Watched you standing by your car
a cloud of smoke above your head
Did not know you smoked
But it kinda made it better
I drove into the traffic
Head blushed from our talk
Life is all about humanity in the end
not nation, ethnic groups or religion
@neil Furby
I saw the man first on his bike peddling down the road with purpose bold
Then one day I saw him on a tandem bike with a woman on the back
Another day the tandem with the woman sitting on the front
What next, man and woman on two separate bikes
And now I see him alone peddling down the road with less purpose bold
@Neil Furby
At ground zero a life in ruin
A smoke insanity chokes
Distort and twist
Massed chaos of buckled future
Trapped below identity screams
Grapple and claw to get out
Push and panic
Micro Tragedy happens every day
@ Neil Furby
Blanket man Blanket man
We pass you by each day
You have become a Wellington Icon
But what’s the price you pay
Blanket man Blanket man
Putting ya body on the line
So close to the roadside
Your death wish is a sign
Blanket man Blanket manHow come you are this way?
Tapping sticks for money
But we still pass you by each day
Chorus
Lets all become blanket people
And lie down naked wrap up warm
Sticks a tapping for a new New Zealand
Enlightened peoples on a new dawn
@Neil Furby
Poetry Cafe is back.
@ the Cruz Cafe & Bar Porirua
The gods of weather and liquor licensing kept David Eggleton from appearing in June, but we look forward to the return of the Great Kiwi Ranter in October......
· Entry is Free · OPEN MIKE * GREAT PRIZES
To be was not to be
What was and what is now
A thousand thoughts in your mind
A wind blew through your tree existence
Was it all such howls of agony?
Did the leaves brown to your now state
Of winter chill and no spring in sight
The fruit that fell cleaved by others
Is safe in earths bower and will rise again
In some other place
Yet the scar weeps for you
Mother of your life
Is gone but is there still
Your spirit her spirit entwines your branches
To support not crush your will
Your cankered pain creeps to your trunk
The rain for you a poisoned chalice
No growth no blossom here
A sap to crystallizes your very life
Black clouds these thoughts that float and stay
Hide that healing sun
Loves rays you cannot see or feel
Please let them in and live
For V @ Neil Furby
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TIGER, tiger, burning bright |
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In the forests of the night, |
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What immortal hand or eye |
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Could frame thy fearful symmetry? |
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In what distant deeps or skies |
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Burnt the fire of thine eyes? |
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On what wings dare he aspire? |
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What the hand dare seize the fire? |
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And what shoulder and what art |
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Could twist the sinews of thy heart? |
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And when thy heart began to beat, |
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What dread hand and what dread feet? |
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What the hammer? what the chain? |
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In what furnace was thy brain? |
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What the anvil? What dread grasp |
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Dare its deadly terrors clasp? |
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When the stars threw down their spears, |
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And water'd heaven with their tears, |
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Did He smile His work to see? |
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Did He who made the lamb make thee? |
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Tiger, tiger, burning bright |
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In the forests of the night, |
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What immortal hand or eye |
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Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? |
By William Blake
Fish look for water.
Men look for the light.
...Man licks the earth, and the earth falls onto man.
Man penetrates the earth.
And the crying of the earth wet man's brow.
The earth with its deep hollow,
bed of light,
prepares the dream.
One must sleep the dream of the earth.
One must sleep.
Sleep.
Rest on the earth
a calm brow.
Press with fingernail and mouth and thirst
the resounding waterfall of earth,
its turbulent box
sailing toward peace.
Like a scream of water, time penetrates into the earth of bones.
It goes toward the sleeper.
It asks him if the dream tastes of earth.
And the sleeper does not know whether to say
"I want"
or keep silent...
[Cortejo y Epinicio, first edition: Poem LXVII.]
The hen twitched her head to the beat while the pigs tapped a trotter and the horse swished his tail
The sounds of the two legs a strange sound to the barn yard gang filled every space around
No escape for goat tied up for his own good after he head butted the clothes on the line that afternoon
And what is this the two legs now a group in the yard in a mating dance under the full moon
Why do they not get on with it the Barn yard gang wondered as the two legs girated and bounced about
We need to sleep go away let there be the sound of night with gentle wind rustle and the sound of the stream
@ neil furby
t
She is a switchblade afraid of the hint in a two-second glint that might spring you an arm's length away. I fear. She kisses close, to shut the open gate of hunger, heavy-footed as history perched on her chest. Empty spaces. She never rests. Stumbling through the clutter of language, she rummages cramped closets for her lost sounds—igriegas y erres—tumbling like marbles spilled in the attic. Spaces I fear. She main lines white noise—a guest persistent as rain flooding her muted room. Spaces. She adds another hue to the walls crawling with orange and blue that zig zag the curves of her world to the ceiling. I fear empty spaces. She is reeling in a ravenous subjunctive that would doubt its own bones were it not for her grip slipping from your moist shoulders to the winter of metal bedposts. Spaces I empty. She grinds against you minding only the bland blue sky that filters through the O'Keefe hollow of her pelvis. I empty fear. In this abyss, she comes, braying the silence away.
Higgleby piggledy,(I.L.)
Bacon, lord Chancellor,
Negligent, fell for the
Paltrier vice.Bribery toppled him,
Bronchopneumonia
Finished him, testing some
Poultry on ice.
