Both and neither

Your binary is strange
As if I should choose one
Either food or water
I'd starve without either
So when you police
Put me in my place
I can't help but think
You're doing it for your sake
Your own selfish insecurities
Not for my sake
So hammer away at me
Try to make me fit
Like a star through a square hole
In your own strained psyche
I'll watch you fail
Time and time again
Because you have no power over me

-o0o-
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

I Paint My Nails Black (Ostinado in Black)

I paint my nails black
each stroke a memory
a petty activism that exists
come completely crafted out of me
arise from my fingers
like fully fledged children
dancing off the piano
dancing off the laptop keyboard
I paint my nails black
to make them heavier
to weight the strike
of finger against word and song
beating like fists
I paint my nails black
angry and upsetting
each a protest in silence
a scream in the dark
I will make you see
I will make you hear
I paint my nails black
each song, each word
each summons, each plea
weighted with my heart
the sorrow of loss
the sorrow of pain
echo out of this dark world
strike a flint off the obsidian
that glint in the enamel
to bring about light again
I paint my nails black
I paint my nails black
I paint my nails black
I paint my nails black

-o0o-

Dark Thorn

Stung again
I'd failed to learn
But wiser now
I've made a turn
Gripped the thorn
And turned it back
And snapped it off
That heart so black
Again I am
Remade as one
Beneath the sky
Under the sun
Old darkness gone
My eyes can see
I am at peace
My heart is free

-o0o-
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Tristan

I will never forget
That I'm in your debt
What you did when I was down
When I was in need
And you'd intercede
While I was afraid I might drown
The kindness you had
When things got real bad
You gave me a way to cope
When life was ablur
The friend that you were
Rekindled my old flames of hope

-o0o-
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Whores and Bitches

“whores” / “bitches”
“all of them”
“bitches” / “whores”

his every word, another slice
cut into the skin of the people at the table
why don’t we date him?
why don’t we trust him?
he’s such a nice guy afterall
he preens in the jacket cut from our leather
we sit skinned and raw
as he lathers up more salt
oh, how we have wronged him
didn’t we know that we owe him?

“whores” / “bitches”
“all of them”
“bitches” / “whores”

I mean, never mind the systematic abuse
in which he openly revels
never mind the patriarchy which he embodies
actively embodies
never mind the little mythos he imagines
so he can sleep soundly at night
under his skin blanket
behind his skin blindfold
on his skin upholstered dais
of course he never did the skinning
or so he claims
slashing away at us

“whores” / “bitches”
“all of them”
“bitches” / “whores”

he still owns the leather
carved from still living corpses
and furthermore, he’s proud of it
such a manly man
reminding us that we’re fundamentally flawed
that if we don’t do as he says
if we don’t assume our roles as his objects

“whores” / “bitches”
“all of them”
“bitches” / “whores”

words I cannot unhear
the vaguest echo of his misogyny
each time he speaks
unforgettable
and the salt ever present in his acidic voice
ground into the soft flesh
a broken tooth biting on tinfoil
a petroleum stench to top a migraine
it’s all I feel around him now
our dear master
homogenizing all things unman
and splitting them like god on high
the sheep on his right
those objects obedient to him
and the goats on his left

“whores” / “bitches”
“all of them”
“bitches” / “whores”

-o0o-

The KKK isn't a hate-group anymore?

As the beast puts silken drapes about its maw,
and fancy rings on every claw.
That knife-like smile stretching ear to ear,
beckoning the gullible to draw near.

-o0o-

Beautiful Folk

Woken from dreams
By an SMS
Reminding me of something beautiful
An old hello
Scratched onto my memory
As those faces run along the groove
Playing that tune
Slowly crooning to life again
At the beautiful feast
The beautiful folk
So long ago

-o0o-

Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Sexist Detractor

And then you, precisely you
Have to swoop in and woo
The conversation in defense
Of the thoroughly defended
Your concerned affectation
Martyrdom pretended
Stolen from victims of actual pain
With those tears you feign
When the privileged sex
Gets a persecution complex
And they cry and they moan
"Just leave us alone"
With your boots on our neck
And our heads on the floor
As if we hadn't heard
All of this shit before

