by on

16    Time being

A critical concept I have thought about a lot

call it delirium

the edge between duals

the host of hidden ghosts

A short time ago

somewhat less than ten millennia

Kremlin military forces and western intelligence

dazzled your guests with synthetic light

yes… several different types of sophism

Have you been to 1989 brother?

not on sojourn… I mean

as a no-backbone traveller she was

set-up as your doomed dream

ay ay aye!

I went bouldering and ache all over

what if lower birth rates lead to more like me

official sacrificial goats to welcome

with Inca carols… please make sure

you have napkins for these tingly entrées

Biting into pet products we can make-believe

we haven’t eaten our brain’s capacity

when a needy man or woman

wakes us up to multiply or to to to die

Finding out how time is dis-splayed in

under-hand over-hitched un-thinking

intestinal yet still in testina knots when

their use and abuse commonly assumes

a non-literature of rage and desire when

after years of studying long grass long roads

and long ago egos

none survives the panicky

kicks of the corpus callosum

(Geoffrey Mark Matthews 23 October 2022)

17    Anno Domini

Ayin, Ayin! Cursed to view through fluted veil:

The lyre plays tastefully,

Ethereal young girls of the fey watch the ox,

Quite by chance the plough struck stone,

And the flint egg broke asunder,

Draco stepped out and spake:

“I am here what wouldst thou have me do?”

Accustomed as he was to the magicians’ circle,

Yet no avaricious sorcerer stood before him,

No gloomy garret greeted him,

No sombre cellar met his eyes,

Lit by candle, book and bell.

Only the soft breeze and gentle sun,

Only the whispering leaves and hedgerow rustle,

Only the timorous, curious murmur of those fair folk,

Who scattered when the egg was cracked.

Realising he was not trapped, Draco looked about in wonder,

And turning to the Ox he addressed it thus:

“I think, my noble beast, thou didst not bring me here,

And that mine release is some chance accident.”

The Ox nodded her consent, yet where the ploughman was,

No one could say.

(Graham   31 January 2023)

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15 AI ate a Nomos Later

Its                            first                         iron                          fist

Even                        sad                          deer                         endear

Ecclesiastical           famine                     ran                           godless

Weapons                 rain                          hard                        down

Found                     nonchalantly           at                             home

No                           encampments         last                          time

Fecund                    banished                 dreams                    longing

Word                       temples                   awaken                   secrets

Aeon                       maps                       leaden                     upground

North                       rising                       inexorable               crying

Nearer                     above                      eerie                         winter

Sterilised                 strange                    demon                     cinema

(Graham  13 October 2022)

16    Time being

A critical concept I have thought about a lot

call it delirium

the edge between duals

the host of hidden ghosts

A short time ago

somewhat less than ten millennia

Kremlin military forces and western intelligence

dazzled your guests with synthetic light

yes… several different types of sophism

Have you been to 1989 brother?

not on sojourn… I mean

as a no-backbone traveller she was

set-up as your doomed dream

ay ay aye!

I went bouldering and ache all over

what if lower birth rates lead to more like me

official sacrificial goats to welcome

with Inca carols… please make sure

you have napkins for these tingly entrées

Biting into pet products we can make-believe

we haven’t eaten our brain’s capacity

when a needy man or woman

wakes us up to multiply or to to to die

Finding out how time is dis-splayed in

under-hand over-hitched un-thinking

intestinal yet still in testina knots when

their use and abuse commonly assumes

a non-literature of rage and desire when

after years of studying long grass long roads

and long ago egos

none survives the panicky

kicks of the corpus callosum

by on

14    Basic information – a clone laments

In the region of stair twilight no matter is found at dusk

even shade breathes deeper where the centre owns a husk

We clear a fragmented emptiness as sombre brethren gather to sing

we assay one last landscape which a family of strangers is ravaging

The poor sweep the world dancing in the warm

they move moving movements laterally in the dark

until the stony realms become ethereal and calm

For our shade endlessly crafts wonder in the bottom of shafts

If anxiety knew

why sense flew

away from the new

Another fear brings a body down

(a direction to direct weeping until staring back

becomes a complete case of quiet encroachment)

