Best Aluminium Poems
We are the children
of the Four
A wandering race
The leaves, trees
and streams feed us
The earth, water and
winds sustain us
We belong to no man
A race so
complicated
You talk about us
with hushed voices
From behind your
hands
Always looking down
The idea of us so
precious
You don't deserve us
Never looking in our
eyes
As though the simple
mention of us will
bring you conflict
Our women so
beautiful
Seeing them leaves
the vision in your
head for days
So you look away
From our mystical,
regal creatures
As we are the
children of the
forests, rivers and
dessert
The snow in the
north
We have always been
We have always
existed
You gave us our name
It was never your
right
You called us
gypsies
You look at us and
see aluminium homes
Your curious eyes
scanning our sites
Picking up on the
old battered cars
Camp fires and dirt
Nomads fighting with
black eyes
Traveling through
these lands
You do not see our
beauty
As you are not
children of the air
A race so loyal like
thunder and lighting
Inside our homes
lives a love so vast
and thick
You can scoop it up
and eat it
It feels like candy
floss
Smells like Apple
blossom
We a deadly
protective race
Taught from years of
persecution
We learnt to only
live with our own
Wandering through
life
Never having a home
When we burned, fire
was so angry
Our ash turned to
snow flakes
The wind was so
distraught
Our ash fluttered
over holy ground
Settled on the
barren
We grew a paradise
Earth was so hurt
you took her
children
For you paradise
will be forever out
of reach
Teasing you
Just before it's in
your grasp
The ocean washes it
away
Burning us made
water scream
You had killed the
children of the Four
We don't expect to
be understood
Our wisdom lays too
deep
The Nazis didn't
just kill and
persecute the Jewish
souls
They killed us too
Put your nose in the
air
Just so
You can still smell
us on the wind
Eyes furtive carry the reflected sheen of aluminium paint that is smooth a chrome flood
On the tin roof of the woodshed seen, with moonlight awash, awaking the dreaming scene.
The light has the tint of coyote’s hair; the furtive fox is rising to maraud with that
Peripheral stare, the balance tail is curving around a body still turning, his eyes red dots
Burn beside the russet and auburn fur, in the night full deep, guard dog in slumbering sleep,
With a stealthy gait the stooping steep steps you negotiate, around the mottled boulders
Grey you move or even! glide your way. The lightest breeze full on your face, with elegant
Tresses like a filigree trace, to soundless halt you poise your form upon the ledge with its
Girth two pace. Your.. goal in sight about to spring.! with visage grim, the huddled lambs
Sense... sudden..fear! They start to bleat hear querulous tones, the move was neat! Yet P D
Drops down on lightening feet, from her crop of rock with a body shock, she lands on him
With her forked tree limb, his neck is pinned, in her sundown boots she stands on his tail at
The very root, with feral fear his eyes a-glare, how now will the tale of the captured fox ensnared
Unfold? Don’t destroy the tail of this fox caught cold! She could train him as her reddy scout
He has a fine nose plus attuned senses that she alone caught out!.. or better still she could
Keep him well penned perhaps in documents contained, or back to herr schäffer send!
I have come out of retirement ha ha! for P D's inner animal contest .
© JOE MAVERICK 2-01-2011
Jewels of Africa.
The saffron Queen spins the lilac sky,
her rays flick crimson cinders into Royal Blue Oceans.
Submerge, sizzle, frizzle...going, going, gone! ...But Not.
Cumulus clouds drizzle pepper fog over pink Flamingos, homeward bound.
Tea-green Botswana bush,
teeny, tiny Hummingbirds hover over brink-pink Balsams,
feast on elixir of nectar.
Royal Albatross rides the last whip of wind.
Sulking Stork swoops through veiled mists above marshy meadow ponds.
Sword sunbeams lash chrome, coppery twilight.
Mooned dusks, a violet cape cloaks bathing blooms.
Nightscape sky sparks, preparing morning’s thin blue...aurora hue.
Camouflaged branches stretch, tickle studded clouds
as ribboned roots cling to crevice homes.
A spook- silver ring appears from nowhere, pearling ripples aluminium.
Beams spill across the sea like lines of glittering fire.
Ethiopian wolves howl composed solos,
phantom echoes shudder Tarantula’s lair
as Flax Lily spurts scent...Frankincense and Lime.
Sultry Savannah’s secrets passed on by rhythmic lip-smacking Baboons,
cracking jokes in the knitted canopy,
teasing and tickling clowning Hyena’s below as
a blinkered platoon of Jet Wood Ants march to their Majesty.
Dawn draws indigo voiles over Nephthys, Goddess of Night
slashes of Sunrise surge shadows as the Bush Lark spangles jewels in the air.
The Alize wind dies in respect to heavenly panorama...
Mountains reflected, seen to be varnished into still, smalt-blue sea.
