April 5 – Day Five: modern day celebrations

Although it’s posted a few hours late, this poem was definitely written yesterday.  (As Deb Dawson can attest — I was writing it while watched Tom Cruise play, well, um, Tom Cruise, in “Minority Report”.)

A full day, a bunch of drugs (painkiller & hayfever, I’m not that hardcore), a late night & a wishywashy internet connection when I got home prevented an on time posting. Soz.

Once again, the eventual outcome was not the intended topic. It seems so far every day I’ve had an experience which goads me into poetry-attemping mode.  “Today” (Yesterday) was attending one of the few modern day equivalents of ritual, myth, celebration, collective communion we still have as a culture.  I won’t say much more than that.  See if you can work out what I’m doing before the end.  Locals are going to be at an advantage to international readers…  (so apologies to those three people — hahaha!)

 

Coliseum of the Crow

like Orpheus we began
by descending
into the bowels of hell
our coin to pay Charon
given us by a bank
to compensate
friends who lost
everything in a fire
cross the Styx
find ourselves
in a deserted
concrete mausoleum
half a dozen cars
where a 1000 should be
elevated into the arena
inside the new stadium
before the gates open
strange to be surrounded
by such vast emptiness
where crowds are
meant to congregate
we laugh out loud
at the surreality

then a siren sounds
startling us from
our spacestaring
the rush is on
we are washed away
by damned souls
for surely we are all
damned … believing
in the cult of the Crow

 

1. coliseum

2. hades

The Coliseum & Hades: images: moi

 

April 4 – Day Four: ruminations on passion (& an “easter egg”)

Today I saw a friend perform in a musical version of Christ’s Passion.  It was an amateur production, with all the accompanying issues.  (As an actor he makes a great poet: I only hope he’s not upset by today’s offering…)  It was the second time I’ve seen it.  He is my friend & I want to support him, even if I don’t share his convictions.  But the darkness of the theatre, & the ample moments of downtime, allowed for many chances to reflect, to think, to meditate, to nap.)  

& I chose to think about perhaps my favourite disciple — after Thomas, who I rightly slag off in today’s poem — the one I believe has been most maligned, misunderstood, & misportrayed.  That is of course, the Kissing Disciple, Judas.  

Sadly I feel this is my least successful effort of the month to date.  But the idea of NaPoWriMo is to challenge oneself & create work one might not normally attempt.  Maybe it’ll look better in a week or two, with some distance behind it.

Your “easter egg” is not one you have to search too hard for – it’s just at the bottom of this post … as a second bonus poem.  (Does this give me a credit for tomorrow?)

 

Two Versions of The Cross

 

1.

The Disciple Whom Jesus Loved

“It were better for him never to have been born”

the thing most Christians miss is Judas had the hardest job
they lavish love on that snivelling denier, Peter so-called Rock
or poor Thomas & his doubts (understandable, but inexcusable)
leaving the red-haired BFF to swing forever weighted by silver.

it’s easy to paint Jesus White & Judas Black, crudely simplifying
perhaps the most complex decision ever made by man: betray
or believe in the impossible — in return from death. who among
us can act correctly not knowing the consequences of choice?

the argument: Peter didn’t know the plan, but what if Judas
did — if the motivation was to accomplish Christ’s mission
then Judas is the catalyst for the event which (allegedly) saves
humanity — by sacrificing the man that clothed eternal life.

the truth then, or at least this one possible version of it
is your, my, our salvation (real, wishful or delusional)
is built upon one man’s not actually a betrayal. a man
who may, have been the truest bravest disciple of all

 

*****

 

Copy_of_el_beso_de_Judas

Image:  Copy_of_el_beso_de_Judas

 

2.