simply rushing into rocky darkness

as if fear could guide a plunging soul

toward the tremulous notion of earth

Poor Lucifer watching lucid upper grounds

fails to notice this spirit once so alive

and meets this unimportant doctor now seeking

in black chasms all he needs to perceive

Beyond the dead space that eldritch man might fear

sense does not return except through the silence here

and encompassing the desperation of flesh

Lincoln greets the aides who fade until peace is pressed

Back come fine ideas as their acceleration ceases

to reign on new surfaces as lonely shapes and creases

and moving in the direction of tenebrous distraction

sheer quiescence becomes our own intention

No wonder we wonder without wandering

how experienced relatives can be so overpowering

carried everywhere and acting decrepit yet flying and fleeing

from the lithic shrieking of monuments and being

(Geoffrey Mark Matthews 24 September 2022)

15 IA Ate a Nomos Later

Its                            first                         iron                          fist

Even                        sad                          deer                         endear

Ecclesiastical           famine               ran                     godless

Weapons                 rain                          hard                        down

Found                     nonchalantly           at                             home

No                           encampments         last                          time

Fecund                    banished                 dreams                    longing

Word                       temples                   awaken                   secrets

Aeon                       maps                       leaden                     upground

North                       rising                       inexorable               crying

Nearer                     above                      eerie                         winter

Sterilised                 strange                    demon                     cinema

(Graham  13 October 2022)

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13    Cairn

Poor poor Lucien, they found his body at the bottom of the shaft,

With sombre desperation they brought him to the surface,

Where he could only fail to breathe the clear air of the upper world,

The doctor himself wept as they carried him back,

Lucien watched them with bemusement as they carried his husk away,

And did not notice the quiet calm with which he assayed the weeping relatives and aides,

As the twilight gathered into dusk, the rocky landscape became statuesque monuments,

Who themselves came alive as strange eldritch shapes,

This new family danced and sang with him on the fading staircase to darkness,

When this last stair came to a new realm beyond his stony brethren,

Here a sense returned to him that he knew whilst of flesh,

An overpowering fear of the sheer emptiness of tenebrous encroachment,

“How can the dead feel fear?” His fragmented spirit wondered

As it flew shrieking back down the chasm from whence it came,

Greeting only a deeper shade of black that rushed to meet it,

The once-was Lucien flew until the dark was so all encompassing,

Until the silence so complete, until the acceleration so unimportant,

That a quiescent peace reigned.

The ravaging fear ceased and our shade perceived that owing to its own fine matter,

It had plunged through the ground and into a space that was the earth itself.

With no sense of direction, the soul acted only on the intention of movement,

Endlessly seeking to discern one region from another, yet with no idea of direction to guide them,

Experienced an ethereal tremulous anxiety.

The notion that, with no direction, they might be moving towards the centre or even simply laterally.

Did they move? Were they moving?

14    Basic information – a clone laments

In the region of stair twilight no matter is found at dusk

even shade breathes deeper where the centre owns a husk

We clear a fragmented emptiness as sombre brethren gather to sing

we assay one last landscape which a family of strangers is ravaging

The poor sweep the world dancing in the warm

they move moving movements laterally in the dark

until the stony realms become ethereal and calm

For our shade endlessly crafts wonder in the bottom of shafts

If anxiety knew

why sense flew

away from the new

Another fear brings a body down

(a direction to direct weeping until staring back

becomes a complete case of quiet encroachment)