-o0o-

Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Absentee Intruder

Hey
For the first time in weeks I had dreams
And it's more important than it seems
And that's something quite rare
Since you weren't there
And I could get on with it
Dreaming without you
Guiltless sleep
Free from you reminding me
In this dream I drove my car
Directionless and far
Happy and haphazard
Hovering and half-hopping wheels
A difficult journey without you
Without you
So I drove
I held the wheel
Without you there to steal
Reminding my heart to feel
Waking me to what's real
Taking me by my shoulders
Shaking me
Shouting at me to wake up
"You're alone"
"You're alone"
"You're alone"
So without your bugle to wake me
I slept
I woke rested
After four hours sleep
I cried
I felt like I betrayed you
Because I could sleep in peace
Leaving you behind in undreamt dreams
And it's more important than it seems
And that's something quite rare
Since you weren't there
I want to call you
I want to gloat
Ramble insanely into the plastic microphone
Tell a sleeping man a half-cocked story
At 5h30 in the morning
A story of how I beat dream-him
By neglecting to remember him

-o0o-

Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

One heart broken, one heart lost

Has your heart become your enemy too,
plotting against you at night,
scaling the flights of your psyche,
some thief right by your window,
tapping on the glass,
reminding you of the world outside?

Does your heart pain you so?
Does it let you forget in waking,
but dreams you dreams at night,
on some beach, in some forest,
far from harm and pain,
where time and hurt never happened?

Does it wrench you to waking,
while the moon is high and the wind is cold,
and remind you of the hole it ate through you,
and you wait for sleep to come,
but your heart chases it away,
with old memories?

Does your heart long for me,
the way it never did when we were together?
Does it bleed for me the way mine does still?
Do you long now the way I used to long?
I hoped that you might for company.
I hoped that you didn't for care.

And I type this out, word for word,
like an empty pen on hungry paper,
each word drained and meaningless,
with my pained heart thirsty for ink,
that can only be drawn from forbidden wells.
One heart broken, one heart lost.

-o0o-

Shamed in Death

Another friend dead
Dead of a secret disease
Buried in secret
With hushed overtones
In hidden graves
Or cremated behind curtains
Ashamed of the truth
Their ashes sprinkled at night
Like garbage thrown away
Never to be spoken of again

-o0o-

Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

His Sanguine Mark

I struggle to remember you,
on the day you died.
Eleven years ago.

I struggle to remember you.
I only remember that place.
I remember being in your room,
watching the dark spot on the carpet,
the spattering on the wall,
and the smell of it,
where life upended your bucket,
and the last bits of you spilled out.
The faintest smell of gunpowder.

I hoped,
perhaps,
that it would never go away.
That your mark,
red and rusting on the carpet,
would never leave this world.

I figured,
that we are creatures of pain,
you and I,
scraped raw to the nerve,
and you determined to go down that road,
to meet your reaper face-to-face.
I don’t think I possess your courage.

I miss you dearly, old friend.

-o0o-

Excusing the Bible

You must understand
Your Bible was held alongside a knife to my throat
Your Bible weighted the boot in my ribs
Your Bible cocked the gun in my ear
So when I say that I find your Bible threatening
When you tell me that my point of view is at fault
I can't help to think
That perhaps my point of view
Is precisely the thing being disregarded
You come across like Charlton Heston
Bibles don't kill people
People with Bibles kill people
I am almost inclined to agree

-o0o-

Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Concern Troll

Oh absolutely!

No, seriously!

You wholeheartedly,

Have my interests at heart.

I can tell,

Since your position,

Is telling me to shut up.

How comforting that would be...

   for you.

-o0o-

This was my status to my boyfriend's Facebook page:

This quote is somewhat related to two separate incidents in the last week, and one not regarding atheism at all, but I found the quote summed up concern trolls pretty well:

