A New Drum

A feckless, poor rhythm
he taps on and raps on
his rhythm, his life, a
base mixture of strife.
He carried, he fought,
he tried and he bought...
He sees now and wakes from
a slumber - his vision:
a sunrise, a bright light,
a rebirth from twilight.
A realisation -
idealistic-causation:
rerouting his efforts
he moves to the sun.
Embracing life's fun,
smiling through tears, he
gives new life to ideas.
Now finding his rhythm
he'll bang a new drum.

SiKee, '08

A Night At The Pub

Distant, dullish memory:
a fragment of being,
a fallow living,
whittled from one's lethargy.

Fluid flowing, flavours flee:
a segment, a sipping,
a pulled cork, quaffing -
doling out one's decency.

Resplendent whole majesty!
A starlit, quiet ev'ning,
a rebound singing
out a changing melody.

SiKee, '93

On the skies - Life's Picture

Frontal patterns fold again, intermittent play-
ing isobars, jumping, creating haze.
Lumb'ring, they stick out their chests, emblazoned
all with chivalric crests, marching to the fray.
Anabatic activity: the bray
of loud thunder - lightning springs its webbed maze.
Dreadnoughts of the sky fire broadsides to raze,
with ionic fire, on dark lands they play.
Cool rain thunders on rooftops - the earth's prize;
sent down through sewers, avoids parched ground. By
these drains lurks man's pervading art - despised
by nature and those men who say they're wise.
But nature's is the purer art - the artist whom I
most admire is the one who paints the skies.

SiKee, '90

Prosendämmerung

Animal divinity,
a mere mnemonic mystery,
oft-repeated rosary,
pagan rote-read fallacy;
jerker of the tear.

Life's dream rhythm: accidie,
augmented chance philosophy,
breath-harped, shaping restlessly,
words waged as in Arcady,
combined to form idea.

Black-white quantic poetry
not vented vanquished coquetry
gains grace when, compared to thee,
feeble mediocrity,
one may deign to hear.

Verse, Final Solution be
and, purging inconsistency
Inverting the hierarchy,
drown out mob indecency!
Prose, verse has no peer!

SiKee, '93

Regression

I have glimpsed only a splinter of heaven.
One only affirms the thought,
the instinct,
the creed,
the
Thing In Itself.

Happy are the bickering pigeon-holers
when they find novelty:
a standard,
a base.
"A"s
don't equal "b"s.

Why not live in a world where nothing matters?
A pleasant, ignorant bliss:
our playground;
our youth;
hour
and minute dead.

SiKee, '94

No such thing as... A Long, Hot Bath

Strange, I heard you calling me.
Your voice did peal, permeate,
Reciprocate,
Rebound round my meniscus sea.

I played with transparent hillocks
Jellymould tops did undulate,
Shift in state;
Showerheadinvertedwaterdreadlocks.

Strange sense aroused roused up me
Brings me brought ground on round, resonate
Confusticate!
Bastard bathwater's cold all around me.

Your voice no longer challenged me;
I get up from my reverie la, late
In a state
Of mild dampness, see.

SiKee, '92

The Luddite's Ode

A pencil weaves its winding way,
planned or not, between the lines.
The hand that holds, the poise controlled;
a poet writes, but thinks of rhymes.

What joy it is to write so well
without a thought of one's technique
Of putting marks down: uprights, arcs
that do the heart's own language speak!

The mundane and the practical
the pigeonholed belief endorse
But see not this, and that do miss
which plainly does not prompt discourse.

So now their word-processor's come
and banished all our pens and ink,
The pencil with its humble fill,
in favour of machines that "think".

For now one needs to concentrate
(and poets' words are dangerous)
Not on rhyme, for that's sublime
but miskeying's ridiculous!

SiKee, '93

Inflight

Hanging by a multitude of sins,
of sucking babes on a wing,
of hopes and dreams not realised,
of wishes forgotten, not made.

Reflecting on past times yet unfulfilled,
musing on a romance,
waiting for a second chance,
smiling at a second glance...

Heaven is split forever -
pieces lie glinting on Earth:
others as Northern Lights,
others in the memory of her eyes.

SiKee, London - Houston, '99

Forest Fable

Dryad of the woods,
poised between two trees,
Knows not where to take her rest,
cannot choose with ease.

Spruce stands tall and true,
lissom, lithe and strong.
Evergreen and full of life,
poetry and song.

Apple tree is rich,
garlanded with leaves.
Lush boughs yielding fruit so fresh:
dandy in green sleeves.

Dryad has to make her choice
'fore the chill arrives.
Whom shall she shelter within
and enrich their lives?

Choose, o spirit, well
while the tempest brews!
For trees of autumn beauty
charm in winter lose.

SiKee, '93

Hello world

"Greetings and all that!" the happy man cried,
debased and down-at-guard,
eyes alight, full of rapt expectation,
hanging on your first words...
bated breath for your utterances but...
you nod and that's all folks.
It's interpreted as a simple nod,
a flinch in these bright lights.
Still, you ignore, feeling sure in your
dreamlike and carried world,
covered in their sick blood and corruption,
passed from expectant souls
to holes. All they want is a word... a word!
Will you break your silence
and give it to them?

SiKee, '08