poems

He loved his coffee farm and plants
More than Colombian Christmas Eves

Kissing Ghosts

The package contained one thing; held many
And your card as well
Five lines
Four start with 'Sorry'

You
are
in
my
head

I'm the skinny cat that could;
I ain't got no time to knock on wood.

I'm the skinny cat that could;
I ain't got no knuckles to knock on wood

I'm the skinny cat that could;
see the only nickels I got are wood.

The confectionery of our lives...

Oliver sees a monstrous time ahead in this poem!

Room scattered with the things
that every days are made of
rotting food from days ago
stale curls of crisps
her body is a centrepiece
its skin iced, diced, puffed
the blood needles
high five her sleep

Dildo's and soy beans
Have in common
the fact they are both used
As a meat substitution

I really wish I'd known my dad at a time before
He had to experience all the sufferings of war
A time when he was still footloose and fancy-free
A time when he was not yet trapped by poverty

The Caterpillar Speaks in Tongues

I can see each segment converse
with the next, a Newton's Cradle
of green pulp, a susurrus and hum

of tiny hairs crossing and uncrossing
like rods in water-divination.

Boom.

All of this hell
up into me precious
little stem -

where go
not flower?

where go
not wilt?

where go
not die?

where go
not
break
a
little
by
day

and
split
at

Riddle

What does a Buddhist do
when it's hot and he can't
start his car?
Does he close his eyes and
imagine an air-conditioned tow truck?
Does he smoke a cigarette?
Does he pull a cell phone out of his robe

Flat fallen bed face,
Shattering stars reflect the holes in your eyes,
Wire-crossed lovers and ephemeral kisses
Sign of life sign of the cross lost in sanctity
A season in the hollow ground with autumnal wind

Ilsa at the station
(For Julia B)

A child crying somewhere
A long, high keening note of loss and desperation
The sound you make, I imagine,
When you stand by the coffin of a lover for the last time

Poem

Bimbette and Peaches
Thought they couldn't use
There AM radio in the afternoon
In their view

Tears stung her eyes
And her voice cracked
As she remembered

Religion for Girls

I can tell you all the don'ts
That Rome and Islam see just a womb
that needs controlling
a poisonous passion fruit
whose independant life doesn't suit
they wish for endless sons

Hands Over Eyes

Put your hands over your eyes
yellow dots the black but there is
some sense of light
open the fingers just a bit
glimpse the world through a bourka
well not quite
through fingers when you can see

calm coup
coup calls
calm copy
copy coup

Bangkok
nights
race
nights

boys
bats
bikes
nights