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la cercanía
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Nov 23, 2009 3:52 pm
19 Views
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she slips into the seat
across the aisle
as the train slides
out of the station,
checks her make up
in a hand held mirror,
then unties her hair
combs it out and
fixes it back in place
in a single sweep
a practised routine
at once intimate and mundane
the sun flares briefly
from the mirror
and I am dazzled
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0
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let the world be in love
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Nov 17, 2009 10:24 am
855 Views
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What do you want? they asked.
I want a home in the countryside, to be surrounded by peaceful valleys and unexplored hills. There is a village nearby, out of sight but within a morning's walk. I want a room where I can sit and write and watch the thoughtful trees. A desk like a familiar face, and a chair both welcoming and stern.
The world can come to visit me occasionally, but not uninvited. I want it to be there when I need it, and to be distant when I don't.
I want to feel comfortable in my own skin.
But what about love? they said.
I've heard it said that once you've been in love you never stop wanting to feel that way again. I'm not so sure. I've been in love. The problem with love is that it outlives the events that gave it birth.
Though it may be better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, to have loved and lost and to continue being in love, quite simply, hurts too much.
But don't you ever want to fall in love again? they insisted.
Enough about love. Bring me my house, my desk and my chair, and let the world be in love.....nearby.
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46
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love story
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Nov 2, 2009 2:58 pm
2719 Views
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two of the boys were talking
to two Brazilian girls
at the far end of the bar
I lit a cigarette
stumbled over and
was reluctantly introduced
she was beautiful (I thought)
so I told her I loved her
she just laughed and said
if I loved her I’d marry her
so I asked her to marry me
and she kissed me and said yes
we went back to her place
all her stuff was in boxes
as she crumbled hash
in the palm of her hand
she told me she was going
back to Brazil in three days
I was getting dizzy
on rum and smoke
as she said something
about escaping from
a violent psychotic
ex boyfriend
fuck this I thought
and pulled her over
stripping off her top
with one hand and
reaching up under her skirt
with the other
she grabbed me
by the throat
and squeezed
(quite hard)
her gaze
suddenly clear
if we do this
we get married
right? she said
(in Portuguese
but I got the gist
at least)
I nodded as best I could
and we fucked
and it was good
and she slept
and I left
(I’ve never been married yet)
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107
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somewhere in La Mancha
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Oct 17, 2009 10:48 am
3664 Views
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somewhere in La Mancha, in a place
whose name I don’t care to recall,
I came across a bony steed
and a knight slumped all forlorn
he regarded me with tired gaze
then turned away and sighed,
as if, four hundred years ago,
his soul had upped and died
his lance was shattered at the base
his breastplate sheared in twain
his scabbard empty at his side
his body wracked with pain
his head was bared unto the sky
his harness made of rope
tears fled from his rheumy eyes
as if abandoning all hope
what hope, cried he, is there for me
without chivalry and grace?
I might be mad, but sanity
seems madness with a smiling face
as errant knight this land I rode,
defending weak and poor alike,
in honour of fair Dulcinea,
whose beauty none has seen the like
they called me touched, said that I
should confine myself to bed,
they burned my books, near every one
I had ever loved and read
but what is loved stays in the heart
and rests not on the page,
and neither will I rest myself
while these fires within me rage
but low are the flames of my desire,
that once blazed strong and true,
and low are my spirits, for verily
I know not what to do
and on and so, the ragged knight,
bemoaned his accursed doom,
and all the while a spectral light
shone down from a gibbous moon
there are giants in these hills, I said,
of fearsome size and might
they rob and kill and terrorise
especially at night
go forth, sir knight, and battle do
against this ancient foe,
and free us all, for once and all,
from tyranny and woe
the knight looked at me once again
but this time all askance,
those giants are but windmills, lad,
on which I broke my lance
perhaps they are, came my reply,
but I am ten times certain
that tilting at mills is better by far
than skulking behind life’s curtains
damn the doctor, and the priest,
to hell with prayers and potions,
it’s time again to ride the plain,
pursue your heart’s devotion
if reality be a life morose,
and madness, fierce joy,
then let the moon embrace us now
and our sanity destroy
come take my lance, and here my sword,
set spur to Rocinante,
I’ll ride as Sancho by your side,
sally forth again Quijote!
so ride we did, into the night,
to battle with our dreams,
and nothing more of us was heard
but for whispers on the breeze
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60
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This a Public Service Announcement is.
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Oct 2, 2009 3:30 am
5542 Views
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From the men that brought you the War on Drugs, and sprayed pesticide over peasant communities throughout the developing world....
From the men that brought you the War on Terror, and bombed peasant communities throughout the developing world, then invaded and bombed them again....
From the men that will not bring you the War on Tobacco, and never bomb Philip Morris or put the Marlboro Man in an orange jumpsuit....
We are now proud to bring you....the War on War!
Deep within the inner sancti of the inner sancti of the nervebundles of powerdom, great minds have made a startling discoverance: the root cause of war is.....WAR!!! Browfurrowing lengths of thoughtoids were brought to bear on this most vexsome of conundri, until...hey prostate! the answer was spotulated, cornerized, and footkicked into submissionance.
War has been declared on War!
The militarian might of democratal statelets everywhere will be mobilarised, energised and befrissoned, before being launched into a full frontal assault on War itself.
But there is also a role for you, the ordinarified citislum. War will not be crushtulated by bombardiating peasant communities in developizing countries alone. No. Your country kneads YOU!
Go out into the streetsides, take positions on the roofspots, crackle open granpoppy's old blundertruss. The time has come before the hour has past. War is among us. It wearsuits a humanish maskface. It could be your neighbour, it could be your friend, but it's more likely to be that guy that lives down from number 42 who you've never really liked, talks a bit foreign and eats funny food. He is War! He must be stopped!
WAR HIM NOW BEFORE IT IS ALREADY TOO LATE TO GO BACK TO THE GOOD OLD DAYS WHEN YOU KNEW WHO THE ENEMY REALLY WAS!!!!
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166
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don't cry
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Sep 29, 2009 10:27 am
4659 Views
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don't cry
for the stones
the stones cry
for themselves
in their solitary multitudes
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54
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go figure
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Sep 25, 2009 12:22 pm
4550 Views
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every number above seven
is hollow
knock on any one of them
and listen
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32
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To link to this blog (gowerboy) use [blog gowerboy] in your messages.
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