Ye Caterpillar, 6 january 2013
HALLO WORLD-BALL
Feathery old static fluff-ball
World with its upside down Russias
All over the place-
Hallo again I say to thee
world scatter-wing a day gone turned
a worldly spin on things, a time
World-ball, I remember you
I remember when I painted your portrait
Yes, I know you.
Clattering to the ground are
ladles, screens, tunnels, an entrance-way
to other times, afternoons,
a camp a cave a jittney-ride a spin
You have so much to offer-
You immensely and unimaginably
rich and diverse world
that is in fact a conglomerate
ball composed of many a world
squashed together
on the surface of one ball-
World-realm-shadow-ball-
Thought-made ball-
Ball dappled with discarded
Dreams of the dear dead and gone ones-
Of many times, a World
of many situations and perspectives
A World
Of so many feelings, thoughts, memories
and sense impressions of dust-like
entities,
A World-
So to gather up everything that
ever happened in the World
and hold it up to the light
and so to hallo the World
step away and look cleanly at it
Because you know; what is a World?
Is it one now I'm looking at it aren't I?
Is it this whale-frothing sea of drops
or this stone-mantled continental swoop
these breezy air-realms sunny afternoons
going shopping in town or hurtling cyclones
around the Aleutians under the auraura borealis
the sand in a fly's eye in Arabian hubub
bouncing back the glint of light
from mineral silicone frost sliding glimmer-
In a dirigible's rib-cage telegraphic
morse signals electro-magnetic
kinetic communique - a scene yes
but not the only because over
here you have
look, another glistening
pallette of shimmering
viridian hues-
so puff, Old World
And gleeful spin,
Don't damp your imagination
and get done in-
Moons to your moods they cling
Eyes closed
Mind's eye open-
Bubbling street stations
and there's the department
of complaints
In a street like this town
you have everything
and it's all going down-
Lemon-horns blow stawberry licks
and slippery drums pour stacks
rattle
Fresh and green slew plumes of pine
and gliding fish brined bone-strong
water-gone gads-
witness the manta
sea-square strangeness
to the power of three-
Light split into beams
blaring on golden morning wall
early white gold light
young light lucid-
World barely just held together
by cumbersome pins and
antiquated and outmoded systems
of pseudocohesion and psychodrama-
World enmeshed in myth
World on the back of a fish
and frisson of fish-net prophets
melt the ice of eye-sockets
glossy glaze and gaze through glass
at last glossing the fog with
crystal vision-
World aflash with exploding Humanity
World writhing in chemical mysteries
World flung hung religiously in space
as though in a glass case on display
as if created by atom-storm-wind
in the nostril of clustering horse-god
in x-ray lightning shattered-
Living world,
into which the breath of all the dreams
of people's chain of ages whispers
and ripples-
World which all look upon and think
You are mine-
Gadfly World, teasing out illusions
home of distorted ideas, home-world
of the greedy cruel and indifferent
world well-submerged in down-mentality
world almost subjugated by mal
world toxic made not well by man
Old nature fighting back-
World to the core hot, spinning
in space like the Great Phonograph
of legend-
Honour to the World of everything
plastic bags and all
But mostly to the myriad creatures
the glittering sparks of beings
the mass of zillions of hearty ghosts
smiling children of ephemera
crude karmic ping-pongs
kind souls, kindred folk, kith,
and atom wind sea-square strangeness-
Ye Caterpillar, 6 january 2013
Jacaranda jaculus - jaculus Caractacus
Caraway imaculus.
Hacking haikus home from traveling the page.
Merimac memory-babe, clacking keys
on your portable machine
writing the epic paperback roadflick
lickin' up ink, highways, lush-nights
and scenes of your time, your '50's
w e s t e r n d r e a m i n g
Lost, mocked, most honoured scribe
scribbling in endless notebooks
with your
c h e a p w i n e
sharing-it-with-anybody -
YOU didn't mind -
you knew we all sprung from the same meatwheel,
the same karmic revolving circus -
From Mary's drunken Buddha-Heart.
