Best Disgorge Poems
12 BARS
Twelve brazen bars, one frozen lock!
Confined, sublime, an ancient Roc
endures inside a barren cage,
her catacomb in sundown sage.
Of former days there is no trace
except displays of fallen grace –
Twelve dreams, abiding in her place,
are free, inhabit yawning space:
12 DREAMS
... of wings unfurled, and seething eyes
that dredge the depths of dawning skies,
divining clouds that cling below,
once ice, dissolved in morning’s glow;
... of clutching winds that carry free
above an anguished leaden sea,
dispersing dust of distant stars
midst chunks of chain in slave bazaars;
... of swooping to a silent shore
to perch beside the ocean’s roar,
at last to feel the sobbing breeze
message the leaves of rooted trees;
... of stalking strays and twilight tramps
within the fog of lighthouse lamps
that blink forlorn through caldron nights
in search of shades of errant Kites;
... of darkling vast deserted lands,
with shadowed stones on windswept sands,
where ghosts of Moorish maidens lost
disgorge faint groans in mourning frost;
... of blotting out the bloated moon
while feathers beat a banshee tune
and glimmers dance and prance aglow
upon a pearly pale plateau;
... of tasting cool torrential rains,
beyond the realm of binding reins,
and sipping freedom they exude
in quiet drops of solitude;
... of vanquishing a galley crew
aboard a ship of midnight dew,
beneath the pierce of seagulls' screams
that mock the strands of scarlet streams;
... of sating once an aching craw
with tearing beak, with ripping claw,
and echoed by an eldritch screech
while feasting on abandoned beach;
... of restive thoughts and weary wings
that drift on haze in smoky rings,
obscured within the opal shroud
of her resemblance in the crowd;
... of croaking caws in broken rhyme
in winter woe, in summer clime,
while building nests of sundown sage
beyond outside a barren cage.
Disgorge the land, unload the ship, and take
the old and new to keep. For down they went
the rich and poor, all good all bad, all dead.
We pound our drum we beat our chest, the lost
are done so eat the corn. My heart, your heart
is not to care, the Gods are one and that
is good, so go and yell the news, we won
the war is done and peace begun. It might
be peace to us; to them no peace is won
no cake is cut no war is done, oh well!
...dedicated to Hart Crane (1899-1932)
As I dream the sounds of morning sliver,
cut my senses; slow, persistent slices
pierce my eyes to ragged wakefulness.
The muffled cries of merchant hustle and
the honking of the traffic, the noises of
a summer's day displace my reveries.
I wake, and through my window I see
barges in the harbour, bustling like
beetles, scuttling over busy waters,
dragging ships with overflowing cargoes
safe to rest - the dockhands primed
and ready to disgorge the merchandise,
as sunshine washes monoliths of steel
and glass in dazzling refinement - Manhattan
like a mass of golden bars, smoldering and tall.
Steam and smoke engulf a vibrant scene
encompassing, then drifting into nothingness,
the sky a blazing blue, the docks a maze
of rarified activity as yelling fills the air.
Beams irradiate my garret - drafts of bright
and humid air like punches in the stomach
take the breath out of my lungs and leave me
gasping. I sit and watch you sleeping on the bed.
You stretch atop the covers like a vision,
your legs and arms a picture in repose;
I do not dare to wake you from your dreams,
your limbs splayed like a strumpet, you expose
your naked form, my touch will flutter your desire.
your body 'wrapped in mine,
our souls a living sacramen
to love and joy divine.
I enter you and all the stars explode,
fulfillment is our quest,
our shining testament.
As evening gently falls the windows glimmer,
the city glistens now from altered light;
the glowing falters as the sun dips slowly,
dying in the West, makes way for night.
Activity's still rife, but in my garret,
I reach for you as darkness settles soft,
I hold you in my arms, forever blessed,
while stars are quietly dancing up aloft.
...dedicated to Hart Crane (1899-1932)
As I dream the sounds of morning sliver,
cut my senses; slow, persistent slices
pierce my eyes to ragged wakefulness.
The muffled cries of merchant hustle and
the honking of the traffic, the noises of
a summer's day displace my reveries.
I wake, and through my window I see
barges in the harbor, bustling like
beetles, scuttling over busy waters,
dragging ships with overflowing cargoes
safe to rest - the dock hands primed
and ready to disgorge the merchandise,
as sunshine washes monoliths of steel
and glass in dazzling refinement - Manhattan
like a mass of golden bars, smoldering and tall.
Steam and smoke engulf a vibrant scene
encompassing, then drifting into nothingness,
the sky a blazing blue, the docks a maze
of rarified activity as yelling fills the air.
Beams irradiate my garret - drafts of bright
and humid air like punches in the stomach
take the breath out of my lungs and leave me
gasping. I sit and watch you sleeping on the bed.
