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Rise up from your bed if you will
To meet the approaching of day And cross to the peak of the hill For the sun passes by on its way Cast your sight down below to the lake She is draped in a soft cloth of cloud The sign: we must pick up the rake And prepare the funeral shroud In the forest there blows a slow breeze As we hike down into the mist A cold warning flows through the trees Branches touch in a final sweet kiss In short time the gold rimmed rays Penetrate through the surrounds Mottled leaves of amber red and grey Drop quietly onto the ground The sternest leaf can stand bold But it can't defy life's brevity It too must release its hold And yield to death's gravity Thus we walk on the carpeted floor Rakes in hand to sweep up the dead The ashes of Autumn lay torn And the sun passes by overhead. Silence
Sweet suffering silence The gap between thoughts The gap between sounds The silence that exists before the first note of a symphony Is The silence that exists between the lightning and the thunder It makes you tense It makes you sweat It makes each and every hair stand erect upon your skin Silence The beautiful fermata In which everything and nothing happens In which you realise you are exposed and vulnerable to the entire universe. I have seen the world at night
Lights of houses streets and cities That rise upward from the surface Reflect upon my window And vanish into space Sweet night wrap me in your embrace 30000 feet high I sit In an aluminium shell Cocooned in vacuum Craving sleep I cannot stand to weep For beauty or tragedy Dry air tears at my eyes And I look outward Seeking solace in the starlight. The ice evaporated on the hot concrete floor
A hot west wind blew foul across the crowded balcony And as the stiletto twisted to speed the woman away And as the cocktail dripped from his designer shirt All I could think about the scene was: That his wet clothes would dry out far more rapidly than his pride would heal. The Bad! Slam! No! Biscuit! stage is always set up with two microphones, but usually only one of them gets used. This was a poem for the other one.
You're a little left of centre but I like you that way The ignored wallflower that stands mute But with a word you arc up And amplify thought That's not to say you repeat without question You're prone to distortion And occasionally what you think is gentle feedback Is enough to overwhelm and annoy us all But I love you, standing stage right Backed into a corner We can strike together And set fire to the night ------ In the remnants of the ashes I will cradle you as a child Singing sweet lullabies into your ear Until we both fade out... Come sweet spring
The cherry blossoms have opened But have frozen on the branches Come sweet spring The sun is rising early But cannot fight the fog Come sweet spring The children yearn to play outside But the meadows are fallow Come sweet spring The songbirds wish to serenade the winds But cannot warm up their voices Come sweet spring The winter has lasted far too long And you are all that I have left. A really old stream of consciousness piece about skateboarding and lunch. This is likely to be the oldest piece to be published here. The large collection of haiku from 1999 is too awful to see the light of day. Yes, even worse than what does get published here.
perigee; negligee damn - that thought that man thinks sex every seven seconds damn you Freud, all I want is lunch push back like plane from terminal (computer) grab board and walk long stare case of students to ground floor automatic door and... out of the gravity pull of climate control and into the frost Empire Alley, 12:30 and 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 seconds step onto the board, surf the rocket like an Air song all of twenty minutes to the lights eat up time humming evil riffs until... green man comes and takes my hand alien abduction at street intersection drop me and my board off on the otherside start to ride fly like screaming banshee along bike path my stomach has its own gravity caught between two bodies as I enter the queue American pizza today, kids drawn like flies I sit and wait eternally at... apogee: finally, the smell of sausage and chips wafting off a melamine plate - 5 bucks 25 is all it takes and I sit and ponder flowing thoughts over a glass of soda water citrus pudding to quench the heartburn acid upon acid upon acid upon bassbeats and neural impulses that drive me... back out of the cafeteria drawn hopelessly I board my board my guide my shelter though it looks like rain later 13:09 and it feels like sunset though I know it is 5 hours away and the terminal is 5 seconds away as my gravity centers inertia falters momentum ceases and I arrive at... perigee; negligee damn, it happened again. Written as a response to a challenge from Varisht Gosain to write a "punk" haiku.
Blonde-tinted mohawk Three snow-capped Fujiyamas In Harajuku |
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Copyright © Gerard Atkinson 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from the owner is strictly prohibited.
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