A Review in Free Verse of a Musical Version of Christ’s Passion

From a practitioner’s perspective, it was hard to appreciate:

The multiple missed lighting spots.
Stilted movements. Stilted frozen tableaus
Strange forced perspective flats of the room
where the last (Escher-esque) supper was held.
Repeated use of downstage hands to mask faces
wildly gesticulating arms & finger pointing
as the only way to communicate emotion.
Stepping forward to deliver a line,
then returning with a snap to their ranks.
The pristinely clean costume shop clothes
(Pilate’s crushed velvet robes were a cack).
The perfectly timed too quick sound cues
(the impatient cock had already crowed
before Peter had denied three times).
Corny dialogue, poorly delivered.
Corny lyrics, not poorly delivered
surprisingly sang with a strange naive beauty
by far the most emotive element of the show.
Over-produced synthesiser-rich faux-pop score
Although lines like: He’s no messiah. He’s a lunatic, a liar &
Jesus remember me when you come (come) ((come)) into your kingdom
are memorable for the wrong reasons.
Thankfully though Mary Mag was a hottie
(as she should be), although some colour blind
casting might have helped. Poor Asian Judas
& Asian Pilate opposite a dull whitebread Aryan Jesus
who he seemed to spend almost as long
up on the cross as he did 2000 years ago.

One can’t fault the cast’s earnestness,
nor their conviction, nor even their faith
none of which I share. All seemed pleased
& the audience full of school children bussed in
from religious schools, all seemed impressed.

However,
the thing that sticks with me the most:
is the primary school boy who said in a whisper
to his mate: his heart’s still beating

 

Tableau

 

Wrestling in Front of Escher’s Supper Room.   image: moi

April 3 – Day Three: third day, three omens

Once again NaPoWriMo throws unexpected things in front of me.  I have a folder of articles / images / ideas I’d like to craft a poem from / on / around.  I thought I might get to the poem I first envisaged writing on Day 1 as an introduction to the month.  But life intervened … so I went with the flow.

The use of 3 line stanzas (although now appearing in two out of three poems this month) is unusual for me, but I’m sure understandable when you read the narrative of the poem.  The colons are a homage to my friend Thom Sullivan : who is playing with : creating poetic forms : using this device. I discovered in draft one that I had an abundance of them (around 5) so instead of deleting them as I normally would, I went the other direction to see what happened.  I like the effect … it feels airy …

Finally, the system of drafting in the morning, crafting in the evening is working well.  It allows for the grunt work to get done early, then the fun of shaping comes later. Enjoy.

omens : doves in the house

i.
a flurry : as we’re startled by a flutter of wings : aching for air
two doves in the kitchen : the dog sees this as a sign : saving
him chasing : he’s quickly closed on the door’s other side

for the moment they sit : still on the sill : where glass windows
corner : the wild inside : panic temporarily jack-in-the-boxed
aware of what’s beyond : yet cannot reach : they know not why

slowly walk to them : slowly slide my hand : upwards
between the air humming : with their beating hearts : tender
one panics : flies high : the other stays still : trusting : terrified?

flick the latch : swing glass open to sudden sunlight : air
flighty bashes her way out : calm needs a fingertip nudge
soft feathers : heat : i’m shivered by this soft communion

continue my initial task : providing canine sustenance
unexpectedly discover : a third bird in the bathroom!
this one requires actual contact : a simple capture : calm

holding this speckled creature : tremulously : pillowsoft
frightened : tiny heart staccato tapping the skin
of my palms : warm : is this how god feels : overlording us

i sometimes feel overwhelmingly protective : when patting
Chester : late at night : his devoted heart drumming away
under the pianokey bones of his ribs : just us in the world
ii.
a friend catches birds : with bare hands : stalking
gulls : pigeons : semi-domesticated scavengers
why? : because she can : to hold life : perhaps

once : she was startled : after a snared seagull bit
back : she released it straight away : as i laughed
what should it have done : i joked : what would you

one book tells : seagulls are : souls of dead sailors
another : doves inside : blessed with luck : a third
that freeing a bird is both : a good act : a good omen

old wives : folk tales : suggests : deaths are imminent
i live alone : am i to die three times : the punishment
seems excessive : for simply leaving a door open
iii.
no : i will read it differently : make my own signs
weave my own supernatural : no one else’s omen
no one else’s sorcery : shall dictate : my feelings

in my mythology : the three deaths occurred more than
twenty years ago : lived with daily : my heart doesn’t doubt
this is a blessing : a gentle : otherworldly message

this is : my version of a visit : from beyond
a reminder : the brush of a loved one’s : wings
is never far away