"As a blogger I've received a great deal of advice from believers on how atheists should run our movement. I got all comments and emails all the time from believers saying "This is, you know, it's like you just might wanna little, little word of advice on how you should run your movement." It's very difficult to avoid the observation that this advice is almost always in the direction of telling us to tone it down, telling us to be less confrontational, less visible. Y'know, I have almost never seen a believer advise the atheist movement to speak up more loudly and more passionately. You know, to not be afraid of offending people if we think we're right. You know to really be willing to get in people's faces about things that they don't wanna think about. I mean, I have gotten a lot of advice from believers on how atheists should run our movement and it is almost always in the direction of politely suggesting that we shut up. Uhm... Maybe I'm being cynical here... I don't think that's a coincidence. And again, when you look at the history of social change movements you see the same pattern again and again, it was true of the women's movement, the labour movement, the civil rights movement, the queer movement. As soon as a movement starts to get some real traction, as soon as a movement starts to get some real power, opponents start fear-mongering about how angry they are. They start fear-mongering about, you know, the angry blacks, the angry women, the angry communists in the labour movement, the angry queers, "They're gonna turn into this uncontrolled raging mob and they're gonna tear up your city!" Or else they start concern-trolling about how "Oh anger just alienates people and the movement needs to be sweet and diplomatic and, you know, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar". I don't need flies. And really, I don't think it's a coincidence that we're being advised to lay down our anger, one of the most powerful tools that any social change movement can have right at the time that we are beginning to get some real power.”

Greta Christina, in her Skepticon 4 (2011) speech entitled, “Why Are you Atheists so Angry.”

-o0o-

And here comes another entitled boy...

And into my life another straight boy pops in,
Bursting me with his sharp cock, like a pin.
Inserting himself in my every space,
While I try to wipe the torrent of spit from my face...

So I rebuff his attempt to distract and derail,
Shocked and horrified his face goes all pale.
How dare I have the nerve to object!
He quickly reminds me to have some respect.

Declaring the way it’s going to be,
Because I need another straight cis- boy to calibrate me,
“Intellectually dishonest,” he ejaculates,
To teach me what’s-what he pontificates.

Indignant that I won’t play along with his game,
To gild up his goodness and spank me my blame.
Him Mister Righteous and me Mister Clown.
He cries because I won’t ride his horse to town.

Blatantly ignoring my original objection,
He storms on ahead with his childish erection,
Flailing his arms at my stubborn contention,
He fires himself up with yet more pretention.

He’s not here to fight, he just asked a question,
As if prosecution for the Devil was his only intention.
The pattern continues with the insecure male,
If it threatens your penis then try to derail.

Then mansplain to safeguard your holy position,
Reminding me my place is one of submission,
To your concerns, methods, and “intellectual” clime.
As if men hadn’t done that since the beginning of time.

Because I’m fucking stupid, never seen this before.
Some straight cis- boy having a shit on my floor,
And getting all righteous when I don’t play ball,
And let boys be boys at the centre of it all.

I’ve seen you before, and a thousand times more.
You’re just another sexist with his foot in my door.
An entitled boy who has to have his say,
And throws a big tantrum when he can’t have his way.

If you want to be ally to people like me,
Question your privilege and complicity.
Till then you can pout and sulk and frown,
Just shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down.

When I talk of rape, and you come along,
With your cock to pierce me as if I’m doing it wrong,
I’ll tell you what I told the man who hurt me back when,
I'll never play by your rules ever again.

-o0o-

On a related note: Every time I make a comment about sexism, feminism, rape, intersectionality, privilege, race, etc... and all the privileged / married / employed / white / straight / cis- men come out of the woodwork to tell me how I'm doing it wrong:

(http://www.buzzfeed.com/adamdavis/everything-is-a-social-construct)

(http://9gag.com/gag/ae3jONB)

-o0o-

Insomnia

Heretical, that little candle flickers on
     all by itself, to spite Ms. Sleep
     who comes with Mr. Moon
     and his broom with dreams to sweep
Candle's up and away
     light the room bright as day
     old candle chuckles cheerfully
     and summons their toys to play
While the stars are still out
     old candle plays in the yard
     the firmament tut-tut-ing
at the candle, strutting
bright and sparkly
Aldebaran bright red
     flushed with anger
     the candle playing the wrong role
Polaris shaken for shame
     the candle stealing the turn
     as if the gyre of the Earth would ebb
The sky unhinged at the room awakened
     twisted every star
     to sing, and beg
     kumbaya, Ms Sleep
     kumbaya
Awake again
     again
     again
One hour here, one hour there
     Ms. Sleep can sneak in
To dull the room and let the stars shine
     give Mr. Moon a chance on stage
     let them sweep that broom
     dusting dreams on every page
But the little candle
     with evening not content
     craves the morning too
     and burning midday Sun’s lament
And our old candle eats
dinner, breakfast, lunch
     each by the same flame
     a bite, a munch
Burning little embers in the sun
Madam Sun pursing her lips
     cocking her hips
     like a gun ready to rip
     at the upstart flame
And if old candle falters there
     Ms. Sleep and Mr. Moon repair
     and all the lights line up in queues
     before old candle’s wax renews

