the insect that swallowed the whole of society: culture, politics and all

Posted in poetry with tags , , on January 29, 2023 by malartart

To be a fly on the wall yet in the middle of it all

On the pie vomiting in front of strangers

As my wings buzz, I sense your worries—anxieties of the rotting flesh

Tears of loss and gain mingle as I remember you will all out live me

But my species will long outlive yours

And yet we all die as natural things

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a half-remembered stance

Posted in poetry with tags , , on January 19, 2023 by malartart

They who stand

                        in the courtyard

                                                      are to blame

yet point the finger

the rain is already drying, or it is yet to fall?

the fist is clenched

who is to blame?

                             the one who swings

                             the one that ducks

                             or the one who catches the light in the wrong way

if the trivial is unspeakable then the crops won’t grow

                                                                                   there, I said it

medieval manners are in fashion

over your shoulder I see a witch slowly waving

                                                           there, and I will say it

                                                           I replied     

a mirror won’t just reflect but can catch the sun on the right day

and no matter how brightly it screams

it will never let it go

you’re a vanilla one

Posted in poetry with tags , , on January 17, 2023 by malartart

A pixie cut like a shot in the dark

Who killed Rapunzel?

Your favourite flavour of ice cream

And soda pop

You’re a vanilla one

                           no matter how

                   hard

you fight it

regret it

get uptight about it

                            cut the locks

and bury them

struck by lightning and the genes of a fool

Posted in poetry with tags , , on January 15, 2023 by malartart

Whilst hiding in the garden

After dancing naked in the rain

Killing slugs, spading cats and pissing in the drain

My father took a tumble down the well of old age

Bronzed in nectar, trapped by alchemy

Held down by rusty anchors, a man captured

Bald and belligerent and naïve and worn and wearing

He stayed down there to become a tradition

A tradition in and of himself

Left us surrounded by the madding crowd

We never saw the likes of his era again

even if it all turns to shit tomorrow

Posted in poetry on January 12, 2023 by malartart

an album full of singles isn’t enough

a movie that cures disease— too much too late

rereading the classics, doesn’t feed the need for food

my laptop can’t unplug from spiralling debt

and I can’t unsee the etiquette of the dead

but we’ve had words that rhyme, words that don’t, jokes in quotes, dry wit, sunk boats, poems like a fine wine, drafts dead on the vine, good deaths, bad lives, compromised situations, bungled suicides

and even if all turns to shit tomorrow

at least we took the piss today

Big Bear, Big Beer

Posted in poetry with tags , , on January 11, 2023 by malartart

The stomach swells with my mother’s heart

Through the kitchen window I look like a fur coat

The police are called, but not before

I swipe more honey from the jar

tender on tenterhooks

Posted in poetry with tags , , on January 5, 2023 by malartart

we wait for prosperity; or at least for the entrance to be unlocked

the city speaks many languages; exits curl like tongues trying to capture the vagueness of the moment; we all have our own word for ‘escape’ 

the line for the bathroom is where we live

the unbleached destination is Abaddon’s Pit

if the moon is so habitable, why are you here

searching for hope in the strangest of faces?

we bring our own clean bedsheets

not to sleep on but to wave when the walls fall

the siren screams

condescending to tell us what night is

instructing us into invisibility

dear reader,

throw caution to the wind

and hope the blowback is

a gust and not a tsunami

dear reader, I hope you heed

the above weather warning and

dress appropriately, choosing your

shelter with the guile of a drowned rat

Reading Blind

Posted in poetry with tags , , on January 3, 2023 by malartart

Don’t eat out

Cook at home

if I had a month to live, I would reread the works of Borges

lucky for me he was a kindly writer

and wrote all his novels as short stories

Jokes in Quotes

Posted in poetry with tags , , on December 28, 2022 by malartart

I act like a punchline because I always feel like I’ve been set up

The doctor who knocks

Drunk as a skunk

In a set-to

Lacking in patients

Yet many casualties

A sheep in wolf’s

Clothing

Bathing

Cavorting

In a bath of blood

Eating the grandma

Of a

Local lass

“What does a depressive do when faced with indecision?—

I don’t know, I really don’t know, and I really really don’t care”

my jokes are always in quotes

in case I hit a nerve or two

my quotes are always jokes

to soften the blow when I fail

I take directions very literally

I dress as told; my life is staged

I follow my lines and rarely improvise

I am waiting not for the curtain call

but when it’s time to exit the stage

and before that boat bolts and the bull sails

I have jokes in quotes loads of jokes in quotes

 boatloads of jokes in quotes so many no one can

tell what’s the joke and where are the

quotes and where one ends and the other begins

in the wings with a whip quick quip in parentheses—

and

just so you know

 I never mean what I say unless

“I mean what I say”

A Good Death Only Comes Once in a Lifetime

Posted in poetry with tags , , on December 21, 2022 by malartart

Stop for nothing—

                            we are on our way out

Don’t let the door hit you on the way out

We are on the skids, on the outs, I am out

Are you happy for strangers?—

        then death will be a warm majestic solitude

Like a cathedral forever burning but never falling

My death is numinous—

                                    it has always been here

Therefore it can never be considered failure

Forgetful much?

Listen to these last words—

Living is a pressure we can all do without

A good death only comes once in lifetime

So don’t waste it

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