 

*****

 

Bird Three

 

The Third Dove: image: moi

 

April 2 – Day Two: merging worlds

MMORPG. It begins simply. You download, log in, choose a game name for yourself, pick a race, learn the rules.  Grow your city, your army, build might. Be attacked, lose troops, learn. Consider giving up. Be invited into an alliance.  Meet others. Talk laugh learn about people from all over the world. Grow … as a person.  Have fun.  Perhaps even escape the pain of the real world for a little while.

This wasn’t the poem I was planning to write today, but what happened in my “game” life affected my “real” life so deeply, I had to try expressing it…

 

The_Hunter’s Hearts

with love, for Odinson

 

like millions of others, i escape (insert own idiosyncratic ailment here)

that the heaviness the universe has lain across my lonely heart

by assuming an imagined identity & logging into a fictional world

 

there with thousands of other digital dwarves, pixeled pixies &

hairy footed short people (whose name can’t be used for legal reasons)

to play a harmless hobby that helps maintain sanity on the sadder days

 

yet somewhere in this electronic utopia  someone sadder than i, sadder

than most, sadder, & sadly, madder too.  for seemingly this man’s sole

delight is tormenting a grieving 11 year old boy about the recent death

 

of his mother.  what heartlessness, what emptiness of soul makes

a grown man believe such behaviour is acceptable in any reality

virtual, or flesh & blood. but i won’t dwell on him. he’s not worth it.

 

rather i’ll acknowledge the spontaneous beauty which took place in GC

(Global Chat to the uninitiated) as frenemies from dozens of alliances

rose up with one voice to silence Dubz, drive him into submission, away

 

his annoying pest like behaviour finally crossed a line, when he created

an alt (a character not his usual) of unrepeatable cruelty.  at that moment

although we’re spread across continents, in every timezone, babel’s babble

 

we all were hunter’s hearts, as one choir, protecting him from the ramblings

of a deranged & damaged mind. till his sister burst in roaring, a beautiful wild

lioness protecting her cub: a true ball buster; a twister carrying him home from oz.

 

if it’s possible, odinson, odiwan kenobi, my young sensai, my regular rap across

my knuckles because i don’t  farm or fight enough (any) battles; because my TK

count is not OK, & i just like to hug my might, hug, hug it throughout the night

 

if it’s possible, forget that sad pathetic broken heart who seeks to hurt you

think only of the 100’s of hearts around you; around the world, who love, care for

& want to you to grow up to be the very best Hunter we know you will be

 

*****

 

Elven_Archer_by_Pickyme

 

Elven Archer by Pickyme

Image from: http://pickyme.deviantart.com/art/Elven-Archer-146263547

~ interlude ~ 2 poems published online in “in daily”

 

in daily

While I rest from working on today’s NaPoWriMo entry, here’s a quick update of where two of my poems are being published today: dogs & their owners & honeyair

http://indaily.com.au/arts-and-culture/2014/04/02/poem-dogs-owners/

The formatting of the first is a bit wonky, but … oh well… It’s still nice to see em on the site.

***

 

The Dog in Question: Chester Lickytongue Johns.
Image: moi

The Dog in Question: Chester Lickytongue Johns.
   Image: moi

 

Stay tuned – there’s bound to be at least one puppy related poem written when all other ideas abandon me as I plough through this mad month.

April 1 — Day One of NAPOWRIMO 2014: false starts & last minutes

 

night sky

 

the stars i think i understand

great plasma ovens continuously

cooking hydrogen into helium

& held together by their own

    gravity

 

but what does the darkness around them

hang from

 

***

Image

Okay, so leaving it a bit late today.  Several abandoned attempts/topics, before this in the last half hour of the day. That good old standby: the stars.  Still, I hope this isn’t as wishy washy as some star poems can be (heck, as some of mine have been).  Possibly even thought provoking in a naive kind of way.

Image from: http://pyteo.deviantart.com/art/Empty-Sky-163549940