In felaheen earth
in tents
in Mexico
in automobiles
in neon city night-lights
in sagebrush coyote deserts
in doldrum drinking blues
in ships of the oily dark sea
loving the tragic world
loving the magic words - keys clack
ribbon spins and whirls
unravelling on your cheap solitary desk
tales of ten thousand miles
to bless the dream-soaked youth
an' flying souls to the sun
Ye Caterpillar, 5 january 2013
You hollowed out my poem
and stuck your
(adverts)
into it
this made me feel pretty strange
because-
Do we share our dreams
so you can (advert) cinema tickets?
(advert)
shoes handbags jewellery glasses
(adverts)
corporating insidious (adverts)
into our dreams
into our dreams
into our dreams
Ye Caterpillar, 4 january 2013
Ghostmoney-
It’ll hauntya-
But what is ghostmoney, you ask-
Ghostmoney is the dream
of the value
of the money you spent
it all long ago.
Ghostmoney is foreign currency
that we all use-
Ghostmoney is currently collected
by the customs and exorcise-
This chilling private-value-system
haunts vaults
vaunts and flaunts fiscal
risks, faults, fails, falls
into a Great Depression.
Haunting stark for the gaunt poor-
Ghostmoney dreams flapped
from the wings
of a mammoth Mammon mastodon.
Ye Caterpillar, 1 october 2012
A jackdaw
at the back door
with a hacksaw
in his black claw
made my back sore
What was that for?
Ye Caterpillar, 3 april 2012
Clean as Light in Space
Photons stream pure - no room for neurotic thought.
Photons stream pure - bouncing off illusory matter, silently.
Photons clean in space travelling-
Colour to the eye, eye to the Mind-
Mind knowing light.
Light in time sagging-
Distorting by gravity's lure-
Stars unborn seen first-
Unborn Mind seeing light between atoms dancing
Moonbeams, friendly white neon-glow
Luminous-clean, no room for stale ideas-
Throw your radiance onto the sea of the earth
Sun on earth, arriving pure - steam rising from damp earth-
Green shoots rising - young teeth and beaks nibbling-
Lizard-eye blinks, glazes, gazes at the sun
Clean as light in space-
Photons stream pure -
Prismatic split spews radiant colour vision in jelly-eye-
No room for darkness here.
Ye Caterpillar, 2 april 2012
Remember, my friends, when we were Free?
Remember the white sunlight on the hot dusty streets?
Remember when songs were sung without looking over our shoulders?
When poems were spoken out loud, in cafes? In the street?
When laughter knew no check, no nervous glance?
Yes my friend, I know you do, even if you can't
Look me in the eye.
Once we danced around a fire - we spoke of whatever came into our Minds -
I know you know this, inside yourself, I know you keep it,
deep inside your secret chest. Under your grey
and inconspicuous coat.
I know you all yearn for the return of a past mode.
But it will take years, war, a revolution -
and then, us survivors will be old.
Yes, we will be old, those of us who live.
Those of us who are not broken by those who wear the black.
Perhaps we'll run together into the evening sun,
stir the ashes of an old song
and look for life in it.
Ye Caterpillar, 1 april 2012
Once you twinkled and sparkled with life in life-
That was then.
Later they abandoned you
and decay rose up out of the Earth to sup
on your juices-
But you didn't mind-
How could you?
Nothing sinister happened-
that's just your imagination,
grinding colourful thoughts.
The odd tramp sneaked in and holed up for a while-
drinking.
The mist that fell that summer night
moved the mind of the poet.
One day, soon, the people
will move back in.
Children will laugh and throw crumbs
out of the old windows-
feeding warbling thrushes and chirping sparrows.
Ye Caterpillar, 1 april 2012
"Who are you?" asked the caterpillar
but I didn't know - so what could I say?
I thought about it for a bit
but realized there was no answer
and this was not a problem.
