Can You Please Stop Screaming?

Photo

Sun, 19 Aug 2012 20:18:34 +0100

Two new free collections of my poetry up on Scribd for your...

Sun, 19 Aug 2012 19:47:00 +0100

Two new free collections of my poetry up on Scribd for your discerning eyes. Enjoy.

A masterpiece.

Sun, 19 Aug 2012 16:02:00 +0100

A masterpiece.

The Pursuit

Sun, 19 Aug 2012 12:50:46 +0100

The rhythmic, mechanical

swing of his stride

On across the landscape of blank

The sun beats down as a

countdown

On the fizz and the crack

Of destabilization, a

Desert ready to fall back

To non-land at any point.

As he walks in the compacted snow

Of her footsteps, he follows

An imagined vision

The faintest scent on the air

He follows her

Before the whole deal goes down

DB Fishman, 2011

Photo

Sun, 19 Aug 2012 11:34:19 +0100

Haemorrhage Pastoral

Sat, 18 Aug 2012 21:11:52 +0100

In the middle of the field

On a countryside hillside

Like the tell-tale indication of

A subaquatic detonation /

A frozen, blossoming explosion

Casting its lengthy shadow /

An oasis of unbridled, warping distortion

Bleeding out of the linear order

The copse about the old tree

Worked around in the ploughed field

An insurmountable memorial to nature

When it was unassailable,

free.

DB Fishman, 2012

Photo

Sat, 18 Aug 2012 19:10:10 +0100

To Account

Fri, 17 Aug 2012 19:01:25 +0100

He strums & strums

On the rolling beat

Out on the library floor

Eyes grasping for

The bright light of the ceiling

Violin mewling &

The trumpet plays sunsets,

And hanging over them

On the wall behind, by

The scowling black & white

Reclining smirk of

R.D. Laing, in a

Vast ultramarine expanse

The invoice is levelled:

‘PLEASE PAY HERE’

DB Fishman, 2012

Photo

Thu, 26 Jul 2012 15:27:00 +0100

Prayer

Sun, 17 Jun 2012 20:40:27 +0100

Placing palms to floorboards

Followed by forehead

The now-common screen trope trying

To understand a new preoccupation

Moments of peace and contemplation

Cut into the speed and confrontation

Placing palms to floorboards

Followed by the forehead

DB Fishman, 2012

Photo

Sat, 16 Jun 2012 16:46:44 +0100

Broken Crockery, Still in Use

Sat, 16 Jun 2012 16:35:18 +0100

I roll my knuckles in the heat

A shattered ridge horizon

Their levered hinges

Rising swooping

reaching punching

An arachnid in a bag

DB Fishman, 2012

Photo

Fri, 18 May 2012 16:25:07 +0100

Little Voice

Mon, 30 Apr 2012 13:21:05 +0100

In the sighing, shuffling

Restlessly resolved

Patience of the alternating

Queuing lines, a

Young girl, losing her

Temper turns to her

Little sister and

Says

I’m NOT your baby!

I’M NOT YOUR BABY!

I’m not anything.

DB Fishman, 2012

Photo

Mon, 30 Apr 2012 13:17:40 +0100

Your Shoes are Ghastly and at Heart You’re a Cannibal

Sun, 29 Apr 2012 23:15:31 +0100

There are very few decisions required

To survive a life, provided

You stay on the prepared rails

People confuse what they don’t do

– their inaction, obedience - with

Morally good behaviour

And feel more affinity

For their television than their

Neighbour, fellow man

Choosing what you point

Your face at isn’t

A position of control

Drowning in an excess

Of decadent distraction,

Palliative entertainment

All is caught within capitalism

Each round of rebellion’s

Co-opted, then corrupted

Your most valuable possession

Could be your smile – here’s

What you need to buy to make it so.

I’m tired of gender’s

Arbitrary connotations, its

Binding (sublimated) constructs

Tired of sated ignorance, its

Flipside air of entitlement, of

Talking life without engagement

Being a good liar is

A lifeskill with the principle

‘Getting away with it’

But to not know what

You worked for means never

Knowing what you deserve

Would you

Survive

In the wild?

This is The End of Empire and

The Death of Religion, a

Free, clean slate, an

Opportunity for clarity

Tradition is the worst reason

For doing anything

This is the clear air to build in

From the ground up

Ask yourself

DB Fishman, 2012

Photo

Sun, 29 Apr 2012 11:35:24 +0100

The Inescapable Oneness of Man

Sat, 28 Apr 2012 22:51:20 +0100

At school, uniforms

Were customised, twisted

With the permissible accessories,

In styles of wearing,

Indications of departure as

Unique human beings

Only to be drawn back

As the milestones mount up

To reunions of the same

Old(er) faces, each

Brought closer together

With every passing year

Under mortality’s thumb

DB Fishman, 2012

LOVE this.

Sat, 28 Apr 2012 13:01:26 +0100

LOVE this.

[Scene from an Economic Revolt]

Fri, 27 Apr 2012 13:58:24 +0100

A spa resort in the mountains -

Far from upheaval, the unrest

Just hinted at by the distant

Droning pass of heavy aircraft –

Rich and stylized successes

Shimmering under the soft

Lighting and camera flashes

Wade, chest deep, through the steam

Rising off the heated

Outdoor pool, when

Someone drifting by

On the surface collides with

An aging gentleman (swept

white hair - tan - gold

medallion) and as he turns

To push the figure away

He feels the overcooked

Loose, boiled texture

Of the corpse. And

From above we see,

Through the steam

Being blown clear,

Skeletal bodies floating

In the water, coloured

blood red; it’s living

Inhabitants and the extras

Retreating back to land,

As rain starts falling,

Realising the offstage

Unrest is now

Closer than they thought.

DB Fishman, 2012