You stretch atop the covers like a vision,
your legs and arms a picture in repose;
I do not dare to wake you from your dreams,
your limbs splayed like a starlet, you expose
your naked form, my touch will flutter your desire.
your body 'wrapped in mine,
our souls a living sacrament
to love and joy divine.
I enter you and all the stars explode,
fulfillment is our quest,
our shining testament.
As evening gently falls the windows glimmer,
the city glistens now from altered light;
the glowing falters as the sun dips slowly,
dying in the West, makes way for night.
Activity's still rife, but in my garret,
I reach for you as darkness settles soft,
I hold you in my arms, forever blessed,
while stars are quietly dancing up aloft.
Therein lies your beauty
testify to me no longer
of dandelions and daffodils
of butterflies and bumblebees
do not chant as crows
beyond sight scatter
then gather
in frigid naked trees
diseased with
discord
disaffection
malfeasance.
The recompense for
transgressions
lays waste to beauty’s cache
of finery
of magnificence
of splendor
do not disgorge sorrows
breathlessly
from your heaving chest
that conclave of muted
dreams vague and dreary
do not yearn
for lovely things
that
evade you
elude you
avoid you.
Talk then of
gnarled paths
overgrown with weeds
and thick brush
and rotting moss
sing soft melancholies
into indifferent airs
scatter
your tributes breathlessly
entreat this soul
to yearn ache desire
for hues of sustenance
those colors
those images
those portraits
of secret truth
lying in wait
for the impact
of despair
dismay
distress.
Therein lies your beauty
your truth
and your essence
yet do not brave
the chasm for
it is conquered
it is besieged
it is occupied
by forlorn sages
aching to know
what chance their hopes had
from casting dreams
and illusions
and secrets
undetected
into blackened pools
of wonder.
Even dread Beelzebub
hot with rage
blindly jealous
with furious hatred
ravenous for vengeance
who rose from putrid ashes
who rose from rancid death
who rose from deadly hell
fiercely intent on doom
is but feeble
and infirm
for scarcely could he
barely could he
set ablaze
reign terror
wreak havoc
on one tenth of
the thousand worlds
within this volatile
and eremitic imagination.
(click the pic for Angst & Anger)
Pour your heart out, let it flow.
Like a river's torrent, let it go.
On your bare arms let it glow.
Let its rhythmic pulse show,
that you really, truly, deeply can bestow
pure, stark, emboldened emotions all aglow.
With heart exposed, a sleeve gateau.
Glance
Gaze
Crave
Fixate
Taste
Appreciate
Cherish
Obsess
Possess
Ingest
Indulge
Engulf
Full
Bulge
Break
Ache
Distaste
Disgust
Disgorge
Disinterest
Ignore
Bored
More
Naked death
…the barred and sealed cattle wagons
disgorge
at the Konzentrazionslager
the faux pas relief
from urine mud faeces sweat and tears
unkempt armpits buttocks best wear
turned to damp rags
reduced to moaning cattle
nameless
even the heifer wan straggly limp
Alles! Raus!
…the last quick dab of face powder
the lipstick dried blood tan
the felt hat lying soggy stained
through bellowed haste
on the mudcaked barrack floor
the wampumpeag plucked by the helmeted claw
stabbing on sole-cold cutting cement platform
averting glances on sapped sagging busts
shoulders hunched buckled in
fingers reaching to scratch loins
nostrils quivering
whose the naughty stench
then the trooped Indian file
stray belongings dumped
in a wasteproduct pile
the once highheeled gait
slumping to a side
from the hips down to a jaggedknee limp
prodding the miasmal mist
the exposed varicose veins
the knotty pubis
the mons veneris
the intimate warts and moles
last year’s Ceasarian stitches
the rump twitched less
the lack lustre sentry gazes
the unmasked leer
the disdainful pursed lips
neither shame nor pudeur
and then the last gangway to nowhere
the Ave-Maria road to Himmelweg
a reprieve
From the privately pub. coll. (re-worked 2016): longhand notes ( a binding of poems), 1999, 115p.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 1999/2016
Lima has a pulse
arterial and venous it flows…
all the colors of the rainbow glow
in the mist of Pacific sea's
hectic days and disco nights
beat into the sand at the ocean's lea.
Lima's life flows
from Palacio de Gobierno ...
in measured meter from the fountain glow
amidst a Catholic sea
spirits rise of the children of the sun
cleansed of their faith by papal decree.
Lima wealth flows
its chic denizens prance baroque boulevards
barricaded behind razor wire's show
life for the wealthy addressee
distanced from the hovels of El Salvador
and the festive strum of the mariachi.
