Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Chappie Paper Poetry

Posted: August 23, 2012 in Poetry

From an ancient time when words still meant something.

I was in a rut.  I chewed gum. I stuck it on my desk and wrote about the, “Did You Know” snippets on the back of my bubble gum wrapper. This is what I discovered…

Goukomtoring  (apologies to English readers, this can only be in Afrikaans)

Ek bou n kougomtoring

en verwonder myself aan die

pastel kleure van die uitgekoude

bakstene.

Sieklike soet  blokkies word

bittergou  tot smakelose

plastiekhopies gekou.

Tienduisend tandwonde sny deur

elastieselyf

en steeds rekonstrukteer

die gom homself weer.

Spoeg uit! Spoeg uit!,

en druk hom op sy maat se

kop.

Sy asem is uit,

sy funksie op.

Al wat oorbly is die bleek pasteel

hopie kleure wat plakkersgewys

aanmekaar klou in n raam.

van geraamte en vel.

Sal nogal n lekker Karen Zoid lied maak.

Liefdelengte in Jare

ek lees…

Die Kokerjuffer, oftewel Eendagsvlieg,

lewe slegs vir 5ure,

op die wyse agterblad

Van die Chappies Papiere

En droom…

Van vliegende lewensLiefde

Wat bruis deur die Eendagsvlieg

Vir5UreVanVreugde-

Loos na 6…

n botterdroom van

Vet TermietLiefde

Van50Jaar

Roughly translated

Mayfly Love

(onthebackofachappiepaper)

did you know – Mayflies live for only 5hours.

I dream…

Love May fly,

like a May Fly love

Lovely 5hours of Love

Loveless Life After 6

Here’s dreaming of a

TermiteQueenLove

For 50FatYears

With You My Dove

And..

Did you know – peanuts are one of the ingredients of dynamite.

What little nut

could strut

his protein-filled gut

with such glee

and scream

that yea,

take a little

bite of my potent carriage,

risking entrance to this explosive marriage.

The Cyclotronic Till

Posted: May 20, 2010 in Poetry

The Cyclotronic Till

 

Onlyness turned inside out,

Poking at it with a sharp stick it is.

It has no smell

It is going nowhere.

It is here always

Like a best friend,

or a cancer.

Like the Borld Wank

the eternal enemy

I know its face intimately

We are best mates.

Buddies for life

armstrong locked in a Mexican friendship ring

It never has to call

But I always answer.

We know the routine.

#

atom heads

shoot writers’ thoughts at each other

until they split into laughter and trembling bright texts.

l and my own!

beautiful wishes

transmogrified to silver fishes 

not unlike your survival Soirée

energy

is

a survival story

time

illustrating

friends

obsessed but always feeling the poke of Onlyness’ stick.

Poetry: Facing the wrong way.

Posted: March 2, 2010 in Poetry
Tags:
Facing the wrong way.
`
I was living on the front pages,
   when you wanted me to be the centrefold.
`
`Astrid~
`

Poetry: Ocean Velvet

Posted: March 1, 2010 in Poetry
Tags:
Ocean Velvet
`
Into the ocean,  a thousand diamonds strewn.
A heart of velvet,
tempered by the moon.
`
Astrid~
`

Superwoman’s best friend.

Posted: February 25, 2010 in Poetry
Tags:

 

I went to the supermarket to buy washing powder.

How I wish they were selling will power instead.

Unpublishable

`

Inspiration,

`

I thank you much.

due thanks are such.
`
The bitter berry you’ve implanted,
has left my juices quite… – enchanted.
`
The demented cut of your rejection,
has spawned subliminal introspection.
` 
Your exodus from this affair
once left me in shocking disrepair.
How now my depravation
has evolved into a Subliminal Hallucination.
` 
Deliciously delirious I recall an unspoken play,
by the light of  a fire…`
A puppet show on sand – untouched by human hand.
A warrior at war with air, no more.
The stars at play, defying the wink of day!  
` 
Oh Craven Hearted,
How you departed.
`
Abandon ship!`
 
the captain’s gone.
 
No mutiny.
`
Just a casualty
…of insecurity.
`
Astrid
`
Dit is so lekker vuil in afrikaans