-o0o-

Words

Words are a lot like feet
You tend to go places after putting one in front of the other

-o0o-

Guest

I'll urge you to remember your place
you're merely a guest here
don't come knocking on my door
shitting on my floor
and ask me what I'm annoyed for
don't slap me in the face
and then say I have a bad attitude
as if I'm acting in bad faith
I don't owe you anything
I don't answer to you
an apology for your behaviour
on the other hand
might look good on your lips
but I suppose I'm expecting too much
from the man who thinks himself
entitled to me
as if I'd ever allow
even one more person
to own me
or lay claim to me
fuck off

-o0o-

Hot

stripped cable
naked carcass
frayed out wire
stuck out in all directions
naked in bed
metal body meat
radiating heat
arms and feet
splayed out summer's flower
sweating enamel skin
fodder for the mosquitoes
those with acidic bites
and warm winter winds

-o0o-

Impostor Syndrome

sapphire nails
pink lips
like a child
with crayon drawings on the wall
delicately outlining my features
treading the fine line
between the garish and invisible
afraid that I might get called out
called a fraud
called a liar
a boy being unboyish
today I can't internalize my accomplishments
I cannot validate who I am
I'm a foreigner in the gendered lands
neither man nor woman
embodied as a man
treading on women's toes.

-o0o-

Glass

I dropped a glass
it landed square on it's base
the sides peeled away from each other
like a flower opening in full bloom
it sang as the pieces floated in mid-air
the few drops of water left in the glass
scattered upwards like pollen from the bloom
everything that had and will be beautiful
beauty itself was caught in that moment
on the floor
momentary and fleeting
a dance of light
a song of one note
and a shard of glass in my heel

-o0o-

Wonder Worker

you should see her do it
fold up the earth
and jump from here to there
instantly
she's cunning that way
Ms. Lard
her nimble fingers
tracking along the pages
hungrily hunting for spells
her cleaver thaumaturgy
read aloud
like songs at night
each word as softly spoken
as a leaf brushing by rocks in a stream
and her friends would come
calling to her
"Taya! Taya!"
"Work your wonders!"
"Find my lost love!"
"Bring my money home!"
"Produce a cure for me!"
"Taya! Taya!"
and she would
because she knew the seventy third sign
she could speak the explicit names
she heard them in her sleep
when the goddess whispered in her ear
and she scratched the symbol
carving it into her tongue
making a shem of her flesh
using the sharpened rib bone of the Archangel Uriel
so when Ms. Lard spoke she made
she unmade
then neatly tucked the world under her arm
strolling away
until the next day
when her friends would come calling

-o0o-
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

The Things Forgotten

I remember how he wrote
The flourish in his pen
Letters joined like a river
with their meaning remote

I can smell his smoke
With clouds stinking a cowl
The ash flickered sun about his neck
Draped over him like a cloak

But I can't see his face
Just his cold eyes
The old smile is missing
Paused in the past place

I can't say I regret
I just find it curious
The things we hold onto
And the things we forget

-o0o-
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Unforgiven

I thought about the news I heard,

conveyed upon a single word.

A man I found obscene, absurd,

had stumbled into misery.

I must admit I felt some joy,

when fate maligned that spiteful boy,

who pissed away his life’s employ,

while doing me much injury.

Does my reaction startle you?

Forgive this heart for mercy due,

but quid pro quo with revenue.

Yes, I have earned my enmity.

So if the world needs my surrender,

do away with my contender,

and give me over into splendour,

to bathe in Lethe’s obscurity.

-o0o-

When you fall through

No, Ru dear, no, that won’t do.
Who we are can’t belong to you.
*Trans- is always, enduring, true.
**Drag ends when the show is through.

Your drag each night is fresh and new,
Painted on with brush and hue,
Frail like frost and clear like dew,
But we’re still here when you fall through.

