Showing posts with label poetry for tough nerves. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry for tough nerves. Show all posts

Friday, April 13, 2012

Ο 'ΕΣΥ'

ΑΝ ΗΣΟΥΝ ΗΡΩΑΣ ΣΤΑ ΠΟΙΗΜΑΤΑ ΜΟΥ, ΩΣ ΤΩΡΑ ΘΑ ΣΟΥ ΕΙΧΑ ΘΡΥΜΜΑΤΙΣΕΙ ΤΑ ΚΟΚΚΑΛΑ ΣΟΥ ΟΛΑ, ΘΑ ΣΟΥ ΕΙΧΑ ΣΚΙΣΕΙ ΤΟ ΔΕΡΜΑ, ΘΑ ΣΟΥ ΕΙΧΑ ΒΓΑΛΕΙ ΤΗΝ ΨΥΧΗ ΣΤΑΓΟΝΑ-ΣΤΑΓΟΝΑ, ΘΑ ΣΕ ΠΑΡΟΥΣΙΑΖΑ ΣΑΝ ΤΟΝ ΠΙΟ ΑΔΥΝΑΜΟ Ή ΤΟΝ ΠΙΟ ΑΠΑΝΘΡΩΠΟ ΜΙΣΑΝΘΡΩΠΟ. ΑΝ ΗΣΟΥΝ ΕΣΤΩ ΚΑΙ ΠΙΣΩ ΑΠΟ ΜΙΑ ΛΕΞΗ ΚΡΥΜΜΕΝΟΣ ΘΑ ΣΕ ΕΒΡΙΣΚΑ ΚΑΙ ΘΑ ΣΕ ΕΞΕΘΕΤΑ ΓΙΑ ΤΗΝ ΠΟΝΗΡΙΑ ΣΟΥ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΑΠΡΑΓΜΑΤΟΣΥΝΗ ΣΟΥ.
ΓΙ ΑΥΤΟ ΝΑ ΝΟΙΩΘΕΙΣ ΤΥΧΕΡΟΣ ΠΟΥ ΟΛΑ ΑΥΤΑ ΤΑ ΑΛΛΗΓΟΡΙΚΑ ΤΑ ΚΑΝΩ ΣΤΟΝ ΕΑΥΤΟ ΜΟΥ ΚΑΙ ΣΕ ΕΝΑ ΑΝΥΠΑΡΚΤΟ 'ΕΣΥ'.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

The Baby Tooth.



Won’t you try licking all your smudgy pride

With a deciduous tongue hanging from a tree?



Won’t you now for a year sit, milking your sexy dreams

With a temporary mother sucker whisking bloody cream?



Won’t you also cry with a trillion tears sliding on enamel roads

Finally learning Primary Time has no speeding gears?



Won’t you go at last to that old tooth doctor of fate

To be identified, cleaned with silver tools, and pay?



I would kill my spirit knowing all these,

Kill it with a reborner knife standing upside down on my double root

If I learned about me, despite my hollow hope,

that I have always just been a toddler’s baby tooth.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

My parody of “Santa Claus is coming to town”



You better calm down,

You better slow down,

Better look wise

I’m telling you why

Santa Claus is coming to town                      



You better watch out.

The others might err,

better keep safe

than body underground

Santa Claus is coming to town                      



He knows when you are speeding,

he knows if you maneuver,

he sees you if you cheat it,

So go slow for goodness sake!



Oh! You better not drink,

Or let others drive,

Better look wise

and take the bus,



Santa Claus is coming to town                      

Santa Claus is coming to town                      



He sees you if you daydream,

he hears the cell phone ring,

he hates it if you overtake,

so he might not come alone!         



Santa Claus is coming to town                      

Santa Claus is coming to town          



He sees you when you're speeding
He knows when you're fast
He knows if you've have license
So Death might come instead!
Sadness‘s now coming to town





Death is making a list

And he never checks twice

Don’t send him a letter

Wanting a gift



Sadness‘s coming to town

Sadness‘s coming to town

If you ignore our dear Santa!