Ye Caterpillar, 19 march 2012
Old crow
your eyelids are grey
rapidly blinking
some small loose feathers fluttering
on your neck and tail.
Don’t fly away
I want to de-scribe you
I want to tell them
what colour you are.
Ye Caterpillar, 24 february 2012
Granite snowman
growanek growth of gold
lichen licks your old head -
your grass-skirt and blessed
pointed head to the sky.
Sweet birds of summer
come to swoop by you,
fly-past swiftly African aircraft
swallowing midges a-wing -
sing simple songs flung
over dungmellow flatfields -
summer a-come.
Licking breezes cool
wrapped around old stone spool,
then a stillness
in the cloverdotted pathcrossed field,
Stone Holy to Ancients
with Oceanic view,
glimpse the stars
Look! Old is new
Ye Caterpillar, 21 february 2012
Inveterate invertebrate
embrace a vertical rockface
facade of vetinary race
inverted, braced, a molecule's pace
mollycoddled molusc lusting
for the last bus,
in a flap
in a fuss
roaring full-born
dew-drop bull-horn
Tide swirling your
side twirling ripples
slithering in rivulets
letters ripped from catalogues
log-jams, lumbering word-jams,
verbose invertebrate
syllables coagulate
veering off a typeface
tentacles scrabbling for limp
pictorial hieroglyphs
glyphics mystic and molten cliffs
larva slips - hatching
in lunar eclipse
graphics grappled - coming to grips
inveterate invertebrate -
must it come to this?
Ye Caterpillar, 17 february 2012
Fresk kommolek ebrenn
glas pilenn hwyth a-ves
tarosvann-pallenn
ha treusnija-leurienn dhe an bran
glyb gwels ---
mar nebes gwyr kath vlewek slynka
yn krogenek surkot
Dhuchais
Ur scamallach speir
glas giobal seid chun shiul
taibhse-cumhdach
agus eitilt-cairpead do an preachan
fluich fear - bideach bolb tealtaigh
sa sliogan cota
My Home Land
Fresh cloudy heaven
blue/grey/green rags blow away
ghost-blanket
and flying-carpet for the crow
wet grass ---
as a little furry caterpillar creeps
in carapace overcoat
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Notes:
This poem is cast in Cornish, Irish and English. Apologies to the Kelts for the liberties I've taken with these ancient and noble tongues.
'Glas' in Cornish can mean 'blue', 'green' or 'grey'. I associate this word with the changing colours of the sea. Occasionaly houses in Cornwall are called 'Glas Mor' - Grey/blue/green sea.
Alot of Irish words have accent-marks over them, but not sure if my machine will do this, so you'll have to put them in yourself...
I've asked the 'Jynn-amontya' (engine-amounter, or computer) to do a Polish metaphrasis - it's in the hands of the 9 Muses of the INTERnational NETwork - I hope they do a good job - I have no way of checking!
Moja Ojczyzny
Swieze zachmurzenie nieba
niebieski / szary / zielony szmaty zdmuchnac
duch-koc
I latajacy dywan-za wrony
mokra trawa -
jako maly futrzany gasienica skrada
w plaszczu pancerza
Ye Caterpillar, 17 february 2012
Lorekeet Laureatte
You'll peck those words,
Motormouth motivatin'
Berries, cherries,
Pickin's rich in birds
Wingin' it, wordin' it,
Wearing whirring wings
Absurd i'n'it?
Spreadin' the word in it
Fly like a bird in it -
Land in the laurel,
singing
Lyre-Bird!
Now for your lyrics laurels
are conferred on you!
And subjects once taboo
You blew so open wide
Now the people see
inside of things
So spread those wings
Lauretta Poetta
Give those words
Some peacock feathers,
Aye?!
Ye Caterpillar, 6 february 2012
Those days with the wind swaying in the trees
those grey misty days of swirling leaves,
of tumbling autumn days falling into water -
the sea lapping around the legs of the pier
watching days, days curled up and crinkled...
do you remember that day, when
Evenings firelit - rain rattling on slate -
wind howlubub hubbing at the tiles above -
rain spatters the window's hollow green glass.
