someone else's life

there are days i don't even
know how much
of my time
i spend
on my
own 
life
what an odd concept
that you could be spending your life on someone else
yet here we are

and as with all things
the more i think about it
the less i am sure
as my mind's eye passes the parallax
and then refocuses 

on my suicidal friend
for whom i gave so much
desperately trying to undo the knots of trauma
only to see it all burn

but that was nothing
when i think of the hours, days, weeks, years
decades?
i spend crucifixed to the screen
at the behest of an invisible man
for whom i have no love whatsoever
and whose name i don't even know

so ask yourself
make a habit of it
make a mantra of it
ask yourself
what are you doing with your life?
and who are you doing it for?

Milk and Honey

yeah, i think Rupi Kaur is overrated too, but i also feel the need to vehemently defend her poetry. let me explain, in "poem" form (quotation marks for the purists).

why
is it a problem
for Rupi Kaur
to write
like this,
but when Bukowski
does it
it's fine?

people say...
it's not poetry, it's not big, it's not clever
people say...
some poems are beautiful but mostly it's just meh
which is exactly how millions of people feel
about all poetry

and then they open
Milk and Honey
and it immediately speaks 

to them
sometimes yelling
sometimes whispering
right out of the page
which is what poetry is meant to do

for better and for worse
it is instantly accessible
you can devour it in minutes
it is easily digestible
high on the GI index
like mashed potato or plain rice
which is sometimes all you can eat
after you've been starved of nourishment

this isn't raw carrots and whole grains
for those who have had a balanced diet
all their lives
it is of its time, like all poetry

for some
it is a warm and simple broth
the first taste of words that feel good
...so stop trying to take it away from them

fog and harvest moon (01-10-20)

Last night, as I went for a run in the fields, a low ground-fog settled, giving a ghostly glow to the grass: mystical and haunting. Only as I slowly turned back on myself, in the first U of a loop, did I see the orange moon, large and low, percolating through veils of suspended condensation. I slowed to a shuffling jog as I observed these two unusual characters as if I'd chanced on them fraternising; stumbled into their private meeting and must now proceed with caution. My feet trotted on as my face stayed fixed; immobilised by these phenomenal creatures. My heart wanted to stay to capture the moment, perhaps go back home and fetch the camera, but another voice said "you don't have the time". 

I can't remember the last time I was so struck by the beauty of the natural sight, arranged by happen-chance and the movement of the terrestrial world, particularly now I don't travel anymore or spend minutes looking at petals or the movement of worms, instead stuck at my desk, in the confines of the built environment, working for someone else. I had to move on. How I now wish I had ignored that idiotic, galling, parasitic time-keeper. Because that moment will never happen again

face to face

it's like good sex
the palindromic almost-symmetry
of smiling eye to eye

first the nascent curl of the lip
the uncontrollable elevating flesh
like a teasing spark
in the dark
like a charge that gives movement
to static muscle
now electric with confidence
through the nerve to allow it

we see it in each other
lighting bulbs in the brain
contagious, like a sneeze
growing inside like thunder
then throbbing abandon
the eyes squint in ecstasy
a ratcheting, ratcheting
positive feedback loop of affirmation

a mutual mirror
our mad mouths mimic
the amnesty of our ancestors
with our pre-linguistic worth
exposing the enamel
of our ancient weapons
as a gesture of peace
and happy reconciliation

yes, we say to each other, yes
it's safe to let go
a neuronal door opens
and we walk through it

a note on the human condition

With reference to Ernest Becker

it's not just denial of death
it's living with contradiction in general
our grappling with the human condition
the hypocrisy of humanity
the contradiction between idealised behaviour and evil
between fantasy and reality
the lies and meaninglessness
the having to go on in denial of it all