You’re not us and we’re not you.
We’re more than blush, lipstick, and shoe.
There is no mask we can unglue,
No stage persona to unscrew.

So listen up and get a clue:
Don’t speak for us like that, dear Ru.
You rake the cash when you’re true blue.
And run when thing look down for you.

You’ve pay the bills? Well good for you.
We know the cost when friends are few.
Since trans- persists when bills are due,
We’ll still be trans- when you fall through.

* I’ve highlighted the word trans- because of very complicated nature of the word. I’ve used it as a prefix, because I think as a prefix it introduces the trans- community instead of trying to encapsulate it. This is my particular usage of the word, other people use Trans or trans on its own. The trans- community is a very diverse community of people who do not identify with the sex they were assigned at birth. This may include people who identify as transgender, transsexual, third sex, third gender, intergendered, intersexual, etc. This contrasts specifically with cisgendered people, people who identify with the sex they were assigned at birth. Drag is not trans-, particularly because a cis-, heterosexual person can dress up in drag and that’s okay, and probably should be encouraged. However, once they take off the drag, the drag ends, there is no point at which they were not men even during the drag. Drag is therefore not an identity. Drag performs a vital role in society, and should be protected and respected, but not at the cost of trans- issues. Drag is a performance. Trans- is an identity. There is a lot to be said for gender queering and genderfucking, but this is ultimately still gender tourism at best and needs to be done with respect and subtlety, particularly by cis-, heterosexual, white, wealthy, privileged, able-bodied, religious men. Remember, trans- people persist when the joke is over.

**If the trans- community has highlighted an issue, such as the use of the word “tranny”, the drag community has no right dictating to us what that words means or how that word is used. They cannot adopt or appropriate the word and pretend at contexts or point to examples of “bitch” and “whore” being used among women, or “faggot” being used among the gay community, or the n-word being used among people of colour. These examples aren’t even analogous amongst each other, never mind the use of “tranny” and “shemale”. These words have done damage in the trans- community to which the drag community has limited access to, limited understanding of, and limited experience of. A cis- man who dresses in drag, such as RuPaul and his many supporters (people who perform specifically as drag artists, many of them identifying specifically as cis-, and not trans- people), go to bed at night as men. They get naked and they remain men. The trans- community are people who are trans- regardless of whether they’re wearing a dress or jeans or whether they are naked in the shower. We don’t go to bed becoming secret men (I love this twisted image of the “secret” sex, and I will post a link to where I read this image first if I find it again, because the person who wrote it needs to be acknowledged). We don’t pretend at trans-, we are trans-, and the failure of understanding that is exactly what’s wrong with RuPaul and his many supporters and their persistent defensiveness, divisiveness, and transphobic language. Roy Haylock performing as his drag persona Bianca Del Rio attacked Carmen Carrera after Carrera criticized RuPaul for transphobic language on RuPaul’s show and his consequent unwillingness to understand. Haylock’s abusive language is a prime example of the transphobic attitude in the drag community: “Maybe she should take what’s left of her dick and stick it in her mouth and shut the fuck up.” Haylock has “apologized” and written off his various statements as a “joke”. It’s not particularly funny is it? Also, regarding the claim that trans- people such as Carrera owe RuPaul something, let me be clear: the trans- community owes nothing to RuPaul Andre Charles. We exist despite him, not because of him. Had he never come about, the trans- community would have endured and we have found other ways of creating awareness. He should be thankful to us for having used so many trans- people to further his own career and deepening his own pocket. 

-o0o-

Breadkettle

Oafish contrived pot.
Smouldering,
Offering that offensive odor.
An ode to you?
Perhaps not.
Stupid toaster.

-o0o-

When what we really deserved...

