I’ll Go Wandering
Upon every step I make
A new deity is conceived.
A myriad of voices echo in my head
Competing for naming rights:
Shinto, Hermes, Heimdall,
Jupiter, Tiamat and Viracocha.
But I refuse them all and decide
Upon my own title: Memory.
So long as Memory is my kin and muse
Travel shall be my only paradise.
As The Stars Go By
There is nothing to life
But to live it.
Generations have come and gone,
As plentiful as the constellations,
All of them dying like colonised nations
Fighting for the war of their oppressors.
Do not be like them.
Look up, instead, like a howling wolf
That calls out to his kin,
Into the bright night sky and listen
To the music of the spheres,
Such splendid silence,
It fills your heart, doesn’t it,
Don’t be afraid.
There may be emptiness up above,
A divinely beautiful emptiness
Poets like myself have long tried to capture;
But they, and I, have wasted our time
Eulogising loneliness –
We have chained ourselves
In the garbage-heap of solitude
For the sake of poisoned verse.
We have failed to see
What it was that the wolves howl for.
What you should howl for.
Though there is great poetry
Embedded in those maddening howls,
True poetry lies in the longing
Of the howls;
A longing for a reply,
A motherly response
A brotherly howl back.
A howl that reaches into the emptiness
And defiantly tells it:
“I reject you.”
To deny beauty for the sake
Of defying loneliness.
Can you do that,
Even, when I’m gone?
When you go and become a part of history,
You become history. Our existence is the hydra’s head
Waiting to regrow after the passing of desperate years.
We know the gods so well because we have spent histories
Trying to become them. We look to the wilderness
So black and diamantine, and project our wills
Into those obscure depths and heights.
In doing so we create myths to combat history,
Myths that would have us imagine
We can stem the flow of history.
Gods and legends and fantasies
That carry on the fight in our stead,
A fight we are too mortal and finite to ever win.
But it is a fight that we can win
We are mortal and finite.
History is us; to hold back
Its time-forged avalanche,
You need only live