Long Projection Poems
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("Contagion III", 2020, original pen and ink and oil)
Trigger Warning
From the safe space of my hardened little heart
I send out my love
In waves of conditional bliss
To all who are just like me.
And since that’s actually no one
That love only fills the hollow hardened space
A geode no one will ever open.
Yet within this mirror-facetted crystal cave
A whole world revolves
Like a Whoville on a clover blossom
Hidden from every other by the simple
Abundance of endless pink waving plains.
Last night a friend shared these words of wisdom;
The cause of Suffering:
“Reifying Nothing”
The end of Suffering:
“Reifying Nothing”
With the sobering effect of pinpointing
That the contentious sides of anything
Are always looking at the same thing
The thing itself
Being so gracious to effortlessly accommodate
Any and all projection
The little distortions
Our hardened little hearts
Create in the vibrating space
Of their solitary confinement.
Each of us all together all alone
The ultimate truth
Being that all truth is relative;
The kernel of ancient wisdom
At the heart of the postmodern cancer
Multiplying in ever increasing mutational loads
Consuming itself
Killing its own in a territorial imperative
Of survival through ever dividing
Identities
Each standing on the head of the oppressed beneath
Each consuming the flesh of those who died before
In the struggle for a cosmic justice
That lives nowhere but
The perfect world of our own crystalline hollow
Now in disarray
Each waiting for a Horton savior
To hear our tiny desperate plea
Acknowledging that we too are a person
No matter how small, or brown, weak, foolish or *****
That we too are
All that we dream.
(11/21/23)
Bongo taut resonance
Cornerless bellydance
Schedule of edges set adrift
Lured by translucent twirled wrists
Shimmer and shadow juxtaposition
Ripple wavered rhythm without repetition
Syrup never cool, pool dissolves all granules
Sip of boiled candy stories make tongues tangle
Sequel came spilled ink
Jellyfish stroke olympic
Pink stripe whimsy lifts his spirit
Saccharine capsule snaps weak inhibit
Swallowed by opaque pond, - agile diver
Gulps willing her glitter silver victimising saliva
Clamped cognition, gluey strawberry chew seduce
Bobbed acidic body embalmed calm in numbing fluid
22nd June
Froth
by Odin Roark
Come
Be my operator
Me your camera
Medium shot
Lower Manhattan sidewalk café
He in Armani suit accented with Ferragamo tie
She with Jimmy Choo and Prada outfit
Both with Latté and croissant
Low angle
Bottom of refuse chute
Zooming up through food trash
Hurtling downward
Tortillas
Rice
Chinese vegetables
Big Mac wrappers
Wide angle
Textile floor
Sewing machines
Steam pressers
Dark skin
Yellow skin
Back to back
Fans whirling
Sweat flying
Finishing food break
Quickly down the chute
Garbage
Traveling
Into subway car
Dark skin
Yellow skin
Heads bowed
Exhaustion at end
Night
Manhattan
Armani and Prada
Dancing
Drinking
Rolled $100 bill snorts
Night
Bronx
Yellow skin
Dark skin
Fire escape mattress
Bathtub mattresses
Wall to wall
Families on straw mats
Domestic fights next door
Depriving sleep
Night
52 floors up
Skyline view
Moonlit bedroom alight
Prada with Eye mask
Armani with face scrub plaster
Seashore CD lulling sleep
Wide
Night shift
Congressional mailroom
Rows of paper-shredders
Reams of documents
Header – “Minimum Wage Proposal”
Pages upon pages
Shredding into recycle bins
Low angle
Nightstand projection clock
Ceiling lit up with 4 AM
TV comes on
BBC morning stock report
Armani raises head from pillow
Puts on glasses
Stares at TV screen
Removes glasses
Manually turns off TV
Spoons Prada
Sunrise
Bronx studio apartment
Chinese family lines up
One bathroom
15 readying their day
Wide
Textile floor
Steam building up
Hundreds of idle sewing machines
Prepared
Close shot
Espresso foam machine
Latte cups waiting
Froth filling the frame
Jesus Revisited
He was born out of wedlock and some say his father
was God the Divine I am not sure of that immaculate
projection but genes were involved and I believe that
some assisted fertilization may have started his journey
Adultery would be if not blasphemous too judgemental
what is a piece of paper when progeny was needed to
look after his parents no social security system in those days
when persecution and genocide was on the agenda
He was not so keen on drugs other than wine made from water
a hippie with flowers in heart hair mind and beautiful soul
but nevertheless became a free loving roamer a drifter
poet of the oral tradition full of wisdom and compassion
Does it matter whether Magdalene Mary happened to
become his lover when tables were turned at the temple
how the tides parted to walk on the sea bed or whether
the salt of too many tears of depression floated the message
He was a Middle Eastern guy most probably coloured in skin
with all chakras involved from the mix of a rainbow of promise
he counselled and healed with suggestion charisma almost
hypnotic powers used for the purpose of psychic proportions
He might have sported tattoos depicting a snake or a lion
some contact address emergency number engraved on his
forehead a belly ring maybe of a cross to be cast to foreshadow
his inner and outer appearance scarred healing healed
Much like him I am horrified by wars murder hypocrisy crusading terror
napalm orange agents Hiroshima Holocaust and the senseless
slaughter of groups others Peoples and ideas peace humankind
I passionately care for his message and his proposal his resilience
To stand up for injustice for freedom from evil and freedom of
passive resistance rebellion and faith and beliefs for what matters
He would have been a big pal with the Buddha spiritual leaders of
another age time place contingency context hegemony plight
would maybe not mind a panoply of Hindu Gods and Godesses
and have the Koran next to his straw mattress fire and all
I care for Jesus and he cares for me
22nd July 2016
No rest for the wicked,
No rest for the broken,
Maternal, Paternal or kind.