We are the architects of time
And so the oligarchs of fate
We wrote the edict and the crime
We wrought the guillotine and state
Not fully risen from the slime
We had our fellows on our plate
Longpig on sale for half a dime
Sold, steaming, slice-for-slice, by weight

We privileged few
Of course we knew
And still we do
Again, anew

We silvertongued sires
  Slave owning buyers
    Witch burning fires
      Gay hating liars

When then the clock struck out our chime
They came then knocking at our gate
Instead of planting us in lime
They offered love instead of hate

-o0o-

Bonfire of the Families

The old don:
He is perfect after all?
His flaws, manifest on his wife
Scrubbing them from her skin
Picking his hatred off his children
Chewing them like cured beef
Fucking mongrels that they are
Spat out onto the pyres
What good are they?
Their soot and their mother’s fatless corpse
Polish to his boots

But then he snaps his fingers
All has to be suddenly well
He is suddenly the perfect man
She is suddenly the perfect wife
-the children, sparkly toothy things
smiling with hollow eyes
There is much to prepare
The guests can’t see the house like this
The don’s wife has to clean up quickly
Wipe the blood from her face
Powders over the bruises
Hush the children up
The priests are coming
A feast has to be prepared
Creases ironed
The don dresses in his best
His wife sweeps herself under the carpet
You can hardly see the children’s toes
Where they stick out under the drapes
The house is clean
The family smiles
Their lines rehearsed
The court is in session

The elite have arrived
The don’s wife a ghost of hospitality
All done
All prepared
Ready
Presentable
Used up and empty

Silver the children starved for
Bone porcelain made from the wife
her teeth, her skull
The food carved from their smiling carcasses
As they stand there
The charade heaped on them
The don elated
Drunk and sloshing about
Preening over his perfect world
Gloating over his perfect family
Don't they smile broadly?
Aren't they articulate?
Aren't they witty?

The priests are happy
Such a lovely evening
What a traditional family
Who would want to ruin this?

-o0o-

Catch22

I'm afraid,
you see?
Afraid of the outcome:
should I say something.
In so many instances,
knowing that I'm powerless.
Incapable of bargaining.
So afraid to betray myself,
and how I feel.
Afraid that talking,
saying something,
anything,
could mean the end.
I'm lonely,
but not so much as I am afraid.

-o0o-

Tip

and I...

tilting my eyes downwards

sideways

askance

I looked at the thing dangling somewhat

and it...

over-ended on the side of my desk

tilting dangerously

and rolling

edge--edge

here--here

the contents spat out on the mat

and it...

that cup beginning that final moment

when the world's fingertip

Old-Newton's call

pawing at the little ceramic sconce

pulling

beckoning

urging its fall

and I...

intrigued by the ebb

and the effortless beauty

of the rolling pearl

that disengorged my mind 

into the air

i found myself ticking

left/right as a clock

in echo of the hollow shell

and I...

mirror to it

twined by its yaw

caught it before it fell

for fear of breaking myself

-o0o-

Puppet

Ah, but I do exist and maybe in spite of you,
and quite possibly to spite you,
and your tireless efforts to undo me.
I exist nonetheless. I am vital without you.

Look here how I move. Here! Look!
And without your pulling at my strings.
How easily I flail my arms without your manipulation.
How easily I speak without your ventriloquism.

Were you expecting obedience? Gratitude perhaps?
I’m sorry, but I won’t play the role you've chosen:
that “god-given” nonsense you’re always on about;
to be that good little toy you're so fond of.

I won’t sit still, like a good little puppet,
hanging from my strings in the cupboard,
till you feel it necessary to fetch me,
so you can play out your little fantasy.

I won't keep quiet, the silenced fetish,
debarked in the suitcase like a handbagged dog,
till you feel it necessary to fetch me,
so you can put your own words in my mouth.

Oh I'm too angry, you say? So bitter.
Not really. Although you couldn't understand.
You don't know the stage you've appropriated.
You're up in the rafters. I live on the stage.

Of course it makes you feel uncomfortable.
This isn't the world you were taught.
This isn't the world you grew up in.
This world belongs to the puppeteer and his strings.

But what good is a puppeteer without a puppet,
when the puppet doesn't need you anymore?
What use are you to me now that scissors exist,
suddenly snipping the strings to disentangle you?

Your permission is meaningless.
So regardless of what you do, how hard you try,
this puppet just won't sit still and shut up.
Are you uncomfortable? Good.

That means you're listening.

-o0o-

Coffee and Arseholes

Please head over to Poetry Potion for this poem:

http://poetrypotion.com/coffee-and-arseholes-by-charl-landsberg/

Also buy their quarterly editions... since I have a tendency of featuring in them.

