Month: Jul 2014

Life is Kitsch [sonnet]

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life_is_kitsch

Graffiti on a railway arch I wrote
said “Life is kitsch!” signed “Truant on the run”.
I was then young so please excuse the quote;
that’s how I thought when I was twenty-one.
For everywhere I looked, consumption roared
its belly-laugh of ragged pocket dreams.
I wandered then bedecked in sandwich-board
believing all hypocrisy blasphemes.
However, now that truant has become
a vagrant on the hinterland of time,
his spray-paint slogan’s still the same dictum,
though humour mollifies the paradigm.
So that’s this 3-D world’s Achilles’ Heel:
all matter’s kitsch but spirit is surreal!

 

© Alan Morrison, 2014

Where I belong [poem]

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where_i_belong

like a fish out of water
my mouth becomes a gasping hoop
through which ideas
leaply excrement themselves
to silky foamful shores
and I, like many fools before,
have found my manhood lured
into a labyrinth of curdled prose

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The Estate Agent’s Brochure [poem]

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the_estate_agents_brochure

Today I visited the Estate Agent’s office
to discuss my holdings on this alien earth.
I needed an evaluation done so
I thought she would be just the right buffoon
to tell me exactly what I’m worth.
(Holdings is a funny word, for,
as any half-sane genius has heard it sung
in what must be the best song of all time:
“There’s nothing you can hold for very long”).
No truer word was ever spoke
though if I’d penned that line
it would have said (this is no joke):
“There’s nothing you can ever hold at all”.

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Succumbful Sonnet, Part 1

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succumbful_sonnet

I’ve rolled with every punch — gone with the flow;
resisting blows is futile, as is prayer.
For ducking (dodging) is no way to grow;
but knowing how to fall, one’s half way there.
So down the conduit pipe I did descend;
volcano in reverse is how it seems.
It sucks me right down to the bitter end.
At least it can’t get worse (it stole my dreams).
But if I’d known I’d fall this downly far
I might have used a safety net or wire.
This stunt falls way outside my repertoire;
I’m right where I deserve to be (hellfire).
I’ve not been here before — it’s something new.
My skin is cut to shreds; I’m black and blue.

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© Alan Morrison, 2014