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Tuesday, November 04, 2008
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Consequences
Consequences
my bubble keeps bursting me out
a million mistakes made of hopes,
meaning no harm by breaking bones
tumbling down my heart lands wrong
side up in your sweet marbled arms
Cleopatra's eyes flash looks at mars,
missy Buddha figures out eternity
on the back of one minute of clarity,
weather sweeps through the trees
my monkey hangs on even tighter
down town you sit in all the empty
places reserved for my holy tears,
wise woman throwing friends over
her shoulders like no tomorrows,
somewhere butterflies suck blood.
JGH(c)2008
*Published in 'Zygote Abstract' Anthology 2008 by Red Pulp Publishing
4:04 PM
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Saturday, November 01, 2008
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Cement Poem Number: 7
Current mood:  breezy
Category: Writing and Poetry
Cement Poem 7
I am swaggering silently through my own minutia
I am the salt and vinegar queen, the cold chip king
I am the Columbus of the morning madras lands
I am last night's fry-up clinging to the brain pan,
I am the preference of all friendships to fly apart
I am the rattle of a cola can's empty low-cal soul
I am the lonely hangman's ropeless scaffolding
I am tearing up the plan in favour of the guess,
I am putting love on the bonfire one last time
I am watching it throw me out stretched arms
I am searching quietly through their ashes
I am a garbled message in a broken bottle.
I am the object of your disaffection. the
softening erection, the blood withdrawing
back to the heart, the alibi of liquid opium,
the final stopping beat, the upstart angelic.
jgh©2008
2:11 PM
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Tuesday, October 28, 2008
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Nature Kills Baby
Current mood: artistic
Category: Writing and Poetry
Nature kills baby (a poem for All Hallows)
our love wore a silencer
but it still fired a soul,
you carried
my baby like
a bullet baby,
then the devil in the detail
pulled apart DNA's angel hair,
as cells unraveled
as the blood tripped,
as birthday candle
turned back to bee,
as bone crumbled chalk
into the mother board,
as the tears grew hard
in the corners of our eyes
i snuggled you in my arms
and you sang me too little sleep
with a lullaby for the never lived.
jgh(C)2008
6:51 AM
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Saturday, November 01, 2008
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Sing the song of all
Category: Writing and Poetry
Sing the song of all
When the biopsy comes back
I can't help but think
where the fuck is Spiderman
when you really need him?
Where is that Buddha boy
when loneliness strangles you
and the street poets sell out
for a hand full of applause?
When the Super Ego comes dancing
beside itself with sweet reflections,
where is the Woody Guthrie man
to sing the blues to our glories?
This guitar kills fascists, the prophet's guitar made it's promise. And
where are the wire haired highwaymen when we most need them?
Where is the match to Blake's burning bow, to the ribbon of road?
O yes when the gold around your soapy necks
and the discreet metals in your mobile phones
come already blood stained from the Congo.
I can't help but think where the fuck is Tarzan
when you really need him, when black massacres
black to feed white greed for the earth's resources?
I can't help but think where the fuck is Buddha boy
when you really need him, when Olympic China
burns the world's ozone as it floats over old Tibet?
Yeah! Where the fuck is Spiderman
when you really, really need him?
jgh©2008
3:12 PM
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Sunday, September 28, 2008
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Wet Cement Poem No:6
Wet Cement Poem No:6
The throne room of cash is empty but for a skull with a bullet hole
and a diamond collared dog lapping at the pool of his master's blood,
while in a corner of the Pentagon the Stars and Stripes spontaneously
combust and the ghost of Jimi Hendrix pisses lighter fuel onto the flag.
JGH©2008
9:54 PM
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Wet Cement Poem No:5
Wet Cement Poem N:5
we stake the world on youth and beauty
surely no one would pull a knife across perfect skin
surely no one would pour lies into such fine china ears
surely no one would puncture the bubbles of their dreams
surely no one would drop explosives on such fine bones
surely no one would rape these Pre-Raphaelite faced angels
surely no one would steal the ancient ground from it's people
surely no one would electrify the diamond spider web of a mind
surely no one would blow open the Sistine chapel of the skull
surely no one would dare nail the body of love to a money tree
surely no one would blind fold the blind man or dam the damned
surely no one would pay the rich to be rich and punish the poor
surely no one would leave the torturers to their own devices
surely one day we will show them the instruments of justice
surely no one would object to the hanging of their heads.
jgh© 2008
9:35 PM
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Wednesday, September 24, 2008
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Wet Cement Poem No;4
Wet Cement Poem No:4
I am the hounded slave; I wince at the bite of dogs,
the sound of the cataracts of cash machines echo
I sit and look out on all the sorrows of the world
and on all oppression and shame, I run with blood
afoot and light-hearted, I take to the open road
the human traffic burns through the metal rain
absorbing all to myself and for this song, I drink
bottled beer and lime and text instead of talk,
I have heard what the talkers were talking, and
vowed to write up and down these boulevards,
I will sing the song of companionship, of the
opposition of each heart to the murder of love,
to the maddening of minds, to dreams genocide,
all these I feel or am, all these call out for songs,
I am the hounded slave; I wince, turn and sing.
JGH©2008-09-20
*Every other line is from Walt Whitman
8:12 AM
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Wet Cement Poem No;3
Wet Cement Poem No:3
they reckon birth may hurt babies
they say life is worth every penny
they believe the working class do not exist
they tell this to shop workers and nurses
they take the proof of our silent witness
they stare through the television screen into us
they trace each thought back to its owner
they rig the trail of life with sticky pleasure
they laugh at the poor behind their backs
they pin down the butterfly inside you
they pull the wings from your genius
they find starving people then feed them war
they have decided to counterfeit everything on the face of the earth
they reckon love is a rumour spread by dirty rotten communists.
jgh©2008
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Now playing: The Rolling Stones - Street Fighting Man
via FoxyTunes
8:23 AM
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Thursday, September 18, 2008
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Wet Cement Poem No;2
Wet Cement Poem No:2
the road pours me into the city machine
the fire damaged man sells me his bad news
the live wires suit themselves in culture cafes
the show houses play Les Miserables for laughs
the bar maids cry pints of crocodile tear liquor
the happy skull smiles of the living shine brightly
and the city machine passes me like a hot beer-shit.
.
jgh©2008
12:04 PM
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Monday, September 15, 2008
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The Wet Cement Poems
Wet Cement Poem No:1 (a poets wish list)
always drink from the edge of a crashing wave
burn holes in paper tigers with ember tongues
be a red angel flying on swept back blue wings
carry a dove spangled banner in the midst of battle
touch a strangers pain at least once a day with your eyes
leave a trail in wet cement where your mind wandered
hide secret things, leave false clues, become unsolvable,
find undiscovered lands, burn the maps, wait to be found.
jgh
9:50 PM
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3 Comments - 6 Kudos
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