Ancient and modern is this heartbeat
of a kingdom of four territories;
becoming the first biter to the endocarp of industrialization;
the first host to a global carnival of sports;
running the eldest of all notable department stores
and oldest without aging is one of its publishing houses.
A historic accumulator of colonies
with a spoken identity well pumped into different parts of the world
which has married diplomacy, economy and finance
to give global relevance to anyone who acquires it.
Even with this huge dominance,
Its initial lingua franca was
an adoption from its southern neighbor.
From Winchester to London, the route of its history is endless
Wwth the Lincoln cathedral the first overtaker
of the great pyramid of Gaza in an increasing participating race
and the first caster of the globe’s lifeless identity in Aluminium.
It’s a relentless consumer of Tea
having agents of law enforcement surprisingly not needing weapons
only but in situations of an adrenaline rush.
This defined region also has shoulders high above all others
in space and capacity showcased by Hay-on-Wye,
in dimensions and height, exhibited by Nature’s craft in Avebury,
in the size of a residence of royalty decorated in Windsor,
in numerical value of products traded in Harry ramsden
and a proud member of the starters’ club
in the creation of transportation mediums through rails.
The home of technology’s birth
and the courtyard where science is entertained
which is both less and greater than Thomas Harriot;
smiling when Christopher Merret and the Champagne
both got registered in history’s dairy.
The contribution of William Dockwra through stamps;
the excellence of Charles parsons shown in the stream turbine;
and the magic of Bletchley park
exhibited through the wonders of the colossus
are a fascinating fraction of a wing of its colourful feathers.
If these praises should spread online
The entire world of the internet has among others, Tim Berners to thank.
Part Three
...swishing away with your sunshrivelled burgundy knotty arms with broad disdainful harvesting sweeps the cobras come out to water in the sweltering heat by the thatched fly-buzzed hole
your low under-the-breath warning tones a reminder of the will of your self-inflicted charge
you never ate until i gorged myself
like the dutiful wife given with a dowry
watching me all the time through the shield of the wisp of cloud of cheroot smoke in your sentinel corner against the far wall your eyes glinting fearing that i might take exception and even before my plate was half-empty you had already darted across the kitchen floor to bring me more fried brinjals mashed greens fried and sliced plantain the steaming rice lying bare by its metal cover hanging on the lip of the open pot-mouth in a clear aluminium pot by my side
now they say you are gone for some plotted and took your life in haste
even before you had time to ensure an heir
others say you were alone dismayed abandoned by your own
prey to enchanters coveting
the plot of land the house derelict forsaken by your absence
they say some one else caretakes it for himself
others no a forbidden son of your husband’s has raked it for himself
alas would you have known how landless nationless stateless i’d be
this dot of ancestral land clinging-clanging in memory
did you know then you might never see me again
nor probably ever hear of me
or if you had how might you have taken it all
did you believe the tales true and false they told
or only what you wanted to hear
of your precious prince you once served in silence and
who had gone to slave in other lands
Notes
eevaa peerankal muuvaa marunthu is a take on another well-known Tamil proverb: eevaa makkal muuvaa marunthu meaning “children who obey even before the order is given are a God-send”. Here, in lieu of children, the word “grandparents” is substituted
chembu: a small usually copper vessel shaped like a rounded vase with a tapering neck and open mouth, used for holding drinking water or milk
kuul: thick holdall gruel which may also be highly spiced
chemman: red soil
Vaithi: ayurvedic doctor, practising the traditional Indian homeopathic medicine
© T.Wignesan 1997 - Paris May 7, 1997 (from the Sequence/Collection: "Words for a Lost Sub-Continent")
Loving you is easy
As you are the door – Ianua
To spring
Ice clouds are held in the furnace:
Dirty grey pearls
Your other name is of course
Janus- you are the month of transition
Though I love you as you are
Frostbites as your trade
Dew on the sullen grass
Fog of Monet above Thames
The sun bites its tongue: pusillanimous
Loving you is easy
For you are full of hope and mystery
Away with the yesteryear we sing
Welcome January- our pagan hearts chant.
Sometimes snow whitewashes the towns
And the broken hearts begin to mend
At its diamond glow.
Loving you is easy
For you are the Wulf- Monath
Of the Saxons.
Blue eyed ancient creatures
Flame our imaginations
White furs and fragile egos.
Loving you is easy
As your aluminium foiled soil
Is toiled and tamed
For the bulbs and the seeds
Oh the anticipation to witness the colours and scents again
The earth will shed its dead skin
Soon.
The wind-chime tree
is singing in heavenly voice,
there are Angels beneath the golden rusty
red leaves,
There singing out in Harmony
a slow and sad ;'hymn in the soft
breeze
I lolled into the peacefulness
I kick back in my relaxing chair
close my eyes , and dream.
Aluminium Fairy's are dancing and laughing
on Green sleeves and Y shaped branches
They STOP, Spin clockwise in the wind
holding on to the tip of failing dying leaf
I hear them say
''WHO is she ?
