poem on gonzo

[dyingflame]

"My fits of joy are soiled by relentless flashbacks
and ghosts too foul to name...
while old shadows shroud the show
and shower shame with sorrows..."

The Myth of the Exploding Whale

My father once lived in a world of staccato rattle-chords-
firing away wide-eyed rhythms with worded, groove-ended nails;
flowing forth the flailing births of reluctant fiction-fulcrums,
the spokes set forth a hint of smoke that chained the custard scales;
alternate skies, unfiltered grimes, of tobacco-stifled change.

My god, how that old machine spat out his venom with denial!
It made our dwelling tremble in its roots, the furniture radiated, the floors cracked-
as fires spirited out, thrown, slammed onto
the ice-laden plains on conscious grounds,
until one whip of lead ended the gamble
and the line was left tone-hanging
in the upbeat search
for plastic dynamite.

For he had witnessed the intent portent:
The failings he had helped shadow-sketch-
and found the final burst of urban legends,
an explosion too stale to inhale.

The sudden cadence of a planned and sudden end,
and of many spiral ladders.
...The never-finished drowned in sand,
filled with wails and silent adders.

(c) 2006

By Neville bezzina



This a poem I wrote a month ago...considered by many of my close friends family and mentors as my best effort yet...I must say I'm glad with it and would like to hear some comments. (I will talk about it later so as not to affect any potential reader with my point of view) thanks!

[dyingflame]

Don’t Baptize the Sun


I entered the field of dust
unknowingly grinning
an anticipation of boots
but men were strapping harshly
and sweat droplets were filling flasks.

Here the cries faded…called out, echoed
- and I was there standing ground
without knowing what I would find.

I reached the other side unbelieving
loyal still to the end that had brought my days
down to end in a gulf of spent sands.

Wind tree and sun unite to form the world
Of my perfectly blurred vision-
a dream that houses blasts of another life-
Jill’s pregnancy for a misinformed child.

For a little while,
a smile carries me along on
a single eternal moment,
Until everything merges
in one single struggling
image of pink confetti rain.

A deep sense of loss overtakes my memories
rushing along the river of the enemy's friendly
Blood.

Warmth is felt in the wind running
through returning leaves fallen last-
the presents of kind autumn, its breath
resurrects them - their colours green become.

Last night I sinned again in the silence of the noise;
By the flash-defining gunfire I sat once more
ringing my bones with strength filling urge
in a world where no life remains unreal.





As I was driven down Balcony Street

Part 1- Comments Based On Observation by an outsider

Every movement and every thought
turns a word into an action that
subtly creases itself into another
well practiced round in the duel
that never ends.
Civilisation depends
on these walkers-by, who throw these
greenish looking scraps of paper to the
ones that lick their feet then smile with
contempt from behind.
This, perhaps, is the mind
of a labyrinthian puzzle undefined
in the scurrying of ants or the
breathing of sick smoke in the wake of
Four wheels yet countless more.
See these mundane acts for
what they are: felt in the eyes,
known in the stares, seen by
the flairs of a young devil's lair
who journeys on in urban fields
overgrown with jagged teeth.


Conclusion: Elegy for the Pedestrian

One concludes this humble telling,
of one man's simple sight.

All you friends of each other
shaking dead hands, hugging corpses
are but happily doomed walking
again beside the docks that rest
abandoned by the harbour
whose depths are grimed
with foul grimaces and
rotting anchors crying
"anchor me down,
you're killing me"

All this
While the true eye of the philosopher's revenge stings
from the smoke, waters the dry sea from above a
floating shipwreck burning in a purple haze
of unnamed recognition:
the cynical helpless observer from beyond man's
ships and shops- constructs in me,
your sweet bedtime story teller.