The Poetry Marathon

We now have to consider
The gibbet
They prayed
He would not requite his death
With storms or other
adversaries
A bed full of fleas
Was more than merely witty

Then came the ballybog
Mud covered they rise
On their bulbous bodies
Arms and legs like sticks
Their neckless heads
Grunt and gibber

The boggies chased
The murderous crew
All covered in fleas
They griped and they whined
Covered in ballybog slime

With his arms stretched wide
And a mouth full
Of rotten teeth
The bog-a-boo was relentless

Each man who hung
Old Charlie up high
Grew stuck in the mud
Human sacrifices left to die

Train tracks like a tattoo
Down the arm of my city
Bogged down in boom time
Every house tells
Of another boom that flared
Then died
Cities aren’t trees
They are built for industry
Not for beauty
Or the practicality
Of water and air
Or even sunlight
She’s a tattooed lady
With children sucking
At her teat
I don’t judge her
Bark and leaves
Aren’t much fun to eat

I had hoped that
Watching my footprints
I would stop going in circles
The gate master fiddled
And asked for my passport
I begged the gatekeeper
For cider and cake
In the old tradition
Of wasailing
He told me to sing
But I couldn’t think of a song
Until I walked in more circles
Then I sang him this
Keeping time with the clapping
Of my hand on my thigh
Then he laughed in delight
And he opened the gate
We ate cake and cider
He said, ‘get on with you,
It’s gotten too late’
The door slammed behind me
I don’t know where I am
But I can see my footprints
And I have my song on my tongue.

I dream in poem
Faking comas
Snorting laughter
Now it has happened
I speak only in poetry

The advantages are clear

I left my oxygen mask on because the others did

with hope to find her

he knew where she was

and I doubted the smile

so

cris crossed with shadow

Was her killers face

This simulation is not as the former

this dreadful trumpet

you’ll be the death of me yet

across the littered ground

(again, the choice is/was yours)

where you will find everything you need

this simulation is not as the latter

I’ll send for the dreadful trumpet

that is,

I meant to say

I’ll send for the doctor

this was not a simulation

Shit the bed

reality fail

After some twenty of them

had been disposed of

during the waning moon

with costumes and masks and enchantments

he now wished he had not sacrificed his sons

laughing

they would never throw themselves down weeping

to die of grief

we have to rise

just as vegetation dies only to reappear in the springtime

what’s wrong with the way I kiss? Asked the winter wind

everything

i replied even as I thanked Boreas

in the deep of my heart

for the sweet relief from the smoke and flames

then it was

during the waxing moon

when costumes are removed

masks unmasked

enchantment is revealed

and winter is come

Clothed in lavender and rosemary boughs

iridescent orbits delight and entrance

coconuts and bongos interrupt the tranquil sight

volcanic stones make my tread light

I’m naked and unrepentant

rushing up an island arises to blight the whole scene

reeking of garden oils, flowers and clean

laughing, splashing all along I was just bathing!

He allowed himself

to be

carried away

by the massive hallucinations

he had produced

and why not?

he asked

of the wallpaper and drapes

bees fly,

birds glide,

balloons loft

and pollen….disperses

so too my sights

my visions

shall smear across the sky

shattering the retinas

of all who watch

he was a wizard and a magician

a necromancer and a king

he was a Hollywood producer

and his vision governed most everything

I’m not dreaming this sense of allegory

I’m not imagining this sense of melancholy

dark robed figures swing scimitars

in grain filled fields of wheat and oats

death is in the harvest

bloated bodies line the streets

no cart, no crier, no relief

i can’t make up the raging anarchy

I can’t unsee the sight of destiny

if this should be when we bid each other adieu

recollect the times I tried to put my arms around you

forget the times my temper flew

in passions flames I will collect your ashes

but there’s not enough to bury beneath the tree of life

good bye my darlings

and good night