One Single Impression: Doorway

I couldn’t go past the Myst-like doorway provided by Pam Olsen at Amputated Moon for my response to the latest One Single Impression prompt.

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Soup Kitchen Witch

The artist gave you friendly features absent
In truth you wore no twinkle, nor a cheer

A portrait stern and pale would be faithful
To the evil witch whose heart I feared

Three souls you kept between the walls beneath you
A basement cold and damp with light of grey

Now and then you let us in to feel the warmth
Your things from little fingers were forbade

Mother begged to let her ill son sleep above
Still when Pneumonia struck your heart refused

The hospital was far too distant for you
Your car was not for others to intrude

To me you offered gifts but insincerely
To hurt my brother, gifts were two to one

You taught me scrabble with a dictionary
You roared and thundered when my score had won

I kept the name you handed to my Father
I kept the nightmares even when you died

But Damn the rules you wrote upon my canvas
Your scribbles have no substance in my mind

——–

Thanks to Rick Mobbs at Mine Enemy Grows Older for providing me with such an inspirational image prompt.

An Epistemological Haiku

The critical eye
Engaging with humming birds
Sipping at blossoms

Dots

Ancients gazed to heaven and detected dots
Winking points of light became connected dots

Embracing in a field of forget me nots
Devoted lovers dwell within dilated dots

The frame that sets our vision leaves a world without
Silent, unseen shadows – disconnected dots

The static on the edge requests of patriots
To trace their borders well beyond selected dots

My name does not determine who my friends are not
Nor ought my place of birth impose rejected dots

My first Ghazal, We shared the rain, was written after a little research into the Urdu form of the Ghazal. I used a text written by Abhay Avachat as my guide, as it appears to be very authoritative. While I am quite pleased with the end result, I don’t think it passes one important test. That is, the Shers (or couplets) don’t necessarily convey a message independently of the whole.

I hope that this, my second attempt, comes closer to observing the form and intention of the Ghazal in its entirety.

Those who are familiar with the Ghazal will notice that I have not named my ‘takhallus’ in the Maqta (final Sher). This is a deliberate choice. My alias does not yet hold his identity with confidence. He has embarked upon a search for the truths that speak to the hearts and minds of all peoples, in all places, past and present. Only when he comes nearer to that goal can he recognise his name and offer it to posterity.

Further references:
Journeys into Poetic Forms – An Electronic Chapbook Collection By Zahhar

GV7 RANDOM URBAN STATIC

The term hip-hop is one that immediately conjures up, for some, a particular form of African American and Latino inspired music. Like many of the meanings we take for granted, however, a little contemplation swiftly throws our assumptions into disarray.

GV7 Random Urban Static is the latest addition to Filmmaker Bob Bryan’s truth challenging document of hip-hop culture. The emphasis for this film turns squarely upon the modern, hip-hop influenced incarnation of spoken word poetry. If you are seeking creative inspiration, this film can’t fail to stir any person with a heartbeat to action. If you are interested in studying the ways in which a culture and its people respond to their environment, GV7 is the perfect introduction to Bryan’s award winning series.

Every one of the 15 passionate and unique Performance Poets appearing in GV7 has something insightful and provoking to offer.

On teenage Love – “I feel like if I cut myself I would bleed chords in C minor”. – Sekou (tha misfit)

On Bitterness and On Suicide. On God and On Death. On Sexuality, On Freedom of Expression, On Oppression, On Racism, On Date Rape, On Self-Loathing and more.

I laughed, I got angry and I shared a tear or two. At times my skin crawled.

And that’s why we’re livin’ isn’t it? For those 5 minutes a week we feel inspired, maybe by a singer, poet or a beatboxer. With one line that just lit a fire that got you outside your box, and into your thoughts, ’cause inside of our box our thoughts are mixed up and backwards – J.Walker

We shared the rain

Hello old man, recall that day we shared the rain
Sheltered underneath your arms, I dared the rain

A child, I was fearless and I knew not pain
The gentle creek grew bold as it ensnared the rain

One mighty branch reached out across your great terrain
Prostrating to the rapids, there you speared the rain

To foolish inclinations there I laid my claim
White knuckled child learnt too late to fear the rain

The years that took your strength have since obscured my name
But you and I still live in those who hear the rain.

Temptation

Your navel is so sweet
My love
I speak not of the citrus

And though constrained my thumb
shall be
The chase is oft delicious

Sometimes I lie awake
At night
And wait for you to slumber

Yet taking goods by stealth
Remains
Among the sins I number

Philosophers, Poets and Elitists

The end of semester has arrived with a thud. Strangely, no sigh of relief accompanied the end of the final lecture.

Instead, I was struck by how attached I have become to the MQ campus. The friendly, familiar faces. The scent of the coffee cart. The silence of the library. The impatient shuffle of papers and pens as the lecture winds down. Impromptu performances to bemused food court dwellers.

Next semester I switch to external mode. I have no doubt that I will be spending plenty of evening hours on campus. New habits and fresh perspectives will form.

Visitors to Maekitso’s Café will be seeing a bit of a shift of focus. You may have noticed it happening already. My inclination toward poetry is growing steadily, and I look forward to experimenting with that creativity a lot more. Thanks Simon for your encouragement and your latest contribution. I look forward to seeing more of your contributions in future. Oh! Congratulations on your amazing blog statistics.

My passion for philosophy is growing stronger also, but you probably won’t find much of it in a formal style here. The fine crew at MQPhil already have a highly worthy space devoted to the philosophically inclined. As a proud member of the team, I will be focusing much of my future attention toward a greater level of contribution. It’s good to see a new member on board. Welcome to the team, Paul.

Kudos is in order for Nathan and the co-founders of the Blue Mountains Continental Philosophy Group. I reckon that will quickly become a regular hit. Check it out.

A couple of other mentions.

Dana from En Tequila Es Verdad and her mighty crew of daring intellectuals have dispelled my initial scepticism and created, at least in my opinion, a badge of honour for the Elitist Bastard in all of us. It’s time to come out of the closet. Ahoy!

If you’re not the battling type, take a wander over to Thoughts Ungathered

The poetry on offer here is truly a thing of great beauty.

Finally, if you happen to see Ken on campus selling copies of The Big Issue, please stop and buy a copy. Say Hi from me. Take care, Ken.

Emoticon Assault

—-

:-(

=:-O, i-(

:{ }:, :-@, :-()

:-#

:’-(

—-

Here’s a possible translation. Can you think of a different interpretation? Post them here, or post some alternate smiley exchanges.

—-

Pain

Fearful, swollen-eyed

Two people – swearing, screaming, yelling

Promise not to tell

Injury

—-

Torn

I am a Father, yet ….
I wonder if I’ll truly be
I hear our unborn infant calling
I see his lonely eyes
I want to apologise
I am a Father, yet ….

I pretend that I am patient
I feel your breath struggle upon my ear
I touch your tear-struck lips
I worry that I am selfish
I cry for those we lost
I am a Father, yet …

I understand my children love me
I say “I love you both”
I dream that you will make us proud; you have
I hope you understand
I am a Father, yet …

——

Form provided by this anonymous blogger

Children are a gift. Mine are a blessing. Where does this urge to create “your own” child come from? Why is every failure so painful?