#620 - the poem is a little rebellion

 

13.ix.21

620

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the poem is a little rebellion

 

a long time brew

now splash out loud

see the dark angels all fall

 

poetry is a little rebellion

garden of wilderness tending

world on its head in here

 

and we grew up with the trees on this page

as if we’d wait on hours here

do their bidding (high rising tone)

 

why (?) is what we always ask

packed and ready to go

no one has ever thought just as they pleased

 

neither in poem nor anywhere ever

the means were in the way

tell grammar – hold onto your hats

 

here we go

the poem is all think again

throw words, trip the stream

 

the flower in the bird is out

dog over paddock

is cows stand by

 

and here we find out fences

round as day

carry a tune around

 

you raise a truth not heretofore

do you think you know what you knew?

the poem tricks words out of the furrow

 

makes dust with its very speed, its grip

of how we’re here

and who to be

 

it has on its hind legs and at you

a sleight of words where you’d least expect

concertedly misbehaving

 

a ‘fuck you’ to the general queue

question of justice in the end

as anyone ever done for difference

 

must know in the poem

the world is upside down to show

what’s upside down out there

 

inside out, wrong reading

incomparable to be alive

here’s poet – king, empress, alien

 

navigatrix and exegete

all paws towards and creature too

(by-product of the poem itself

 

or some say side-effect)

home in the soil

head in the clouds

 

and over heels as well

with world and love

one, the same

 

o fundament – be mine!

moments of the poem are blessed with guessing

but the poem rebels against this

 

hence the poem as prism, as prison mirror

plays possum when thought to be understood

I’ve never had the least intention

 

of playing by any rules

someone has to dive down deep

or there won’t be any sea