No, I don’t want to read Your sordid secrets, Your sick fetishes, Exudations of your drab, Disgusting mind. Others may applaud you For being so ‘frank’, Going ga-ga over your rank, Rotten rubbish. (If ever poems stank!)
I would rather read something sane, Crafted from wholesome heart and brain, Words skillfully woven, Allusions that make us ‘think’; Language that flows With sensible prose. Not the yackety-yak Of some third-rate hack, (Poems that actually stink!)
I have spent too much time Scanning drivel and blather On this doggerel poetry site. The lines bloat like foam or lather In a decrepit sewage plant (Heaven help my sainted aunt! I’ve had enough! I cry) I would rather die Than read this seething stuff.
Better to be seated in a shady nook Reading an illustrated story book.
It was when I turned the corner of the road to recovery that you hit me, A succession of three quick blows in the head shoulders arms ears neck… And I went down sagging. The sun-shining bird-singing beauty of the sweet sucking of health which the effervescence of red corpuscles churning spun To a free-flowing of life-fulness stuck in the sinus at the bridge of my nose, and the slow sickening Realisation of another mind-wrecking nerve-slashing evil-of-all-senses curdling the white lightness of the enthusiasm that blows blue horizons of wind-washed fragility Against a smoked sunset, cutting the day-bright florescence to a heart-swamping black-bludgeoning all-hating mindlessness – Broke me And I sank into the unconscious of a miserable cold.
This is not the first time that I crumbled to the blizzard of insomniac mind-screwing, That tortured by steel-hot poniards of pain, racked by the prokroustes of frigid-fire, choke-peared I faded; Not the first time nor the last; for the brutality and sloth that is in me turns germ-strangling virus to the pleasure of poetic passion – an Incomprehension of this chill cancer that is… O God, the leucocytes of life-love are screaming as I struggle to rise to my feet!
Where no birds breathe, bird-magic breathes Bird-beauty, bird-spirit, bird-splendour, And brings where no bird wings, Wing-beats that woo me to wonder.
What do I want when a woman can warm Bird-magic from her bosom, her womanly arms? Her lips that are petals, her thighs that are trees, Boughful with blossoms of softness and ease?
What is the liquid that lingers with love In her voice? Is the music that hangs in her eyes? The dewdrop.that dangles from finger-tip touch? The mellifluous magic that moves me so much?
This is no bird-magic: This is woman, who with a sweep of her hair Sends birds bursting to wings in the air. This is woman, whose frown Droops dark feathers down. This is woman; her smile, her kiss, her holding in arms, Hold more bliss for me than bird-charms.
Beneath the apple boughs Autumn had stripped bare, The scent of honey in the air Lingered with the bees. My love and I stood there, Sun streaming through the trees; I smoothed her copper hair And kissed a velvet cheek.
Beneath the apple boughs Time stood still a while, And with a tender smile Watched me and my love Beneath the mosaic. Her heart beat like a dove, The flame swelled at the wick And melted at our feet.
(P.S. Many decades later, I wonder if this poem is tongue-in-cheek! ~Ed. Maudlin sentiment!)
It was in Ruwenzor I found the Bashan bull, The purple-headed mount Was bathed in misty blue. A monitor lizard Was feeding on an egg, When suddenly there swooped An eagle like a stone, Crushing in the mud A portly guinea-fowl.
I saw the phoenix rise, Its ashes swirling dust; Pouring through a gorge Milky-white opals. The jungle roared in green And ferns lept in the air; The basilisk crept through A crevice in the rocks, And chameleons looked out, Bursting into spray.
A leopard’s staring eyes Flung upon a deer, And savage fury torn By hungry crocodiles. I saw a viper creep Through lions in the shade. A row of parakeets Fluttered in a wave And stormed a gorilla Among the luscious fruit.
I saw huge elephants Behind a splash of fronds; Flaming honey bees; The hippos in the stream Skimmed by dragonflies; A crowd of ibises; A galaxy of stars; Echoing in the night From the top there poured A glacier of ice.