heart be replaced?
Why couldn't you be brought back,
made good and given back to us.
I ask the same
and I ask myself
why didn't I listen to what you said that night,
why did I sent to your bed
and to your death
with a magnesium pill and a glass of water
when I always, always
looked your symptoms online otherwise.
One day I have to tell your
grand-daughter and grandson of that night.
18.12.2017
sunnuntai 17. joulukuuta 2017
torstai 14. joulukuuta 2017
A POEM BY FRANZ WERFEL(1890-1945)
I am reading a declaration written by a now dead man
how he is alive; capturing a gone day
he shouts that he is alive, that he lives
for yet another day; words
on the screen of a computer, long
distanced from the moment he scribbled
down the words transported by time. A
dead man, a mind
gone like the light of that day. Just
the desperation remains
and reminds.
14.12.2017
THE PAST IS
The past is
still an open wound, bleeding
through this night
running through this night
as a stream
that connects the days and weeks
and months and years and decades
back to the spring gaping
sprouting the blood black
in the night's embrace
down
here to this night
that is always.
14.12.2017
keskiviikko 13. joulukuuta 2017
FOUR O'CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON
For the first thirty minutes of my walk
through the dark December afternoon
I don't see a single person; only
when I step into the apothecary
do I enter the world of human beings
again. Such desolation; I
remember how it was,
when I was young -
and now, empty streets
and black windows, and I
still here, in this
quiet loneliness of a county.
13.12.2017
MESOWEB
Laying on my back in the small room
that I should be using as a wardrobe closet
I read about the different strategies of Piedras Negras
and Yaxchilan; how the latter build defenses
on its borders, and its enemy up-river did not.
All the 'least cost' routes open, Piedras Negras
- the vanquisher of Tonina - fell
to Yaxchilan and it's
last king; a Pyrrhic victory which
bought - what? Twenty years perhaps, thirty?
I don't recall; when did Yaxchilan fall? 830? 840?
Almost a life-time then, thirty years.
Almost a life-time, now. Six died of cold
in Chiapas; indigenous - of course. (This
I read from retweet by Ubique.) And
I, in my wardrobe, my back on
blue jeans bag full of
old magazines of geography and astronomy,
my feet as cold as the snow outside,
blood, essence of soul
in Mesoamerica, so slowly flowing
- and how fast waters at the rapids of Usumacinta,
the whirlpools at Piedras Negras.
13.12.2017
sunnuntai 10. joulukuuta 2017
perjantai 8. joulukuuta 2017
DECEMBER IN BLACK INK
It's hard to breath
when you are sunk
in this winter ink
thrown over the days.
No surface to reach,
just more depths to sink,
down, down through
these wretched holes
that pretend to be days,
and weeks and months
- building blocks of existence
all-nonexistence, zilch.
08.12.2017
DEATH
What happened to him?
The same that happens to everyone.
One day he was there.
Living, breathing, talking.
A weft in the canvas of the world.
A current in the stream of life.
The next day he was gone.
Erased.
There was no absence.
No unravelling of the canvas.
The stream ran like it had.
08.12.2017
maanantai 4. joulukuuta 2017
D. H. LAWRENCE(1885-1930) VIII
...falling seeds of rain;
the seed of heaven
on my face
D. H. Lawrence: Autumn rain
What kind of man images
raindrops
falling on his face
as semen?
The kind of man
rolling in the hay
with the 'wrong'
gender.
(Longing to
some heavenly realm
beyond this bowl
of blood.)
04.12.2017
SNOW GLOBE
A crisp morning; snow
has fallen and ceased. Sky
the same never-broken cloudscape;
beyond, the long-rumoured
celestial realm of quintessence,
of perfection in blue. Here below
all is change, all is decay,
a river roaring from melting
snow and rain, coming, going
in this clockwork mechanism
we inhabit with dread and grief.
04.12.2017
Tri(e)ste
It has
come to a stop
this life
at the edge
of yet another
oceanic trench
of grief
waiting
for the long
dive to
the bottom
to begin
one time
our cracked
bathysphere
will
break
under the
pressure
of a life
lived
through
deaths too
many
a
moment
of existence
then
nothing
nothing
all our
sorrows
& pain
04.12.2017
sunnuntai 3. joulukuuta 2017
lauantai 2. joulukuuta 2017
they walk towards the sea; there is no need for words
and on the beach they stand in silence
watching the gray waves the sea hurdles forth
on the gray rocks and the brown sand
the snowflakes descending entering the water
like the landscape in that moment their minds
forever connected to what had gone before
and the separate paths leading to the forlorn
town brooding in solitude on this winter day
dividing their lives and what was one
02.12.2017
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