Love and Kisses
Charl

-o0o-

Old Tamain

there once was a goblin Tamain
who boasted of all his domain
his heavy gold crown
creased a permanent frown
on a head that grew slowly insane

till a traveling man wandered by
and watched the old orc sob and cry
why shed tears so cold
when you're all clad in gold
and your riches are stacked to the sky

enraged old Tamain drew his blade
the last mistake he ever made
the grizzled old lord
fell upon his own sword
squashed flat by his crown where he laid

-o0o-
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

One of More

I am not one of two
...like you
like you
here and there
weighed up and dished out
I'm waste
unfit for the banquet as guest and meal
my blood on the wall
מנא, מנא, תקל, ופרסין (mene mene tekel upharsin)
numbered, weighed, and apportioned
and impressionable boys and girls
to be served at the table of two
for the scrutiny of those
who play their 'god given' roles

I am not third sex or gender
I am not third in some race to the top
by comparison who is first and who is second?
ah!
but men are first
...you say
of course you'd think like that

I am not this or that
playing at male
as if I could sew an oversized cock
to the outside of my pants
to make the guys feel comfortable
and to thrill the girls

I am not that or this

I'm not that thing

as if I'm trying at woman
when who I am is as other to women
as I am to men
because like women, I am also failed
...you say
the un-man thing
...as you say

rather a woman than un-man?
...you ask
I couldn't answer that

I'm just sculking at the banquet
for any food to eat
scraps of female
scraps of male
scraps of the offal
a guest in my own halls
servant at a table hewn
from the bones of my friends
their un-man carcasses
their un-woman carcasses
not good enough
not good enough for the dualist feeders
not even good enough for the dogs at your feet

we are carved up and slaughtered
crucified under your table
a surface of un-person bone
filigreed with un-human veins
upholstered in un-male and un-female skin
to hold up your junk food

junk food
adjunct food
the two-stuff
the di-sexual
as if what you are can be described
in opposition to just one thing
and if I am not the one of those two
then I must be the other of those two
well at least I am not man
and that gives you comfort
...right?

how you celebrate your food
where two spirits are prayed to
to bless the food
to feed the men
...you pray
make you more man
to feed the women
...you pray
to keep them, at least, un-manly

maybe, I have both spirits?
no, they're other than me
I'm one of three
one of more
one of a multitude
but not of two
not one of you

I know it's difficult
you don't get it
because day after day
you happily eat of the two-food
you're comfortable with that
that is why I disrespect you so much

Yes!
Sir!
Madam!
Would you like another slice?
No, I don't have any male or female today.
I'm out of stock.

-o0o-

"Real Man," you say?

your target, not mine
you'll always miss
I don't even compete
I'm not a man

-o0o-
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Brothers and Sisters

it’s been some time since we last spoke
honestly I’m happy to hear your voice
how long has it been, a year?
and you so self congratulatory?

no, old friend
I am not you, and you are not me
we are not siblings bonded in blood
bound by blood we’ve borrowed or bought
you don’t know the roads I’ve walked
and I care little for the highways you’ve scooted down

you shoot such a cold stare
indignant eyes
how insulted you are
but truth be told, you should be thankful

thankful that you haven’t gone where I’ve gone
done what I’ve done
suffered as I’ve suffered
be thankful and content
hide under your sheets
because the sun is coming down
and my brothers and sisters are hungry

-o0o-

Wordsmith a Murderer

Poetry is dead
Shot through the head
Bang! Dead on the floor
Corpse rotten to the core
Draining words run
Though holes poked by my gun
I stood there blinking
The gunpowder stinking

The discipline and art
All ripped apart
Dead by my pen
And reborn again
To take another hit
When I write this shit

-o0o-
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Panic Attack

Can't move
Heartbeat
My fists clenched
Heartbeat
I can't breathe
Heartbeat
My brow drenched
Heartbeat

Walls closing
Heartbeat
Head ringing
Heartbeat
Teeth grinding
Heartbeat
Eyes stinging
Heartbeat

Panic
Onslaught
The floodgates open
Drowning
Legs paralyzed
Lame before the deluge
I can't move
I can't see
I can't breath
I just