"To my belief.." Said the Satyr, perched in an osseous throne,
"The clouds are crumbling! The ocean is drowning! Creatures are inside of our soil!".
And since their heads lay spilled on the floor, it's time for a change of tone!",
Tryptamine fiction fell from their tongues, as they polished our brains with coconut oil.
We swallowed tales of ghosts in the sky, we coughed up our ears, our hearts and our eyes,
We're hearing voices from burning trees, we're watching surgeons dissect the sea.
"We wouldn't dare dream of thinning the oil, we're yours to use, forever remain loyal,
We're being devoured by acrididae, we crave your consent and absolvitory".
We started to wonder, started to conspire, but they stitched our lips with telephone wire,
They wrung serotonin out from our glands, they drizzled hot glue all over our hands.
"Listen to this, and it listens to you, don't doubt what you read, 'cuz all of it's true",
Our bodies were layered with aluminium foil, and our blood still flows with this cancerous oil.
Traffic jams, the constant beat ,
bloody robotic tune, automobile cells,
comatose faces, last stand, this subtle hate.;
frying intellect, counting money ,faraway fields,
mind machinery,
comatose ,steering wheel illusions ,
dream delusional ;cement and aluminium soothers,
we should be institutionalised
left to play ping pong and getting two hundred volts on a daily basis,
and pumped full of anti fear anti hype anti consumerism drugs delivered intravenously,
daddy following daddy ,walking in straight lines, even the trees cant be bothered if you scream.
solitude, whiskey ,fat preachers sweating, caressing your wallet ,
the programme that was coded at your birth is now tattooed upon your soul,
Age ain't nothing but a number.
Aerial ruby-red
Lithe liana and
Impulsive night-black jaguar,
Young, playful, wild,
Amusing in chime...
Hues of metal and blood flood.
Axes make crosses.
Aluminium nonchalant moon
Licking leaves of the purple willows.
I discern a vague amber face
Yelling through winds, smokes and ashes.
Anchors and chains, arms and boats and oars -
Heavy sands hide them all.
Ancient abyss opens wide.
Absolutes of January ask for immediate answers.
Lines of the black flaming eyes -
I still seek for the signs of dead love through the
Years of Siberian snows.
Apples of January -
Heavy are they, hold them tight, hold them high.
Age ain't nothing but a number.
Arial ruby-red
Lithe liana and
Impulsive night-black jaguar,
Young and playful and wild.
Are you artless enough in the art of ascending to love?
Here comes hush after rush.
Aaliyah
----------------------------------------------------
Aaliyah Dana Haughton - the Princess of R&B
(January 16, 1979 - August 25, 2001)
----------------------------------------------------
Revised on Jan 10, 2013
Initial version written on Jan 11, 2010
Check your cheques
You must realise or recognise
Quarrelling analysing skillfully
Without criticism centre or colour
Judgement no theatre of grey of arguement
Like a boats draft determined by draughtsman
Curbing ones thoughts like avoiding a roads kerbs
An encyclopaedic almost an un-parallelled programme
A marvellous jewellery there not of aluminium but of pure Gold
Just English
With her wicks she’s not weak,
Her voice soothes me with great pleasure,
Her hands keep me warm when I’m sick,
Cooking nice food is a treasure,
Spores of bacteria are rendered passive,
As the black pot is inflamed and heated,
I’m strongly attracted to this lovely eve,
As her necklace and earrings are well fitted,
Sometimes she can be smoky and naughty,
When food is in short supply and stomach empty,
Then she likes to paint my aluminium black,
I always hate this and try to fight back.
mound
vacation leap sadness viol frame pit
castle
ground elevator hold testament
kitchen
situate
aluminium
oculate
octopus talk biblical stories
I could see the old woman's figure,
not quite straight, comedic silver eels
of white,writhing in her hair
by her side, an aluminium pot,
plastic-wrapped, an errand perhaps
or totem for a friend?
a glimpse of her gentle jaw and
deep-tanned face, belied her peasant
strength, her country grace,
I opened up, and quickly sped ahead,
and when I reached her funeral pyre,
I realized she was dead
Do you remember when we ended up at that scrapyard?
(Running some errand for your mother or mine)
The cars were lined up
Bonnets crushed
Windows smashed
Seat stuffing gathering in foot wells
And you slid your fingers between my own and squeezed
Bone against bone.
You said you never felt so alone.
I saw metal
You saw flesh
I saw half empty boots
And you saw half fulfilled potential
I saw families just trying to get by
Swapping crumpled aluminium for crisp clean notes
You saw us.
Wasted on gravel
Stripped of names and memories
Left only as scarred shells
That would soon be melted down
And forgotten
That night we made love in your car
Let hips press against hips
Let hips press against steering wheel
Your fingers grasped at torn interior
And we moved to the rhythm of a radio
That couldn’t quite find its station