Long Undigested Poems
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The primate, loves to show himself off very much,
brags about his accomplishments as to being the most intelligent living being
on the earth; he is overly proud about himself for his achieved material abundance through inventing Money and development of convenient and comfortable living habitats with it. In so doing, man has become Money’s slave.
Although Money does all kinds of indecent things; mounts high
on this most intelligent but cowardly creature’s back fluttering
a banner of arrogance, Money even lashes the creature;
the creature swallows an insult adding zeroes to the note
each time Money lashes him.
I wonder why the creature submitted to Money, abandoning his pride and dignity. His ancestor hundreds of thousands of ages ago who crossed the water in very remote antiquity, rowing a boat in the heavy mist to arrive here has carried more zeros then the note he held. He keeps adding more to his note accepting lash after lash of humiliation.
Although it’s about time to stop adding zeroes to the note
the creature overly attracted to Money begins to recite a spell
no one would understand, offering a bribe and bowing to an idol
made of gold.
Bribery is an added function of Money and is invisible; no one sees who offers
or who receives it. The certified check: with many more zeros printed on it
than the notes offered to the idol; will be awarded to the spell-chanter’s hand
as a reward for the number of incantations he uttered and bowed to the idol.
The idol: that is able to conceive the meaning of the spell is smiling
because the bribe is a windfall; income to one who sits in the chair
comes with power, and is like a never-drying well in the wilderness.
Above all, it’s sweeter then honey. That’s why the idol eats gluttonously.
A swarm of flies comes and lick the undigested food, mixed with Money and
the many zeroes he vomits.
You stank, and poo was once revealed when pants were pulled in playing field. Hard round briquettes, quite dry, like dung with straw sun-hard and undigested.
All kinds of unkind taunts and silly songs were sung and rumour did the rounds of Traveller’s goings on in dog-bark fenced compound.
Nothing known, but always just suggested.
What were your meals in trailer park, beside the fields, beside the rec,
beside the school where boys all played you for the fool, and girls sang ‘stinky bum’, and parent’s day didn’t see your dad, and did you even have a mum?
You struck a chin full fist when foot deployed to halt your playground dinky toy. Your anger clearly boiled beneath. Did you every day recoil from father’s buckled belt, or older brother’s fist, or even mother’s wounding cuffs confined to caravan
on drizzle chilly days as autumn shed cold leaf?
You walked with ricket bandied legs, a waddled painful labour.
I too was your tormentor, on endless friendless days and lonely playground corners, and classes where the empty desk was always nearest neighbour.
Your white and skinny scabied form found true excuse from sports.
No one saw 'there', beneath your shabby shorts, except the school and nit nurse. We always thought your underpants were wet, or stained, or worse,
and most days did you even wear your soiled and threadbare underwear?
Would these older opened eyes now see you as a son?
Would softened heart now empathise with how you had begun
your life and realise the pain and strife that laid your path,
where mine was carefree fun?
These older eyes are sorry now, with memory’s regret.
But yet that child knew not the pain that surely comes to all,
and tempered hearts cannot relive the spring before the fall.
The Notebook
Written: by Tom Wright
7-8-2016
Life is a notebook aged and wrinkled by time,
Margins are littered with names and number.
Of those sharing, who’ve made my life sublime,
Some long whispered into in depth slumber.
Pages containing thoughts, some undigested,
And others having succumbed to life’s fade.
Revealing times of busyness when oft I rested,
And periods of obedience to things God bade.
Won’t be a best seller, but unnoticed, in time,
So for those who had parts in making it so.
Remember those times when life was prime,
I raise my glass and salute you, before I go.
If tears don't run salty into the bowl of lentils of life, you don't know the seasoning of pain,
It's just a breeze, a transient wind over your infinite fields of indifference.
When you weep, tasting of all things, satiated with the world's profound murmur,
You conceal an unknown yearning in your sob, and the salt crystallizes in the chambers of your heart.
A fog settles on empty tables, laden with silences and sighs,
An autumn uncontained in dishes, woven into the silvery sleep of drawers.
Each bread crumb—a solstice between the full day and the night that comes,
In every crack of dawn and dusk lives the undigested, jumping love.
If you've never swallowed the moonlight mixed in the porcelain chalice of fate,
You have not felt how heavens descend, trickling through veins the eternal flow.
A scent of wax burning bloody in candles, once vivid now drained,
Is that flame under which your dreams fry and the healing aches like an eternal cut.
If you’ve never rocked hope in the quarter of the night, when hunger cuts your breath,
You'll never understand how every goal of deceit sways in throngs under the dome of eternity.
And you may see in the falling star, a shimmering silver platter flung across the sky,
Not a token of luck, but a scorched piece of the universe refusing to be swallowed without a fight.
If you've never eaten with tears in your eyes, you'll never know what life is...
The one that cuts and runs, and settles like a canvas of cold upon the ground of longing.
Poems are prepared for you in frost and heat, to sip stoically, with the natural taste of torment,
And you thirst, not for water, but for the essence that rises from the chasm of crying, wildly enchanted.
Oh my tummy aches
something I ate I think?
like a cow?
“Geeezzzz, the pay backs a female dog.”
Been trying not to eat fellow mammals.
Been rewarded with a sweet tum tum.
But, my man’s a meat eater …growl
and I succumbed.
Oh my tummy aches
like an undigested third world country.
Well, even some of them don’t eat cows!
One really shouldn’t eat things with eyes,
in one end and out the other;
like a minority student in an inner city school
no child left behind
my behind.