I
...Just
......Can't

Heartbeat
...
Heartbeat
...
...
Heartbeat
...
...
...
...
Heartbeat

-o0o-
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Two

I wish I had what it took
To set your mind at ease
To help you hear and look
To let you feel the breeze
To feel the grass and leaves
To pleasure in my eyes
To end the pain that grieves
And open up your skies
So you can feel as I do
Free in every single way
As I take pleasure in you
As I do every day
I can't give you that gift
But I can stand here by you
To help your burdens lift
With me and you as two

-o0o-
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Caelum Ardere Colores

the hues are impressive
your god has much to contrive

after such a cataclysm
one might paint the sky with colours too
if only to conceal the carnage he committed
killing children
killing babies
pregnant woman
and this is what you'd have me consider?
seriously?

perhaps
you need prepare a better P.R. event
than some pretty lights
if you're proposing to sell your product

-o0o-
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Transgender

I wanted to be that thing
To carry the sting
Be a man
Virile and strong
All my life I was told
That I had to want it
Be bold
I had to be it
Not to was wrong
I had to be strong

But I can't be something I'm not
I can't pretend at that thing
I can't pretend to curb my body
Embody costumes for clothes
Folding my mannerisms
Acting out a new speech
Talking a false sex
Flex into some box

So, when you say it
"Man"
Damn
I'm sorry
But that's not me
I just don't fit
I'm not that shit
I'm just not it

-o0o-
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Meaningful Painting

in one colour
as this brush
pushed and pulled
pain plastered like putty
that squashy feel it gives
visceral
sexual
painfully immanent
one colour
simple art
the brush the plough
to texture the field
my hand a horse
to labour at the ostensibly valueless
and the farmer?
strangely absent
there will be no crops this year

-o0o-
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Jealous

Can't I just have what he has?
His confidence? His grace?
The way he moves through the world?
And the world accommodating his space?

Can't I own that grandeur?
His elegant excessive style?
Carving out slender slices of reality?
With a twinkling eye and a dashing smile?

Couldn't it just be me for once?
To simply feel at fucking ease?
Without causing such a huff and fuss?
When I dare do as I please?

Can't I just have his clothes?
His flawless baby-like marble skin?
His azure thousand meter stare?
His million dollar show time grin?

Can't I just have his wealth?
His house? His yard? His car? His pool?
I bet you, I could wear him inside out,
And still turn out this fool.
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Waiting for Hope to Strike (Old Lightning Tree)

ah, but our liberty
(for them and me)
is tied to the branches
of the old lightning tree

when your threats came
you tried to shame
but ignored us
and though we did explain

this, our liberty, you see
for them and me
veins and gizzards
to the lightning tree

we are stuck in tar
bound to what we are
and when we roam
we are never far

from boughs and leaves
that shades and feeds
sticky gory tendrils
that meet our daily needs

though axe, you see
might rip us free
we starve to stray
from the lightning tree

so you come joking
warning of a fire choking
of the selfsame flames
that you were stoking

your bibles fanning
plots: years in planning
yet, yours the guilt
something worth damning

our liberty, you see
for them and me
regrows under the ashes
of the lightning tree

and though we're in fetters
at the hands of our betters
we carve in the earth
our initialled letters

L.G.B.T.Q.I.

-o0o-
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Cry Victim

how you frame yourself
uncanny
the hunter
using the deer's blood
to draw sympathy
you the victim?
who'd have thought!
how difficult it must be
to live life handed to you
privileges you refuse to see
why would you?
but you feel victimized
when those who actually suffer
dare to speak up
against your entitled bullshit
poor you
poor, poor you
it must be so terribly difficult...

-o0o-

At the Gates

hello gatekeeper

may I pass into my own country?

or have your standards become too strict?

am I too fat, too ugly, too unmanly to go safely?

am I too poor to buy your pass?

could I bribe my way in somehow?

become a plus-one to the gatekeepers?

a guest in my own home... my own bed?

the suggestion is subtle, delivered with smiles

that I don't belong here in my own plazas

small coded messages written in shame

over makeup and nail varnish

as if I'm the one wearing a mask

pretending at gender

while you desperately clasp at the keys

to the doors of man and woman and other

-o0o-

Briefly: Fireflies

Illuminate: they burnt,
Like the most brief fireflies.
A star burnt up in a second,
Blinding to every eye.
And they asked,
“Was it worth it?”
But there came no answer,
Just the echo of burnt smiles.

-o0o-