These days and those days - rose from above
the zenith soaring time's track.
Cool evening air between beech-tree groves
where leaves flutter down to fascinate the wanderer
nature's miniature moves a thrilling Muse to eye of joy
and woodsmoke's incense curling and diffusing....
Golden days, silver days of rain's glistening
tracery - moons, crunching paths a-wander
through furlongs fresh, harvest globes aglow
rippling pewter mirror of mackerel scatter
newt-tracks - crinkling the zenith
Sandstone ruins rooked by clacking
crowbodies - beaks - feathers blueblack
and beaks that clack - clutching claws cold
days of rooks a-flight in fluttering glassy nights
and dew-drenched hedgerows of bramble by
the gypsy's canvas hut.
Days on the move, horses shunting at the
collar, hooves a-clatter, sparking on roads
of night - past bramble miles and brackens
braking hills adrift with pink clouds glowing
slows in the hedge, cobwebs, moss and sedge
Faded brown photographs of days
in dreamy sunlight - kept in mahogany box
monoplanes whir, their wires taught, strings of
improbable Chinese guitars of the Butterfuly
brand - sealed with ambergreise - turquoise -
wax flocks in flux of beeswax bucks -
days like these flood by in flocks.
Ye Caterpillar, 5 february 2012
Detached, loosed, struck off on The Strand,
Dubstep Hubcap rolling and tumbling cross the land,
losing the race with th car what shedya,
spinning, turning, trundlin’ so graceful long th Strand,
scatterinya blessin’s all the way from Lhasa
past piers of fish, ashphalt avenues, iron-mongers,
ale-mongers, monks, friends – you Holy dish -
set alight the street you did,
set alight the Strand.
“Stuck behind a rubbish-collection-bus”
‘Don’t you mean a dustcart?’
Trash wagon, a flash flagon of flim-flam filth -
OVERTOOK the hubcap,
gazed directly into the Heart of the whirling Blessing Deity.
Dubstep hubcap of spinning spontaneity
Ye Caterpillar, 5 february 2012
Mallow the fleecy slumberquilt of owl-down folds
as glinting obsidian chips shatter to steel picks
glycerine meniscus slithers, slips gelatinous quivers
on dusty towels of blotting sloe-deserts at closing time
Dazzling wattage of solar brilliance
blinks dilating mole’s eye eclipsed by fogs obscuring dulling lids
cactus scimitars bristle at hedgehog’s scalpel point
while boulders rolling hills globular orbs around
Jocular punning jesters teasing comic clown jollities
lost money, brown envelopes soggy with stale rain
strange minotaur glaciers promise unsolved wonder
but late tax tellies brake cold tabloid price-rises
Egyptian fossil farthings recall yore grandfathers
now today’s internet chart-toppers skype new youth
spiders shock rejected by bully-thief’s cruelty
as warm coco-friendly cottages enjoy blue skies
Faulty computer fails, dull music rankles tired mind
awakening fresh glittering cool water splashes girls
shoes stepping path, kicking footballs as footsfall
shakehands fingers ring guitarists point to nailpolish
Formulaic wordhopper churns swilling unpop to critics
amusing the chucklers with bubbling playful verbdance
stay within your constructs if you will so continue thus
naught concerning consensus, joy rears again surprised
Ink-symbols convey conceptual synaptic lightning
the ever-curious gazer drinks from media’s swirling sea
the dualistic key-tapper hurls the project out
and life-life returns to paths familiar and mallow
Ye Caterpillar, 4 february 2012
Greenhornhood heavy hung however wholly
haloing halfling’s holy head. Thinking
through these thick thoughts thoroughly though therefore that’s thought’s
threnody thus through and through. Greenhorn
gores dirigible though, punctiliously and pitiably deflating the gasbag
envelope. Avidly attempting to avoid
responsibility though he attempts to involve the antelope in culpability. However heavy though hung the halo halflight
around Greenhornhood’s head.
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