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Ίνα τίνα ακούς, εμέ η σε;

Άχθος αρούρης είσαι ρε,



κι έχεις γι' αχίλλειο πτέρνα την καρδιά σου


ζεις βίο αβίωτο


γη και ύδωρ παραδίδεις με κάθε νέα απειλή


το Γόρδιο Δεσμό δεν κατάφερες να λύσεις


με μια Δαμόκλειο Σπάθη να σε διαφεντεύει


η πόρτα του Δούρειου Ίππου πια κλειστή


και τα δρακόντεια μέτρα σε τρομάζουν.


Εξ απαλών ονύχων σε εγκαταλείψανε οι πάντες


κι η Λύκαινα σε απαρνήθη


Τα έπεα πτερόεντα που μου προσδίδεις είναι στο λόγο μου η άμυνά σου


γιατί επί ξυρού ακμής σε βρήκα και σε μάζεψα.


Ήξεις αφήξεις σε ετούτη τη ζωή χίλιες φορές θνήξεις.


Ιδού η Ρόδος Ιδού και το Ποίημα αγαπημένε μου εαυτέ


κάθε μέρα να σε σκοτώνω με αρχαίες κατάρες και δαιμονισμούς


για να σε ξαναγεννήσω χίλιες φορές


σαν τον ιστό της Πηνελόπης


κι όστις θέλει οπίσω μου ελθεί


στην κλίνη ετούτη του Προκρούστη


που εσύ ονόμασες « ζωή»


κι εγώ της Πανδώρας υπέροχο Κουτί


καν γλαύκας εις Αθήνας κομίζω


είς στους μυρίους,


αν εννοήσει τίς ειμί,


κύβος ερρίφθη δις.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Peripheral Shine


I cannot count the facets of the dominant diamond; this bracelet has too many stones,


which are the real, where are the fake ones?

I cannot control the colours, I struggle

-the shroud-

The light around submerges into this dimension and engulfs my oxygen

-the gnome-

I forget the linearity of the rainbow.

Is this particular shine malfunctioning?

Does darkness interfere?



The bracelet tightens around the wrist.

Twenty-five deep slashes of my flesh, will they flash me out?

I cannot count the facets of the whole, my eyes are ravened,

the pain indorses,

where’s the neck?

where’s the body?

Shouldn’t this hungry paleness of the skin absorb the glorious periphery of danger?



Diamonds should be worthier for fewer facets.

-I would say-

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

My inauguration to wholeness

I am attending my inauguration to life



Full-bodied


Grand-souled


Deep-minded


I am attending my inauguration to truth


Mooning my path to the podium


Mooning their faces to unveil


I am attending my inauguration to sense


Fear-absently


Pain-forbiddingly


Shame-freed


I am attending my inauguration to ail


Buried in golden uterus magma


Patted to breathe


And then you cut my umbilical cord and you wash the blood


While their eyes blink to that second of disconnection.

Friday, October 01, 2010

Comments on my Psychotic Life (a) love and diet

10 % of the fat I take


is the percentage of love that you give


33% of the time I spend on my long-gone abs


could have been passion aimed to you






And they all shout at me:


“Hydrate now”


“Buy this heating cream for your sake”


And they all shout at me:


“Anti-cellulite jell”


“Never forget the hypo allergic nylon around your waist”






35% of the carbohydrates in my food


Come from the tears the seasons shed at moments like these,


Over a white plate full of multivitamins,


It could have been a solution to you, too






And a voice very similar to my doctor’s whispers to my ear


“It’s exercise you need”


“Go write your name on a gym door”






And a voice high-pitched like mum’s calls


“I’ll buy you the trainers, don’t worry dear”


And a deep voice like dad’s assures


“I’ll buy you the socks”






Almost all protein I take


comes from eggs, beans, nuts and saliva from your kiss


but an ovo-lacto vegetarian like me


should think twice with all this intolerance to milk






And then you turn your head to face me


After years of pc and tv disguised denial


“I am not hungry tonight, let us not eat”


And I think “at last, that should be the missing link to my diet”






But unfortunately, sadly, conquered I whisper


with a mixed sound of all the voices that have ever advised me


“Why, love, come on, I’ll get us something to eat”.



Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Everything Ends Up in my Pan

The worm that chewed on the soil that fed the tomato plant.



The bee leg that stole the pollen from the bouquet which has fallen in the lentil pack.


The scrupulous mule that licked the mushrooms; they are still moist with his saliva.






Your idea of a hand on an apple is boiling in this pan next to mine.


The incentive of the cook without eyes chopping the mint for the meatballs.


The passionate mosquito, suicidal, in love with his cruel mistress, forgotten in the rice.






Her fingertips on the frozen vegetables.


My mother’s careless traces on the grass I cut this morning.


My dad’s hair on my sister’s clothes as she is mixing the dough.






The breath of the shark passing by the school of smelt,


the smell of foreign blood in my pan.


Hippocampus woman kissing devoted husband on the belly; their egg inside the mackerel.


The dust of the fossilized starfish billowing near my wheat crop.






The seaweeds you washed off your feet last summer in Hawaii, in my spirulina dust


The salt from the one drop of water that drowned all my country in the Britannic.


The sugar that caused my diabetes death


from the cane that roofed the hut which three hurricanes did not take down.






You see, everything ends up in my pan and I fry the pain and fear with joy.

Burning jasmine

(because i sometimes write bullshit love poems)


I wanna give you give you give you



So I take everything back and cook


I wanna give you give you give you


Oh, I take the sun blue tack and broom


I wanna give you give you give you


So I take the yellow leaves and sew


Oh, I wanna give your dreams some lag


Obstacles lenses flammables


My fire will be enough.






I wanna give you give you give you


So I ask my room some favour


I wanna give you give you give you


Oh, I move the moon cast forth and bloom


I wanna give you give you give you


So I collect nocturnal jasmine seeds


Oh, I wanna glitter little thoughts inside


Nyx, Zorya, undress your veils


I wanna see your skin.






Because you asked me to give you everything


Here, it is what I have most precious.


A rare Japanese flower burning on my naked palm.


Oh, no, no! Don’t leave me… don’t go!


Oh, please take it… nooooo!






Oh, shame, what is left now of this wonderful pledge


is two shadows cast to opposite sides of a village


which would never comprehend mark, loss and Hara-kiri.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Fiction

Fiction begins, describes and ends worlds




Fiction bares, delivers, outlives and buries Man


Fiction destroys, Fiction builds






What is a lie is no Fiction but what is fictitious is a lie – or the Truth?






Fictions kisses Reality on the cheek for thirty argyrols


People rely on Fiction for short-term worlds to escape


Perplexity secretes Fiction eczema to renounce travesty


Vision paints the amphilvistroid in Fiction to become square






Horse: No Fiction


Pig: No Fiction


Chicken : No Fiction


Fiction: Horse-pig chicken on wheels painting a barn.

Monday, March 01, 2010

I wrote this one yesterday at fiction workshop (remember, i also ran a marathon in the morning, so excuse any spelling or idea mistakes!)



(workshops directed by Mr Spurgeon Thompson)
 
 
The Lollipop



I am asleep. Deep, deeper, more sunken than any other nights.


My open eye is making the sheets,


snore by snore, body so exhausted


the eye works so slowly that I am left white






The carpet in the room stands up billowing dust


a boy appears behind and throws it out in the pool.


I get up stark naked, hands over jewels, and I see him, full.


“I have a lollipop to replace the carpet” he says






He is cute, I’m mad, reminiscence of Da Vinci’s quests.


“Can I tell you your secrets?” he asks


I say he would have no clue, no rhyme


Boy in fury starts unraveling this ball of yarn






“Hold the lollipop!” I start licking just to hear about


the day I last peed in my bed


how I made my father laugh when she died


the fastidious lollipop she gave me the night she passed away






Just as both my eyes tackle the sheets


he jumps off the window into the pool


to land flat on the carpet


as he departs I still hear him shout my secrets in the distance






“You cheated from my test and I got busted!”


“the bike you lent me is still in my dad’s garage!”


“your father was screwing my mother too”


“I am the only one you can trust”






I shall not trust him if he ever reappears.


