Category: Poetry

  • Borders of perception

    In his preamble to ‘Life – A User’s Manual’ Georges Perec talks about the contextual nature of perception, as seen in jigsaw puzzles. He explains how, by manipulating the cut of the pieces and thus taking them out of context, the puzzle-maker can completely determine the puzzle-solver’s experience, ‘the ultimate truth of jigsaw puzzles’. I can, of course, sympathise with his desperate hope that the author can determine what the reader experiences while reading his book. But it is delusional. Our perception of an image, a text, or, in fact, a reality is largely determined by our biases and habits of thought. Politicians and advertisers prove it over and over again by inducing a large percentage of the population to ignore what is – in favour of what they think ought to be. So, don’t get unduly upset at writers and artists. They want to believe that they are movers and shakers – and who doesn’t? In fact, they are at best co-conspirators.

  • Daffodils

    Daffodils growing in a raspberry bush:
    fragile beauty in a cage of thorns;
    a weed among sweet berries…

  • Nursery rhyme

    What are people made of?
    What are people made of?
    Pictures and words,
    Hopes and hurts,
    That’s what people are made of.

    What are people made of?
    What are people made of?
    Clothes and skin,
    Mind and machine,
    That’s what people are made of.

    What are people made of?
    What are people made of?
    Cultures and schemes,
    Mirrors and dreams,
    That’s what people are made of.

  • Requiem

    They say your heart aches.
    Mine doesn’t. My back does.
    There is an uncomfortable feeling in my spine.
    It doesn’t hurt, exactly, I just know it is there every second.
    Tears occasionally leak from my eyes, like pus from a wound.
    They have no meaning and bring no relief.
    My mind is desperately searching for something:
    words, feelings, escape –
    but there is nothing there.
    Just a body:
    stupid,
    mute,
    incomprehensible.
    Experience unmitigated,
    voiceless scream,
    feeling that has no name:
    not sadness,
    not pain,
    not anger –
    nothing eating at my bones,
    squeezing my tear-ducts,
    stripping off words,
    exposing the emptiness inside and out.
    My thoughts go into familiar grooves
    and then slide off again – into nothing…
    I feel old.
    I feel chilly with understanding
    that most things just are.
    Not for something.
    Not because of something.
    They are – and there is the end to it.
    Here.
    Now.
    It.

  • Self-portrait

    Who am I?
    Am I reflections of the world or the mirrors reflecting it?
    Where do I begin?
    What is inside and what is outside?
    Inside and outside of what?
    There is no one answering.
    I hope there is someone asking.

  • Twilight kiss

    The wind of time is getting stronger.
    It blows through the layers of defence
    and chills me to the bone.
    Hold me tight
    against the wind,
    against the tide of time,
    against the world.
    Fill up my field of vision with your face,
    block out every sound with your whisper,
    and every taste – with kisses.
    Let’s pretend.

  • Choices

    There is always a choice.
    Even when the only remaining choice is to ignore reality.

  • Maya

    Observation changes the event,
    expression changes the thought
    but the event does not exist without observation and thought – without expression.
    Observation is an integral part of an event, as language is of thought,
    they give them their shape.
    Good and evil,
    mind and body,
    love and hate –
    they are just words
    simplifying the complexity of experience into language.
    And yet they determine who we are and what we do.

  • On salesmanship


    Those who declare blind faith to be a virtue are probably trying to sell you crap. Those who also declare cynicism a sin probably know that they are trying to sell you crap.
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