Lima has a pulse
arterial and venous it flows...
as buses disgorge invaders, colorful, slow
Shamanism lies in a Catholic sea
proud, head held high, clinging to He
beat into the sand at the ocean's lea.
^b^
Lux Nova
(after Notre Dame)
The light at Suger's
St. Denis
precursor for mighty Notre Dame
Paints both floors in color.
Transliterated from the glass of guilds
Tracery and mullions
Adumbrate
A story in late winter's light
Perhaps enough, barely enough
Enough of an outline...
Still, colors bleed
Onto freshly scrubbed floors and
Sing in their own tongue.
A washbucket stands idle
Utensils erect and attentive
Listening for
A song sung to eyes, not ears
And that is what some call magic
For others
Inspiration...
To all
The lux nova.
I too have heard whispered prayers
Hushed reverence, suspirations of hope...
Nascent long ago
Even in the empty house
So still, so full of light.
Stone and the Areopagite
Make the stuff of building ---
But neo-Platonic rhythm on strings
Sound the noumenal
now real and
Find the unwinding of the literal
Amid limpid traces
Of flesh, reaching spirit
Like incensed smoke-trails
Seeking height.
Censers disgorge aspirations
History disgorges bodies and
fire destroys beauty.
Climbing inchoate dactyls
Finger the new braille
Of the new light...
Lux Nova
Noli me tangere...
And so it is ---
Light remains ineffable in its
Own incarnation...
One can re-build stone and timber
the rest
Resides inside...
^b^
Eye control darkness
Standing in creek consciousness
Eye pain portal
Me maladjusted myalgia
Hyposyncratic virilence
It tick, me tick
Bit me
Me sick
Loads shells, no click
Arabic apotheosis shrouded in defamation
Famine lives thru sublimation
Disgorge over the stern of the barge
Decrepid canal lazes with crude afterbirth
Charged with aborted sludge
Stripping the last shreds of life from the shopping carts that pose on the bottom
Fist-nose, lymphnodes spliced with tar
Near here the fear steers clear from afar
The fetid bargeman stalks the scape defiled
Drapes his rape on the nape of the last paedophile.
Consultation Room
Our organs we disdain
Until we have some pain
Then begin to learn
Let organs respect earn!
There’s this red “bean”
Fond of giving a spleen
Pith can suffer “cones”
They call kidney stones.
Maligned cirrhotic livers
Afflict with painful fevers
You may relish one of sheep
Yours gives scant sleep!
“You’ve got a Big Heart.”
Then think you’re smart!
There’s fire in the chest
You would hardly rest.
Diseased swollen lungs
Give the worst pangs
You sweat all over night
Yet shiver with frost bite.
When eyes are in pain
They see lightning and rain
The Pain eyes can lodge
You wish them to disgorge.
Not least a swollen ear
Which no sound will hear
It gnaws into your soul
Leaving you an empty bowl!
“Labour, to an aching tooth
“is nothing, I tell the truth!”
“You’re good wif no teef
“Than wif cyst underneaf!”
Cancer of the prostate-
Who would aptly relate
The worst of all the worse
It is a pure human curse!
Those who eat so well
Call gastric ulcers real Hell
Once a morsel you partake,
Writhe like a dying snake!
And, cancer of the cervix
Has Pain with no prefix!
The sick that you nurse
Suffer agony like a curse.
*
Whoever is now healthy
Is confirmed as wealthy
Organ treatment or care
All our efforts must dare.
Correct thy eating habit
Potential throe will inhibit
Work till you sweat
Disease spurns the heat.
Substance use or abuse
Condemn it and accuse
Cancers that we endure
Come from deals impure.
Regular checks are noble
To detect what may wobble
“And rectify the setback
“That’ll get ya out o’ track!
*** Upon spending a sleepless night with a malignant lung (13/11/2013).
JM
14th Nov’ 2013
I feel the warmth of early morning sun.
The blackbird, singing in the cherry tree
Entrances all with matins just begun –
Ethereal plainchant, plangent melody.
The snow-white blossom hides a darkling bird
From eyes that would discern this source of joy.
Though nothing’s seen, his heartfelt song is heard,
His mate to charm; his rivals to annoy.
Charmer of worms, I see your yellow beak
Now opening to disgorge divine enchantment
To humans, who the charms of Nature seek,
In troubled times, for solace and contentment.
Your pastoral serenade surrounds me all day long;
The sun is sinking fast, and so, to evensong.
What is Fat Tuesday?
To disgorge your wicked ways,
be impish and play.
Despair, ‘tis my despair
that takes me to my garden sanctuary
where I disgorge my demons
that I fight emotionally.
Where colours more than black and white
produce a rainbow for my heart,
and melodies that fill the air
can mend what's torn apart…
I see them and they see me;
Do they know how they control?
Wild birds
sing the venom from my soul.