Poem Without a Title

Cantos XXXI to LX


Section V


Canto XXXI

sometimes remembering
is a work of pure fiction
the one is not the other
and the other is not the one
the spice is not the substance
but the imagination
shellack upon the bedpost
where the bed creaks 
with energy
but not emergency
hope springs eternal
not just in the nail
but also in the hammer
both are necessary for the conflilgration
blood that mingles with water
into wine...
free the swine
and the lotus land will be visited
not just here or there
but everywhere

kjg


Canto XXXII

the lotus opens
to gather
like a telescope
the sky


kjg


*

Canto XXXIII

civilization began
with  mace smashing
a captive's skull
it will end with a mace
smashing a captive's skull
not with a wimper
but a bang

kjg 421pm 1 may 2016

*

Canto XXXIIII

i am lost in a haze of 
resolution
they came and went
came and went
came again
it was and will forever be
an endless haunting
no ghost is a peaceful entity
and no castle is exempt
frightened in your home
you retreat to a shelter
the masses do not like change
helter skelter
it comes in waves
not like on the shore or beach
but like a tital wave you cannot see
it swallows everything
and leaves nothing intact

you are a tortured puppet
no one thinks hurts
but it hurts the torturer
without even knowing it
you toture yourself
you beat yourself up
you are the lost element
you will always seek
and never find
you are the gangarine
that turns you black
and turns your body into ash
there is nothing you can do
but await the coming

one no longer lives life
the future is no longer a viable option
the moment is everything
that never comes
one falters one fails
one strives
for the impossible
one dies
without understanding anything

i have
like icarus
broken the bonds
i have flown
where wings of wax melted
the earth is a harsh mistress
when you crash

kjg 116am 2 sep 2016

*


Canto XXXV

the trees branch out
to gather nurishmnt
for mother earth
and the roots for 
a communication network
whenever we cut down a tree
we evermore starve mother
earth until she can no longer
nurish us

we have lost our way
we hve become a killing machine
burning down our own house

kjg 356am 12 sep 2016

*

Canto XXXVI

Enough of your stupidity,
I'm only alive because i don't own life
and i don't believe in suicide,
and my love for others only mirrors the love i have for myself.
Laugh if you want, but only an eagle attacks an eagle
and only Achilles can pity the defeated Hector.
Being isn't easy. ... being a poet and a man is to be 
a treeless forest
and to see beyond the horizon. ... Scientists can only observe.
Science is limited to scratching the surface for the truth:
with fingrnails, it has no wings! what for?
Simple really, as I said previously:
science is probability, poetry, parable,
the dominant portion of the mind
brushes aside great poems for sugar-coating. ..
rain shrinks the cock but
that's a different story,
and as you say; the evening is ripe for sex,
and the woman has breasts so perfect
brandy glasses break on contact
but that's a different story.
Then remember Elbe One,
on the North Sea: but that's a different story.
And then there's the evolution from man
to filaments of a fungus in a symbiosis,
different story...again.
The storm's throwing up but you can't even burp,
impossible for your sensbilities,
even the shed scales of a snake can twist you into death,
what god created, he wants substantiation,
children and drunks understand,
but of course they're not insensitive enough to question why
a mirror fogs up when a woman confronts it with her menstrual cycle,
and no true poet loving life asks
why wine spoils in wooden casks
when she walks by.
But enough of your garbage
tha discards all it wants to own,
and hasn't a clue as to what a kiss can do.
But disaster is looming
something so horrifying you can never even imagine,
because it's beyond what you can see,
what god intended, he wants you to feel, 
but disaster's loomimg, children know it, as do drunks,
love originates from joy, 
not from lust,
love originates only from happiness,
love that isn't mired in lust,
children know it, as do drunks..
To exist you would have to be alive,
but you aren't alive because you've never lived,
and you have never lived because you have never loved,
you cannot even love yourselves, let alone
your closest friend. And I have had enough of your stupidity,
and I'm only alive because I don't own life
and I don't believe in suicide...
Laugh if you want, but only an eagle attacks an eagle
and only Brisies' daughter can love the wounded Achilles.
Being is hard. ... shitting, that's a completely different matter.

(Vladimir Holan - To The Enemy)

kjg 1235am 13 October 2016


XXXVII

sperm

now there's an eyeless creature
that seperates the girls from the boys