Craft

Words cut, as the tongue is a blade.

Teeth stitch and lips seal.

Marvel at the things I made.

A kiss to kill, a word to heal.

I have woven worlds out of "hello",

by the mere mention of my tongue.

When I said it, it was so,

and the world was sprung.

-o0o-

Stitch

I stitched words to my skin

the likes of which you'd never utter

I sewed them on like crosswords

so each meets each

so you can read me

any which way you like

at your own risk

because when morning comes

you'll have read my scars

onto your own skin

into your own mind

and we will share them

like a secret word

shared between intimate partners

woven into the sheets

and you couldn't say

whether you knew this yesterday

or whether it's all new to you

-o0o-

Poet

speak poet

your words are the prophesy

selling bad news to bad people

make them think it's honey

you witches and demiurges

who carve creation out of your own blood

rise with the whispers

that no one dares speak before the king

until your chorus shatters their windows

uproots their foundations

shakes the world

I promise you

you have power

sing up at the mighty

and hear them cry for mercy

-o0o-

Incantation

Incantation 1: Evocation - 3000x3000px Vectorish Kind of Drawing
(click for larger image)

set the world achange

with all things weird and strange

with words that shift the axis of all things

like cogs turned in the background

twisting without a sound

and things move, puppets without strings

this is our words like fire

a world changed whole and entire

as new things grow from the song

a life sparked up in the magic

vital, stirring, and frantic

spoken our bones to being strong

-o0o-

Survivor's Poetry

poetry has become the stuff of survival

protest in prose

write a poem

call it food

and eat it word for word

to nourish the belly

for the long road

write a poem

call it anger

a blade to cut through bullshit

in abusive times

I write the road ahead

flatten it

hills knocked flat

ditches filled up

I write the road behind

paved with memory

and myself

stretched

a long story

warping

weaving

waving into the future

a handrail of words to cling to

a guide in the dark

a survival manual for the traveler

-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!

Dumbstruck

I tried to write today
But my tongue
sluggish
And my fingers don't type
So I patter them at the keyboard
Tap tap
Forcing them on the keys
Shaking my hands at them
As if shaking a coffee tin at a kettle
As if wringing the blood from the cloth
words out of my fingers
onto the page

-o0o-

A Collective Sigh

And the Physicist told the Artist
“Draw me! Draw me!”
And the Artist drew the Physicist.
“Here,” he said.
And the Physicist was smug.
“It’s childish,” he said,
“I can do much better.”
The Physicist drew the Artist.
“Here,” he said.
“I don’t understand it,”
The Artist said handing it back,
“It’s just numbers.”
“Yes, but it’s accurate,” said the Physicist.

-o0o-

From and Empty Page to...

Written on 11 August 2009

I write my poetry here
It’s an empty page
Well, not any more
Now it’s full of letters and words
Like a glass filling up far too slowly
The patron begging the waiter to fill his glass
Just a little bit more
Just a little bit more wine
Just a little bit more self-indulgence
Just a little bit more fat and grease

This is where I write my poetry
Or rather slather it on the page
As I spit out the chewed bones
And somehow feel fed
Now the page looks like a used napkin
Stained with the remnants of myself indulgence
And I hand it to be read by people
Like a child expecting praise after having wiped their face

-o0o-