The lollipop is nearly done, my eyes leap for the carpet in the pool.
I wrote this one yesterday at fiction workshop
(directed by Mr Spurgeon Thompson)


Thirteen ways of looking at a silver spoon
I


A silver spoon would dive in a soup bowl


and in reverse dive out loaded


soup would never do the same to its pot.


What hand would mystify


this ritual of prudence?






II


Fast moving hands over a table,


dishes flying,


salads uplifted and surrendered


I never gave my silver spoon to


though everyone else gave theirs in.






III


In times when nothingness was valued,


at wars and major disasters,


Would you have lent me your silver spoon


for a sip of the rain water on the roof?


Or would you bend it for the wish well?






IV


a boy and his father


pee together for sanitation


in their backyard planted with silver spoons






V


a silver spoon was digging


deep-deep-deep until it reached its tail


and died










VI


Death visited me one day


dude, I protracted my silver spoon


She saw her face in the silver cavity distorted


“why the silver one?” I heard as she was being absorbed






VII


Absorbents, disinfectants, pesticides


petrified at the sight of silver spoons,


especially the classic or baroque


– email lost_animations@densey.com with an answer -






VIII


Some pusillanimity is likely


when fighting the knight of silver spoons at nights


Beware! He might cut you in circles






IX


The cycle of life


decoded by the hunter of golden dreams


sadly a cipher again


embargoed by the secret society


of SI.SPO.






X


Venus would feed her children everything


everything with silver spoons


each child had her name on the hollow surface


-except the poor boy-






XI


If you ask me why I bought a silver spoon


I would go about saying that


bending it defies pitiful shows with forks






XII


Roll a silver spoon down Mount Everest


and blame me for the silvery avalanche


pinning you down as you observe






XIII


Admit it mother,


without your silver spoon dancing its tango


your father would be mine







Friday, November 06, 2009

Horizontally Schizoid


Three months in the clinic, one should be ready. I look down on you, one more escapade, to go down on you, and sharpen the blade.
[I did not know my nails would have grown so strong].
I grab you -both hands- to feel the skin and fatty, pillow-like juice. I shake you and I pull you out -you nasty rubber- you pull back in. How much bigger can you get? I inhale too deeply for my strength -anymore- and push the air to swell you, happy moments for my kids, indeed. Magnificent, so many years’ confusion. I do not know how the struggles have gotten me here, the struggles of too little food, or the struggles of too many a food.
The fool inside you, is he still there? Memory of a lifetime gulping, shame, retreat. I soothe the grabbing, squeeze a strange spot in a wrinkle and cuddle the umbilical cord.
[I did not know my nails could have grown so big]
I am so sorry to start squeezing you, tummy, all over again. Does my dance stumble -on stone abdominals, on bones, on very full guts?- do not ask me,
[you should know better]
Why don’t you have a mouth on your own? Well, I guess I won’t stand in front of the wall mirror this time, I’ll just grasp the hand one not to feel you mine just as once. Get a mirror on your own, so many actions you do take despite me.
I am so sorry; a tearing would never have crossed my mind -not uncontrolled-
But look at you, (my soul is flying already) smiling at last, silent all these years, so many years struggle I, idle you. Now check your own mirror idol, that two nipples have no eyebrows but do a sight a umbilical nose, check, I say, your bloody grin will soon be hungry, hasn’t it been so all these years of discussion? Shall I run out to show the evil nurses that I, too, have two faces anymore?

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Skin of bear after a lion feast

