Auckland Poetry.com

Eternal Screen

It`s too hot to go for a walk, I stare at a blank screen
Its afternoon, in my cabin and silence is intrusive,
a low one toned hum of doom.

Intense white screen, but when looking closer I see
myriads of tiny black squares, a mask that will not
let go of its dark secret.

I try to rip it open with a volley of words, but they
bunch back, and reduced to banality of what have
been overstated a million times.

Exhausted I erase words send them into the bleak
world of Delete, a place where surplus words and
emails are sent to shuffle in obliquity.

I read the news 228 people have fallen into the sea,
hasty words fell out of them too and into silence.
Cooling breeze, must get out and hear the day sing.

Mr. Nice Guy

Saw her stacking shelves at the supermarket, my instinct
was to take her in my arms, away from all this, and ask
her marry me. But I remembered we had been married
before, how she had wanted a divorce because I had no
ambition, a mere short order cook, and how the court
secretly had sided with her, and treated me with dislike,
and yes, I had to leave our flat. Later she married a man
who sold Mercedes cars, he wore a suit to work and had
shiny fingernails, but he used too much au de cologne of
the type who doesn’t bath often and rarely changes his
underwear. He stole money from the till and ended up
in prison, and me? I’m a manager now of a burger bar,
perhaps I should offer her a job for all time sake?
No, that would be rubbing it in, so let her stack shelves.

BiMeNosMoSh
What a crazy word I hear you say,
BiMeNosMoSh
Listen to what we’re told & pray,

BiMeNosMoSh
Are prophecies from a long time ago?
BiMeNosMoSh
How do you think they could ever know?

BiMeNosMoSh
Are arranged in chronological order,
BiMeNosMoSh
Are purveyors of insights of time’s corridor?

BiMeNosMoSh
Are all written in quatrains & code?
BiMeNosMoSh
Read & think & a story they’ll show,

BiMeNosMoSh
Revelations from the Bible- to the mighty Merlin,
BiMeNosMoSh
From Nostradamus & Mother Shipton are we learning?

BiMeNosMoSh
Time draws nearer to the predicted day,
BiMeNosMoSh
Will they have the final say?

Mike Andrew
23 June 2009

Shenaragh’s plight rewrite

Gidday how are you?
Imagine being unable to say that,
Shenaragh would like to say it too,
Denied by funding & bureaucrats,

By thinking of yourself in her place,
Help us fuel this little rocket,
And bring a smile to her face,
By digging deep in the pockets,

A Mytobii is what she needs,
It’s worth forty grand,
It’s made by the Swedes,
Come on give us a hand!

Lost under the moon tales
of rain over that valley a dozen
prayers to the city

overland

seek that partner for crimes
of commitment

Worship the future their
clean rides through panic

distant when torn from
the top

that list with
segregated seasons

variable vision corrected
by a lens dust corrupted
and peering through this murky
cloud gently laid down
by the Gods, never cruel
but their laughter poured out
as they sailed on by

this insanity forged
in the pits of the disfigured
a new disease to replace the old
that vanished back to the rising
arch, harsh fear over lands
muddled by decree

My psychiatrist is the radio.

Today he is a horrible morning talkback
Show. with each line a new
Repetition. makes his test scores
Perfection. is obtainable with
Time. allows him to verge further into the
Radio. signals crackle as I mention
Wylie Coyote. really should have beaten RoadRunner at least
Once. the radio turns off the room still is not in
Silence. lurks in the air because he does not
Believe. in the words that I am
Saying.

Next is the midday
News. travels fast especially
Scandal. and rumour surrounds his disappearance from my everyday
World. class psychiatrists are hard to come by these
Days. drift and the radio becomes more and more
Unreliable. I cannot hear
The psychiatrist. cannot hear
The radio. cannot hear
Me.

Years pass and finally a Sunday sermon
Plays. and children slip back into my
Life. is more habitual
Now. I can remember the order of the letters in my middle
Name. the three objects in front of
The psychiatrist. is no longer in the
Radio. still fills my
House. with husband and kids I am
Reliable. I can hear
The radio. can hear
The psychiatrist. can hear
Me.

But he’s still not listening.