Auckland Poetry.com

Addiction

Looking out of the window, in the doctor’s
waiting room, I saw his receptionist who
had gone outside for a smoke, she wore
black underwear under a white nylon dress
which is a faux pas, but I couldn’t give
a damn it was the way she inhaled filling
her lungs with aromatic tobacco that filled
me with uncontrollable lust, mouth open
I swooned. The receptionist, a woman of
forty-five who- in her attempt not to look
middle aged- had slimmed herself bony,
turned, saw my carnality, shuddered, and
quickly she killed her cigarette and my
desire with a heel of steal.

Tanka

Translate Moor poems
From Portuguese to English
And hear the murmur,
An echo of poets’ songs
Going back a thousand years.

Tanka

Andalusia,
Once an Arabic province
Poets once lived there
Sat dreaming in lush gardens
Writing verses of lost love

Tanka

Andalusia,
Christians marched
Sun shone on bloodied swords
Moslem’s peaceful rule vanished
But poets’ verses live on

light flickery moments recording
books you found at the library
the behind the camera not famous
she was a better photograph
and nothing else mattered
except to the photographer
who was proud to have met the celebrity knew him
all that

while the mysterious
wandering eyeball
glass silver revealing girls
and background glad for
the attention in focus
some people
were rushing about recording
history for the parents that ignored them
but celebrated Bergman
all that

heartless creatures attending plays
seated in the stalls
where the theatre was experience
comfort an after thought
held by impressions of eager
fogotten mystics
calling at the sun
shine the ocres that spread
over the scenes
all that

stuff that pour into senses
wide open and accepting
the perception as fiction
moulding itself to the tune
talking about failures to see
interest on the hard won war
the far test of resolve
the winter of limbs
meeting swords
the harshest blades
wielded by screaming slaves
cutting their way out
of the belly of commercial
cost analysis the pathway out of noise
the wending river of wellness
the working weeks went east
and we dined upon the seats
around the table this feast

It starts by sitting in its allocated slot.
Then pushed into the inside of the carriage.
It spins and spins in its berthed slot.
It has encrypted data saved to its edge.
The drive of the motor engages its data.
The laser reads what secrets are held on the device.
The encryption flows through to the wired speakers
And out comes music it fills the void of empty solace.
The CD plays song after song, melodies not too long.
One by one till all gone.
When it’s finished its time for a new one,
Eject the old and in with the new.
Start the process again like something blue.

She reminds me of somebody I grew up with. To tell the truth she is a dead ringer for that object of my affection. My childhood friend is older now but this girl at work is a younger image of her. I’ve been spying and stutter to think what she would say if she new what I mean. She’s very attractive and I’m keen. But yes I know I’m a little green.
I ponder the courage to speak I hope it doesn’t come out as a squeak. I’m really attracted to her I just need to show her how much. There is a line from a song “if you can’t be with the one that you love, love the one that you are with” that seems to sum up my situation. I let go of the hopes of an arranged marriage and embrace what is in my real living world. She is an excellent example of what I need and can help me get to the next step where I need to be. I am the “alpha male” type and I find it easier to bleed. So today a new born need is coming from within to find my future partner that’s what I need. I am a co-dependent person I work and perform better as two, I need a friend and lover she’s compatible indeed. So my dear wife I ask in need will you ever forgive me for what could be.

The Breath.

Easily in and out you breathe, with lungs
unsullied by cigarette smoke, siesta nap
a lazy Sunday on afternoon when flowers
wilt and sky is recklessly nude

Breathtaking, the silence, if you should
stop; I would fall down a chasm of pale
rainbows, stillborn moons, rusty stars
where words of love are unheard of.

Inhale and exhale my dear, snore too if
you must, but don’t leave me alone in
city parks where old men sit spit and tell
passersby how old they are.