‘have all the lions left dear?’
‘Yes, they have indeed, but how can you tell from the well?’
‘well, if you came down here you would see how strongly I hear their paws!’
‘as if there is some kind of subsoil device?’
‘not even close my pumpkin, it is as is they are actually here underground!’
‘then it is fortunate I didn’t fall from the start and I stayed up here hidden behind the tree and I watched from really close the entire feast.’
‘did you see how they bite? Did you see how they crack bone? Which tooth?’
‘hell yes, it was brutal, repulsive like the movies you bring to watch, I saw it all with both eyes, but did you?’
‘I wonder why you ask, how can you forget every three minutes that I have been down here in the well all along? But to answer exactly what you are asking, yes I did. I saw the feast with my ears and I heard every sound with my eyes, every bone crack, every roam of fight between them. And the bear…’
‘did you hear the bear how it fought as well, did you hear its panic and anger between the mahogany limping and the slashing of skin?’
‘I think I heard her struggle from beginning to end, but did it suffer too much?’
‘yes, indeed, it was a loss for the forest, this creature, the skin, fur so bright. It was, it was a fight, but the beast finally lost’
‘did the group leave something behind?’
‘yes, you remembered! Yes, her skin is intact!’
‘Could you go anywhere near the skin of the bear, this skin is what we are here after all’
‘yes, ok, but do tell me my dear, from down there, can you hear my footsteps, can you hear my breath? Do you hear any difference? A change on me, perhaps?’
‘yes, my love, I finally do see a change on you. I hear it as id everything about you is way heavier than ever before. But the sound of the paws of the lions leaving is even stronger now, what’s this?’
‘So, you see? I have changed. I am heavier dear, I am twenty kilos heavier and two feet taller than what you remember before you fell in the well’
‘You don’t say about the lions, hide, if they are coming to you hide, or jump down here. And what was the last thing you said? How exactly is that, how can a person grow heavier and taller after watching some lions taking down a bear? And I say, the sound of the lions is so strong it makes my ears bleed’
‘No. I am not coming down. I thought I should leave you to figure it out by yourself, but I guess to tell you won’t change a thing anymore, and it will give me the pleasure of giving the bad news myself.’
‘Bad news, eh? And pleasure. What is it honey? What have I missed?’
‘Well, it goes like this. First I wear the bear’s skin, and second I have opened a hole for the Roman catacombs form the west, and what your actually hear is not paws on the soil. The lions are themselves down there; it is claws on Pentelic marble, my dearest love’

Friday, March 27, 2009

Laughter in my Womb

As I touch my tummy so tenderly, I escape
He placed his hand on mine
Asked I blush as mummy,
so perfectly out I space
She placed her hand on his

And I hear laughter from inside my ears
And I sense these thrills right down my veins
And I feel my rains coming
I am the season of the mud
I am a new earth

And I hear laughter from inside my mind
And I sense this strength all over my muscles
And I feel my arteries working
I transform
I am the reason of the laughter
I am the hearth
I am the season of the fire
red soil and water
my womb is an oven
and it’s laughing

As I touch this belly in such a marvel, I break
He placed his finger on my tear
Collapsed I and numb, but sovereign, again I brick
She placed his salty finger on her lips

And I throw laughter from inside my guts
And I sense this mighty earthquake on my bones
And I feel my rains coming
I am the season of the mud
I am the last earth

And I hear laughter from inside my mind
And I sense this strength all over my muscles
And I feel my arteries working
I transcend
I am the reason of the laughter I am the hearth
I am the season of the fire
red soil and water
my womb is an oven
and its holy laughter is boiling to surface.

Saturday, June 21, 2008

Το Μυστικό μιας Πολτοποιημένης Ντομάτας



Το μυστικό μιας επαφής χωρίς ύλη στην πέμπτη εποχή
αποκαλύφθηκε από σφραγισμένα χείλη, ωραιοποιημένη αποχή.

Πριν να σφραγίσουμε τα μάτια, ενδεχομένης απειλής,
στο χωρόχρονο της στιγμής αμοληθήκανε τα άτια.

Κάπου εκεί κοντά σε βρήκα κόκκινο, γλυκανάλατο υγρό της ενοχής
κι αφέθηκα να ανησυχώ, με πλύνανε κι ηττήθηκα,
τους όρους δεν τήρησα και γυάλισα, συνήλθα πια στεγνή…
διά να πέσω αμαχητί.

Στο ήττα της ντροπής, επισυνάψατε άρρενες θελειπόντες
πριν καν το τελικό σίγμα στον ορίζοντα φανεί, με αναβάτες Κόντες.

Θέλησα να σου είπω για το μυστικό
μα τώρα πια εκλείπω, ως ον εριστικό
και ψάχνεις κάτι άλλο, πιο χορταστικό.
11/8/00

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