poetry, trails of thought

Needs / Wants / Freedoms / Endings

I always did use to argue

that needs were more important than wants;

that wants were a luxury; that needs were

a necessity; that your needs should outweigh

my wants.

 

In a sense, however, I now realise I was wrong:

I was wrong as soundly as the sound of a

gong, ringing out brightly above latterday

music, composed to ennoble the streets and the

cities.

 

In terms of physical needs, and survival at the

limit, your needs at first must have priority

over luxury chocolate; my dark and

mysterious liquids; my desire for the unusual,

the unexpected and the de-

natural.

 

But in terms of other emotional realities, if you

are to burningly need me as in romantic

love, the attachment you profess is not a choice

you make but an action you feel violently bounden

to follow; and whilst this is grand, and

whilst this makes love a wonderful unthinking

act of generosity, since tidal wave of emotion

does drive it all, we cannot say you’re

loving me simply because you have chosen

such

a way.

 

And if you are to love me as I would have

you love me, and if I were to love you

as I would have me love you,

then in such a world of ideal circum-

stance, we would want each other always –

never need.

 

There will come a day, a day of helpless

sadness, when the job of a lover will not

be to love with ease, but rather

to spend their significant time, caring for

another who no longer can jump and dive into

love with the grandiose joy of unbridled

life, a reigning over of senses –

a reining in of opportunities –

in a way we never

knew and can no longer recall.

And that day of sad forgetfulness will

pursue us all quite gravely; and the aim of any

love right then will be to assert its sacrifice,

so bravely.

 

But until such a day arrives – if for you and me

arrival doesn’t already begin to present itself –

let us enjoy if not the practice at least the memory

of loves, physically exchanged through touch and

mind, reminding us courageously

of what might once have been.

Standard
poetry

C[older] / C[oo]l{er} / H[eat]

Age does not pre-

clued the abil-

i-

tie to connect and love and sex-

u-

allies attract, as large holds neck

your beautiful shuddering length

s-

sssh which stripe my sex up and own

like that age-old stick of holiday

rock licked and tongued lon-

gingly, Lon-

donly, aim-

less-

lying beside you and spurt-

in-

gasping squirts of em-

bracing seaside greys and air-

ings: cup-

boarding-

houses and

boarding

planes to strange desti-

nations and states of mind-

less and mind-

ful ex-

stasis: civil con-

flix of balan-

ced and unsaid equilibriums,

where cinema reel un-

spools internation-

ally the coming together of an en-

tyre community of the good:

a rubber Johnny Doe of the uncomm-

on man and woman.

 

 

And how I love yous, dear women,

and dear men

and dear children for this

love: if I am worthy of a tougher

kind of love in the name

I proclaim,

not disdain,

not re-

jecture in con-

jecture where a prior bad faith does

proceed to seed at last all my futures

with good deeds …

 

Standard
poetry

Ex[traction]

We extract from life what we need

to extract, not what we

want to extract, which is quite a different

matter.

And what we want to extract is the love

of another, freely given by the other,

no violence between, no horrifying

machine of hurtful disgrace,

no rapist, no papist, no hate-

lists for us.

And what we need to extract is the pure

and simple confirmation that what

our ancestors did do was

what our ancestors did right,

and the hurt and the fright that our

forebears did forge was correctly gorging on

the innocent love of the innocent child.

And there was once a real day of

beautiful feel, where sunshine glanced on

skin of wonderful real-

ity for me and you, around picnic-

basketed outing, where routing the fears of

people who lose their loosening grip on

love and its paragons of

virtuous clarity was everything this reality

afforded: and that’s all I ever wanted

from you, all I ever wanted: but all you ever gave

to me was all I ever needed.

And in extraction’s pantheon of infamous

history, primarily we aim to remove the wisdom

of awkward cuss.  And re the interests of worlds of

civilisation, that’s a pretty fair analogy:

who’d ever, these days, miss the wisdom of a tooth?

Standard