The Writing Is No Longer on the Wall

For months I have walked by here admiring
The bright pink heart with a halo? Bull’s horns?
A mix of Keith Haring and the Sacred
Bleeding Heart of Jesus like poetry
By Federico Garcia Lorca,
Those artists whose hearts were in the right place,
Written on the walls, scrawled for all to see,
Then hidden in a grave dark or unmarked.
But your writing’s no longer on the wall,
The passion-sprayed pink now painted over,
An invitation to new transgressions,
An absent reminder of those beauties
Doomed to exist for the briefest of stays
Because landlords prefer monotone grey.

AGG20260827

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If I must have a grave

If I must have a grave
Let it be surrounded
By tall pines whispering
Their soft secrets to me
Whenever a breeze blows

AGG20151125

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As we lay down in the blood of strangers

As we lay down in the blood of strangers, 
Our tired bones made from the dust of stars, 
It would be so easy to just give in 
To despair, refuse to rise up again. 
 
Weary of television’s nightly dose 
Of horror and fear and murder, we want 
To hide away in some safe hole until 
It passes like a nightmare on parade. 
 
But this life is not a dream, it is real, 
As real as bullets, as bombs, as sirens, 
And we need to wake up, open our eyes, 
To dry our tears with the ashes of the dead. 
 
Our fears are as useless as our prayers, which 
Imagined god would we offer them to? 
The god of the killers and of the killed 
Is one and the same and his name is shit. 
 
This fictitious god who breeds hate too real 
For me and the all men I’ve ever loved 
Fades to nothing before the power felt 
As I lay down in a stranger’s warm arms. 
 
AGG20151116 
 
Depth Charge: The title of this poem is a slight modification of a line from an essay written by Isobel Bowdery, a survivor of the terrorist attacks in Paris, Nov 13, 2015.

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Hard Bargain : A Response to Li Qingzhao’s “The Lone Wild Goose”

The stars and I have struck a hard bargain,
Harder than Hector’s beautiful thick cock,
More enduring than Franco’s erection,
Bitter sweet still than any load of cum,
Impossible to break, unlike our loves,
Which we all know, or will know, easily
End, well or not, but all the same just end,
And in this bargain the dead stars become,
My living flesh, seeing eyes, consciousness,
And in return I promise to look up
In amazement through love with gratitude
That I can be briefly born on this earth
From the flower of their heavenly deaths
And with such beautiful men mingle breath.

AGG20150227
for MasterFranco and toscano111

Tune: “The Lone Wild Goose”
Plum Blossoms
by Li Qingzhao
Prefatory Note. People tend to be vulgar as soon as they start writing a ci-poem about the plum. Of this I was unauare till I had made an attempt myself.

Paper bed-curtains,
A couch of rattan.
No pleasant thoughts ease a troubled mind
When my morning sleep ends. Sandalwood incense burning fitfully,
The jade censer fallen cold–
Companion to my feelings thin as water. A flute playing “Falling Plum Blossms” three times over
Startles the plum-trees into sudden bloom,
And the air is filled with all the sweetness of spring.

Fine rain, gusty wind:
Lugubrious sounds once more urge
A thousand lines of tears.
Gone is the flute-player,
Deserted the jade tower
Nobody now shares with one broken-hearted.
I pluck a spray of bloom,
But who can I send it to,
The two of us now so far apart–
In Heaven and on Earth?

Translated by Jiaosheng Wang.

孤雁儿·李清照
(世人作梅词,下笔便俗。予试作一篇,乃知前言不妄耳。)

藤床纸帐朝眠起,说不尽无佳思。沈香断续玉炉寒,伴我情怀如水。笛声三弄,梅心惊破,多少春情意。
小风疏雨萧萧地,又催下千行泪。吹箫人去玉楼空,肠断与谁同倚。一枝折得,人间天上,没个人堪寄。

Gūyàn er  · Lǐ Qīngzhào
(shìrén zuò méi cí, xiàbǐ biàn sú. Yǔ shì zuò yī piān, nǎi zhī qiányán bù wàng ěr.)

Téng chuáng zhǐ zhàng cháo mián qǐ , shuō bu jìn wú jiā sī . Chénxiāng duàn xù yù lú hán , bàn wǒ qínghuái rúshuǐ. Dí shēng sān nòng , méi xīn jīng pò , duōshǎo chūn qíngyì .
Xiǎo fēng shū yǔ xiāoxiāo de , yòu cuī xià qiān xíng lèi. Chuī xiāo rén qù yùlóu kōng , chángduàn yǔ shuí tóng yǐ . Yī zhīzhé dé, rénjiān tiānshàng, méi gèrén kān jì .

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Dark Matter

Something moves out there
Unseen—its darkness binding
Us all together—
Whole galaxies in its grip
What is this spiderless web?

AGG20150207

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These Mere Hearts of Stone

A scientific man ought to have no wishes, no affections, – a mere heart of stone.
Charles Darwin

Not for a minute
Should you think mere hearts of stone
Do not feel as much
As less durable beings
Whose stay in this world is brief

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