No rest for the brave,
No rest for the aimless,
Immature or revolutionary minds.
No rest for the dreamers,
No rest in the nervous systems,
Of the critical, compliant and in line.
No rest for our hearts,
No rest for our instincts,
Survival Mode, pretending to be fine.
No rest from the challenges,
No rest from the inevitable,
Happiness in glimpses, occasionally still moments in the wind's heartbeat.
Rest from the inability to calm,
Rest from the parts that are wounded,
A person who matters lies underneath.
Rest from the speed of it,
Rest from force fed consumption,
Attachments brewing, to be laid down to breathe.
Rest from overworking,
Rest from unemployment,
Freedom possible, though the mountain steep.
Rest from lack of forgiveness,
Rest from judgement and projection,
Comprehension and kindness resting at our feet.
It's fairly easy to spot a terrorist.
They wear masks to hide jagged intentions.
While goodness stands in the central light.
With hearts that are quite transparent.
A terrorist slaughters children in their beds.
Uses the innocent as a shield.
Goodness protects the young from harm.
Will fight to the end for every one of them.
A terrorist tortures and rapes women.
Then parades them through the streets.
They hide bombs in places of worship.
Then stomp to death the old and meek.
A terrorist will sucker-punch the angelic.
Then cower like rodents in a subterranean hell.
The righteous meet the devil's platoon head-on.
With fiery fists and a will made from God's iron.
A terrorist is an expert at projection.
Goodness will sit upon truth's throne.
God will always side with goodness.
While evil will perish, shamed and alone.
Ask yourself, are you a terrorist?
For there is an easy test.
Are you a blossom or a knife?
Do you cherish all God-gifted life...
Do you hold God close to your breast....
Or harbor black-hearted agendas.
Beating in rhythm with destruction and death.
“Never, my child, did I have death or deathlessness, poison or poisonlessness. How shall I speak of the pure and the impure? I am free from disease-my form has been extinguished.”
The heartbeat of God is all love and light,
throb of bliss in unending renewal,
suffused thus in ineffable delight,
which then projects Itself in realm dual,
where to live by love is the only rule.
We as an ego are but a God-spark,
navigating realms on an upward arc.
All domains are real, yet also dreams,
wherein each form in times merges with God,
along octaves of love, He Himself beams,
recognised by us when our heart has thawed,
revealing light of Self that has us awed.
Om is God’s gong that takes us all along,
back to heaven, which is where we belong.
Viewing body-mind as a projection,
the game is simply descent and ascent,
wherein love ensures with God connection,
for which simply following bliss mist’s scent
the light of heaven in heart makes advent.
In this maze we can never go astray,
if voice of conscience remains our mainstay.
I am a projection,
An Idea through connection,
A physical perception.
Since inception,
Part of the Sources collection.
I can feel the attention,
The affection in my reality,
A reflection of its love for me.
I am able to see,
The character I came to be.
A heightened sensitivity,
Aware of how you feel.
You're not even real,
Just another gear in the wheel,
Stealing the show,
Until I know,
That's how it's supposed to go,
So I can grow into my shadow.
Though I can feel every moment,
I'm only a projection sent,
Into the firmament,
To experience many events,
Opening up my presence,
To remember my present.
A rhino's eyesight is really myopic,
Perhaps that's what makes him so misanthropic.
His hearing and reflexes, though, are sublime,
He can turn on a nickel and stop on a dime.
The projection that grows
On the end of his nose
Is not really a horn, though,
As one might suppose.
And when he needs scratching,
There's another small hitch,
His legs are too short
So he can't reach the itch.
He's ugly, pugnacious,
Rude, and unsociable,
And his manners at mealtime
Are simply atrociable.
And should you insult him,
He'll never reveal it.
His hide is so thick
He prob'ly won't even feel it.
Moonshine hues in a powerful projection
peep in to light the lovers’ cavern with profusion.
Her tibias go weak; on the stone table, displayed
were wooden large bowls full and neatly arrayed.
Her colon constricts and she retains a gas, about to leak,
as she wants very much to look a bride, composed and meek.
A graceful raise of clavicles and a sexy push of the pelvic girdle
masked her gluttonous stare which clearly is to tolerate no hurdle.
She sniffs cautiously as her bridegroom leads her to her chair;
delicious soup of small intestines and roasted gall bladders for two to share.
A huge portion he serves her with exaggerated tenderness
“This for you, a first humble meal, my beautiful beloved ogress…”
Tibias, colon (large intestine), clavicles, pelvic girdle,small intestines, gall bladders.
12/09/16
A body of work (Viv Wigley)
Use of 6 body parts