No Pablo Neruda
Essays on life, work and literatureArchive for August, 2009
Vacancy For One Good Samaritan
It’s hard to see the use of this
in day to day observance of
my lack of love, I fail to see
the purpose put to task of me.
I wonder at the time I’ve spent
and every cent, I’ve places
in higher hands, so i can stand
beside these men.
I wonder when I’ll step aside.
If only there was something in
the daily logging in of time
if only there was somer reward for toil
and hearts were unburdened
the mortal coil convalesced
becuse of all the time I took
to read the book and rectify
a well of wrongs.
*
This is my heart’s one song.
*
Unfortunately the time goes by
and I still press the keys in tight,
I never switch out office lights,
I wonder at the choices left
for others who have braver breasts,
and of countries where the tropic spreads
beneath your skin, seeping in
woith need and fed demands.
I understand what it might take
but this will be my one mistake,
I’ll rely on not yet knowing how
to never leave the fatted cow
of pay cheques and office building blocks
of ticking clocks, and corporate time bombs,
while all along, yes, all along
my heart will sing another song.
*
Jessy
The length of her arm against the balcony
cut a diagonal to the low horizon.
She murmered with pleasure as he stood beside her
his nose pressed to the sensitive skin on her neck.
His broad palm, sand pale but dusky on the other side,
spread like a damp stain in fabric over the slope of her stomach.
Susurration, gentle wayward breesze, and the golden
coloured strands of her hair touched his brown cheek.
“Remember when we first met and there wasn’t enough
time in the world to love each other?” She remembered, and replied
with her smile which was easy and warm, and ripe
with carnal knowledge. His grin was a flash of white, a streak of lightning
in a midnight sky, beneath cocoa black eyes.
The tempest of a thousand foreign storms rose in his blood
which she quietened with simply this - a turn of her head, a tilt of her chin,
and the catch of sun rays on her face, each
one tarnishing her skin with more scattered pigments,
like small kisses.
The intense and the faint, the dark and the pearlish amber,
the fornication of bees and flowers in the time between spring and winter
shuddered all around them with the ending of day.
Another Little Dark One.
Little did they know the dirty rag was in my bag
and the blood was slowly turning to the faded tone of rust.
Though it was hardly there to know it, the smell in salty tonal
was suggestive through the perfume of lavender and musk.
All the patrons in the diner, how they sat with stony faces,
how they ate in mute acceptance of the fragile, fabric world,
while seated there beside them was a monster of proportions beyond all imagination -
a terrible young girl.
*
My violent blue anxiety had grown in approximation
to the exploding mouths of craters in the crust of soil on earth
until all that seeped from ‘neath my surface was a bile-like conflagration
of words and crimes so wicked it can’t be put in verse.
This hate, this sick revulsion of the man and his companion
of paternalism that soaked my skin with shit, was too much for me to suffer
in the long hot days of summer, so I turned and ended it.
*
Do you blame me for this murder that is in my bag and rusting?
Do you blame me for this smell that soaks the air within the room?
Can’t you see the white dismembering of his eyes within the darkness
As he hassles fallen women to assume and to subsume?
This was the end solution to the complicated problem of a rotten
Face of man that would haunt me in my sleep.
And so this merry burden that is soiling up my backpack will be my blackest memory,
Til my own grave, that I keep.
The Other Side of Japan
I am standing in the hotel room
my nightgown on
the heater turned to subtle glow
I watch you sleep and the song
the quiet song of breath
that warms the window pane
is a familiar refrain.
We have whiled away the hours between
day and dusk in contemplation
there’s been lust and consumation
there’s been desire
and food in wrappers
that we left beside the bed
and now your sleeping head is turned and furrows in frustration
as the nightmares scatter on the pillows
with your hair.
you have asked me to be there for you
and i have followed, i have woken
from the sleeping slumber of my life
to be with you
but in this hotel room my world is all fixation
and i see nothing but your profile
in the gloom.
when you wake i hope you realise
what i’ve done to have this moment
when you wake i hope you see, I hope you know
that now that I have left him and we’re
naked like two babies
there is nowhere else that I can ever go.
Unfortunate
I’m mindful of the choices
that we make in sordid places
I am mindful of the words and of the kiss
but I am predisposed to vices
that don’t depend on faces
so I might be forced to give this thing a miss
I don’t want some deception
where I lie about the pleasure
of your hips between my elongated thighs
I would rather no conception
or fleshly intervention
than exaggerated, mock ecstatic sighs.
but you can’t begin to wonder
how much this disturbs me
because in many ways I want you for my own
it’s just the fear of vestments
that are taken off in nascence
and in ripeness there is nothing to be shown.
