Big man sings my blues - for Rory

Some parts of this may be a little contrived, but if ya don't know his music, you won't get it anyway. (http://www.roryellis.com/)



The unsheltered part of the beer garden
Is near empty

There are various groups under the
Covered part loudly
Playing pool
Watching the footy
Listening to the juke box

But I am out in the cold
Slight rain
Waiting for the big man on the stage
To open his throat

He does not disappoint

He never does

My voice is a waterfall
Pouring out along with his
A smile hurts my jaw

I only notice the rabble
Between songs
In the quiet anticipation

He hits a blues chord
And two lone dancers
Hit the floor before the stage

He’s leaving again
Touring the UK where they have
The taste
To know his work

This is his last gig in
My town for a while
But I smile knowing that
Some day
Some way
Some where
I will see him play again

But for now he battles
The racket
For there
Is
Love in
This war
Against the juke box
Sport on the telly
And the locals talking
Over
The few of us
Here
For him

For the music man

Consummate professional
Continuing to tell the stories of his music
Put his all too
Human
Face to the songs

Right at the end
The crowd realise
What I’ve known
For a decade
And hit the floor
Request encores when
He stops

Now understand as I do

That when a voice a big as
His heart
Rings out I don’t need
Two feathers

I know how to fly

And I realise that
I’m not out in the cold
After all

Form

Your existence encounters mine
Minefield of potentiality for intensity
Intensity of gaze as eyes meet, meld, colours mingle, borders blur, see as one
As one our hearts beat in unison, unity, tandem pumping of life’s fluidity, voluble valvular, virtuosity, virtuality beyond reality
Reality of hands held, palm in palm, flesh on flesh
In flesh I experience you, feel you, within, without, withholding nothing
Nothing hidden from thoughts that float across the rippled waters of our minds
Mindful of the path we tread down the long dark corridors of idea
Ideals unattainable but never to be forgotten
Forgetting that which was in our path on the road to where we now intersect, introspect, converse
Conversing, conspiring, not tiring
Tiring of your company not considered among the possibilities of this world
Worlds colliding, colluding, alluding to something together
Together as one, under the sun, stars, heavens above our joined being
Beings merging, emerging, converging, verging on unity
Unity of life, life essence, essential to living
Living in wonder, this wonderful, this wondrous beauty
Beauty inherent in its natural form
Form that is us

Lest we forget

I'm sure I've posted this before, but it is the day for it.

'Rememberance Day' at Poets Against War site

It stings so bad

I am sick of the clap

And I’m not talking about that nasty infection that bitch gave me that time
I got ointments and some nice pills for that and it cleared up just fine

Thank you very much

I mean this reflexive slapping of
On hand upon the other
Every time someone stands to read
Regardless of what they say and do

I am sick of the recognition clap
The reflex clap
The supportive, good on you for doing it
Clap
That makes bad poets think they were good
And good poets think you were listening

Give me your silence
Give me your pause
That time for recognition
Give me some sign
Of words being registered
Not just passing
Into ear and through
Down your arms
Making them flail
Come out as

*CLAP*

Give me…

Bitter Sweet Symphony

She tells me she’s so excited, can’t wait to go
I spoon the crema from my espresso
Into my mouth
Smooth coffee bitterness swallowed slowly

She reminds that we’ve got a month or two together left
I smile, acknowledge
My spoon slowly stirring, sugar dissolving
Taking the edge off the bite

She encourages me to come visit, it’s really nice
I nod, stop stirring
Put the spoon down
The sweetening complete

She holds one of my hands, smiling
My other lifts the glass to my mouth
Drinking deep, heat enters, suffuses through me
Artificially enervated

Looking into my eyes, she suggests we go home
I drain the glass
Savour all I can get
The tip we leave minimal

i don't take myself seriously, don't you

sitting at his regular table he
surveys
the room his realm counts
heads
notes faces calculates

considers

all who attend try to
catch
his eye

he holds
involuntary
court does not
disappoint
a wink here a
smile
there greetings verbal and
non
names used when he
thinks
the effect will be best

those who do
not
like him still curry
favour
try to turn his
head
want what is
his
to give

newer attendees just
wish
to be noticed

recognised

for now

above beneath
beside
never truly
with
the poets the
convenor
sits at his regular table
and considers

flirting with the barmaid

(true-ish story from about 10 years ago. posted for a friend)

eyes so disarmingly bright i am compelled

no commanded

to meet and hold them
locked together for as long as we have in these brief interludes

snatches of conversation
conspiratorial gestures
acknowledgment of existence from across the room

do you notice how i watch you
collecting pieces of you to take with me when i leave
capturing your smile in my mind imagining later that it is more than it was

wishing that
the fingers that unselfconsciously run themselves through your hair
the arms you fold across you, holding you
the tongue that plays inside your mouth
the teeth that bite gently, playfully, on your lower lip
as we steal these brief moments between drinks

may one day be mine

knowing as i leave this place where we meet all too regularly
that i must feel myself content with these friendly greetings
comfortable platonic gestures
these far too fleeting stolen moments of familiarity