simply rushing into rocky darkness

as if fear could guide a plunging soul

toward the tremulous notion of earth

Poor Lucifer watching lucid upper grounds

fails to notice this spirit once so alive

and meets this unimportant doctor now seeking

in black chasms all he needs to perceive

Beyond the dead space that eldritch man might fear

sense does not return except through the silence here

and encompassing the desperation of flesh

Lincoln greets the aides who fade until peace is pressed

Back come fine ideas as their acceleration ceases

to reign on new surfaces as lonely shapes and creases

and moving in the direction of tenebrous distraction

sheer quiescence becomes our own intention

No wonder we wonder without wandering

how experienced relatives can be so overpowering

carried everywhere and acting decrepit yet flying and fleeing

from the lithic shrieking of monuments and being

by on

10    Stones

1 – The Cannibal God

Quartered for years the earth inside dies

Discordant again all humanity sighs

But broken by doubt this subject’s attention

Is given ascent by artistic intention

As shrinking light arrives contentments rise

Though your sport lacks the rights Thebes denies

The idiot whistles, the atmosphere collapses

Staggering, stumbling his raving voice lapses

The dramatic ingress of pink noise covers

A lucky shot the bravest mark discovers

Eager for release by a gentle friends’ hand

Condemned and confused he cannot stand

So the deafening oak event is one to make

The controller of ubiquitous stardust wake

2 – The Bulimic Demon

The problematic image dies every year,

but it is necessary and in this case

is the game you have no right to stay in.

No matter how old you are

they cross the street and

they spit angry words.

On the day of your autopsy,

no one is allowed to lie, criticize

or insult his fellow journalists

Now oak sawdust and dust control

are definitely widely available,

rocks decide the future of the city.

(Geoffrey Mark Matthews 17 June  2022)

11

1 – Asmodeus’ Die

(110 sang the refrains of J.)

He moaned of loss:

“You have a lucky shot and are eager to be the bravest”

The Demon retorted: “You are too eager for release by hand, but mark your gait well my gentle friend, for at any moment I may obfuscate your gaping screams”

But the young man would not be cowed:

“Song and stele that ne’er clutched your dentition’s grip; all that was available in the city has lapsed, the dramatic ingress of your god of stones dies upon a distant star!”

“But I am patient” quoth the demon “My pitch covers wildly the future. No matter how well you autopsy, the earth dies still”

“I will delay you and your lords” said the lad “No matter, how you cross the street or lie, or spring from any unseemly angle.”

A gaggle of journalists had gathered to watch the pair.

One named Kczello cried out in confused concentration:

“Which star have you left out?!” he cried in anguish “See! The day remains and Eris, collapses, staggering…” His raving voice faltered “from afar have I cast her and ran off in haste!”

“Again” said the demon calmly “no matter how old you are, no matter how you fly, the atmosphere of thieves is your gain and loss.”

The lad though, gathered himself and spoke up once more:

“You may cross the street all you wish, but the problematic image never ceases, only the fly remains!”

“And how old exactly are you?” said Kczello

The demon and lad knew not which of them he addressed and so replied at once:

“110 as the refrain of J goes”

2 – Corporate Saw

Broken by coal, risen through your sport,

This thorny icon perishes annually,

One day allows a fellow his right,

Another doubts this subject,

Humanity sighs…

She is insulted by no one —except that deafening controller

The game is one in which one must fail to feel the touch,

At this she excels for her waking attention does not shrink

Instead she grasps the meaning of dreams:

“Now the oak may definitely decide for the rock!”

Is a commonly spoken event,

A professional coroner, she regularly quartered journalists and years alike,

For both lie with equal ubiquity.

3 – A Problem

A new bull god that hoped to be,

More than powerful than great Apis of Egypt,

Yet he lacked the rights to create stardust,

And so leaned forward with his pitch,

beseeching other deities to grant this boon,

Those hoary great ones listened and replied:

“In this case there is no right for you to be and hence you have no right to stay.

Were you a lion, things might have been different, but you are not and though it is like a game, it is one you have lost.”

(Graham  26 July 2022)