Sometimes life’s a female dog
but why blame the sweet dog
Just don’t ingest anything with two eyes
and what comes out will be as sweet as what went in.
my carnivore self is displayed out in the open
I tear a bovine’s tendons and muscle with gusto
my teeth coming up red and bloody;
it is the human way, is it not?
my mouth, throat and gullet gulp away,
unaware of the undigested meat already in my colon.
I plan an organized kindness parade, not caring about cows
Or pigs, unless I am anticipating bacon and pork roast.
I seek direction from no one; feeling all-powerful.
I am a carnivore, am I not? This is validation enough.
My cologne is a combo of unrecognizable floral mixes.
I look pretty, therefore, my killing ways can be forgiven.
Later today I can do a bit of wind surfing or fall off my skates.
My concentration is no longer on my food, but on life.
Why am I never satisfied? Where does my depression originate?
My dendrite stream never realizes I am picking up on animal psyche.
In a subconscious way, my body is reacting to their misery.
When they get brain smashed, so they can be carved into steaks.
I lick my lips, enjoying Heinz 57, wishing I can figure out what is wrong.
My soul knows, but cannot share it with me on this plane.
Will I understand post death when I see my own cadaver?
Will my corpse make me realize how uncivilized meat eating is?
Will I be depressed as I head toward heaven?
Or will I be heading to a lower place?
“Morning Star”
There, a Morning Star rose in the East
and reclined in the left side of my brain.
I called them Morning.
They called me Butterfly,
pinned me to the wall like I was an example
of what they thought love was like.
Prisoners are us, in this state of undress.
There is some pleasure in the pain
of a heart in full thrust, bursting open
like a dark, dark red rose.
The perfume piercing all senses,
intoxicating in full bloom, soft, full of dew,
inviting a kiss at close quarters
in their hard velvet time.
Face turned upwards
towards the wide smile of a burning sun,
arching Morning Stars and the immolation of fiery whispers
against the neck of a Van Gogh mind, the eyes fragile green stems, Monet irises swaying,
flecks of ultra-violet scryed within the treasure-pools of a twin flame reflected.
Gold stamens leave their trails like honeyed addictions, deliciously wicked;
Ochre-yellow ribbons tied around the tall stories of a whispering Oak forest,
the boundaries breaching the fire-shot hares and their blue-grey ghostgum sighs.
The ancient laws of desire -
distinguishing lust from love -
swallow us undigested, swept under the rugs of their Gideon pages.
Preying upon us, strange cardinals in their cloistered nests
in such complex states of red unrest, shake the boughs, to move leaves like fingers
that trace noughts and crosses over our naked hearts, sowing seeds in our breasts,
sliding their weathered veins all over our minds, shattering the blanched crystalised,
making the limbs of our stories flesh-borne, come alive.
We kiss under fresh, poisonous holly like it’s a new year.
The risks that we take for love,
the road to hell is paved with good intentions –
wearing fleece o’er wolf’s skin –
as below, so above;
The course of a full day never lets up.
The Sun rises in the east,
The Sun sets in the west.
We burn in between.
The embers of fire glow within the Moon’s luminescence,
ignis et aqua arriving like a tide hushing the prescient ocean
rocking the slick undertow - lux noctis aeterna sub silentio -
like a clam to be opened, a pearl to be plucked
from the fathomless depths of another dimension.
Over and over again, small victories are given up.
The shell discarded.
ex tenebris lux
Candide Diderot. ‘26
The nearer peace,more savage are the acts
Abhorrent to the atheist in us all.
History, undigested ,splits and cracks
As we whites did evil to the black
With little difference, hate for glory calls.
The nearer peace, the more savage the acts
All of us can disremember facts
Israeli hands have gripped and then appalled.
History, undigested ,splits and cracks
As ,with Bomber Harris, Dresden packed
Burned like grass the refugees to ghouls
The nearer peace, the more savage the acts
We deny the healing we have lacked
For Jesus' Jews we let be killed ,de-souled
History, undigested ,splits and sticks
Palestine’s own Arabs are ill ruled
And in return, explode like stubborn mules
The nearer love, the more the hatred whacks
History., inconceivable, directs
When wildfires flare beyond tame,
hot ash burns and sting the eye.
And a scorching tongue of flame
laps smoke from a blackened sky.
Being both judge and jury
fuels fire's desire to feed.
And to avoid its fury
frightened animals stampede.
Plumes of smoke conceal a heart
of incinerating heat.
And cinders fall far apart,
offering little retreat.
Embers smolder in its wake
from branches consumed in haste.
And ash turns the air opaque,
bits of undigested waste.
Hungry, it chews a wide track
till the wind shifts, and it dies.
And adept at fighting back,
nature hastens fire's demise.
(Quatrain)
1/19/2016
The cold hit me, it froze my soul
The last gasp of air knocked from my body
Down, down, down in some deep dark wet hole
I was lost I was gone, there would be no more me.
I opened my eyes and looked into known death
The eye of a beast stared back.
I knew that I was holding my breath
Yet desperately trying to claw my way back.
Its teeth the beast then did bare
The jaws opened wide and it expelled
The last meal devoured, how would I fare?
The last of the air in my lungs I held.
Bones and bodies of undigested food did surround
My eyes open wide, fear did abound
Was I to be the last meal of the beast?
Was it on me that it was now going to feast?
Prayers hurled through my jangled mind
Thoughts of would any of my body they find
My parents no funeral would they have for me
As the meal of this beast I knew I was going to be.
© GG 16/08/2103