Song vir Popeye

 `
Diepe, donkere liewe frustrasie.
‘Up yours’ en jou groen spinasie.
`
Lekker is die soetse druif,
maak my los van jou  bittere olyf.
Jou ekel, hekel, vloeibare verskonings
stol  kluite in die pad,
en skreeu verdwaas saam
met die bure se gekastreede kat.
`
Soepel, heupe, druifnat lyf,
Jy het my na drank gedryf.
`
Sny my keel,
“Make it real”
`
Maar ek gaan een oomblik steel.
`
Jou bitter hart vloei met my smart.
Jou donker siel.
Oordonder deur n verkrampte piel.
`
Wat wil jy nou eitlike se:
Dat ek hier le.
My siel ontbloot. 
My waarheid – jou reddingsoord.
`
Droom verder.
n leeftyd van ‘opression’.
die orgasme vir my ‘repression’
`
Spinasie is groen en die waarheid is bitter.
Jou redes is duister,
My jammer hart fluister,
`
Vat jou jou piel saam met my siel.
Ry verder op jou sieke jammer smart.
`
Vir een oomblik.
Kyk nie terug.
Na die geweefde brug.
`
Die engin is fokked en die piston skiet blanks.
Hier hou ons fiesta saam met die tramps.
`
Jy het een kans – miskien twee.
`
Bring n siener, sangoma, of drank.
Jou keuse verewig in rots of plank.
`
Wag nie te lank, want tyd se gevleude koets blaas sy
warm asem diep in joue koue lende.
En om die hoek wag dood se koue bende.
`
So besluit meneer.
Is dit ek -of die deur.
Hol as jy moet.
`
Maak net seker dit is met n blinde fokken spoed.

Sex, of course.

Posted: December 30, 2009 in Poetry
Tags:

Valium?  Oh, ok.

Lee Simple with the leather corset has a heart of silk
She hides  behind her oil skins and rotten teeth,
Her breasts like Kilimanjaro,
Her hair on fire,
Her heart empty as a glove on a Sunday morning.
She gives a flower that she picks from Vesuvius
…to find it lying dying on the doorstep,
She offers sweet waters,
She offers herself
legs spread wide
Her eyes inside out.
 Poor Lee Simple
She does not understand that what she offers is not what they want
Her pearls are to them Christmas cards from CNA.
Her sorrow is melancholy to them
Her longing is flighty
She is simple
Unfathomable
 – a worry
A moth on the windscreen
A grain in the eye.
She is an eagle,
A mist rising from the lake.
Candyfloss on a pink tongue,
Candle wax
A full moon
Gliding through the ocean.
Making love in the afternoon.
The one-legged chimp
A midget
A buffoon
Lisping
Autistic
Maybe they will take her away
But where will the put her?
In their uncertainty
They decide
To hide
Their dismay
And pretend
Like everyone else
That she is me
And you
And nothing is out of place.
Ever.
It’s easier that way.
Astrid Stark

Poetry; Persephone rises

Posted: December 9, 2009 in Poetry
Tags: ,

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Out out out with her tongue.

Her silence weave webs of

golden threads.

Rip rip rip

Her useless voice from its silken throat

and toss it without a care into the slimy moat.

It gets worse.

If it gets better,

We will all kneel down and pray

Noses touching the ground

Bottoms up

Eating dirt

Feeling filthy

Sucking the last pip from the

Pomegranate.

Guilty as charged.

Her rides in on Pegasus’ wing

Her father

Her Frankenstein

Her Heathcliff.

Hades!

It only gets worse,

If it gets better,

he reaches into the stinking moat

rips from her chest her bleeding heart

and throws it on forest floor,

‘Take that!’ he cries

‘and bother her

 never more.’

But it only gets worse,

Hades reaches into the moat

To lift her skirt

For one last time,

And then she speaks.

“You asked for it.”

as her silver blade

gently sinks deep into his belly.

~astrid~

Liquidly departed

Lidless the hollow-eyed pool stare
into a seamless sky,
Prostrate.
Waterless echoes
against blank walls,
searching for the crack
through which to slip.

High tied board in white and
red binds pale arms and legs that
slide and glide and wrinkle into
a smile that square sad face.
Screaming pink bodies and laughter
mocking screeching gulls
fly Up and dip
Away.

Slowly sun pulls tight its coat.
Stooped trees, scarecrows caught in mock surprise,
throw long cold shadows and
slip over the wall and across the
crowns of crashing waves.

Astrid Stark

 The mad man in his hood shouting at the street,
restless, unprovoked;  performing  for us
sipping lattes  at sidewalk cafes,
shaking our heads at the crimelines.
The brutality to aliens.

Mad man in the hood shouts foreign at the girl with the micro skirt,
cursing her disappearing back.
His hunger forgotten, his thirst; Bob’s legacy

Man in the hood sits on the pavement
his legs sprawled  out in front of him like drying roots
his hood low over his head,

Black eyes like pools of spilt oil,
he rises up to weave aimless
from post to post.

Man in the hood’s head has sunk low
Madder than the micro girl with macro sunglasses and dumb,
Wishing for a blindfold against the mule merry-go-round.
Numb.

Man with the hood tries to explain,
talks to the trees and talks to the street,
his hand, his shoes.
Nobody understands  – even his own pretend not to know.

The Hood holds a body,
with a heart in his hand and a mouth that prays.
And all we hear is an alien sound
bubbling like water
over broken stones.

When I cross the road I realise his eyes seek mine
for a sign
of Humanity where
I fear that he finds none there.

Astrid Stark
19 August 07