The Servant of Chaos

I was looking back at some early posts and found this one … the first. It captured some of the hope and energy I had/have for this blog, and the blog world in general. Hope you don’t mind the repetition. We begin with a rant. A rumble. A shout. There is more in the mind, more on the fingertips, more spilling from the edges of our quivering lips than...

Train of Thought

This began as a poem. The story chose, instead, a more linear form. A whistle, a whistle, a blast. Five o’clock jabs to the eye, the skin, the vein and all that is spoken is “ah”. The narcotics of my life egg me on, drive me forward, cajole the poetry out of the crevices of my mind. And yet, here I sit, eyes out the window, tongue lolling in...

Aria

I listen to the wordsthe sound of breaththe pulsethe urgethe weightand wait. The waiting is always the signalfor disappointment The waiting looks to tired eyeslike the drowning of men It smells of rock-less seasof mediocrity But then the breezeshiftsbaby I dare not believe the words that feedan emotion that awakesa cry for the departed and a hope for future...

Eye on History

It is easy, oh so easyto seek and findbehind leaf and boughin shadow and in rain-puddlesa fear that we know. The shape of our anxietiesand the taste of our fearslives in the contours of our daily lives – in the rooms where we live. The boardrooms we frequentthe hallways we scaleall sound as hollow asrocks in the graves. The four pm food courts of...

Caxton Dreamt

The crumbling edges of a finger-worn mapbrittle with the desires of forgotten menstinking of failureThe tongues of parchmenthave no more words to impart. A new contour is arisingA flavour more pungent A nightmare more steeped in thedaily exasperations of menand their suits Our exertions must be immediateThe urge is stronger than breathThe pen holds firmThe...

My Radius

Breeds like contemptThe armies of the fewthe ignorantthe slimy facedthe self believing votersof compliant governmentsAre all part of theconsiracy to delude. But we two … we hold fastto a belief in conversationIn poetry and languagewhen all that is leftis the mealy-mouthedthen my compass transformsmy...