Visual poetry is under represented and under published in Scotland, so i was keen to show some here.
Temerity & Secret Talk
Circumnavigation (Or The Envy of Democracies)
Affectation of the sages. Such airs! Such impertinence! We muster a common cause. A cold snap snaps shut. If I wake in time, I’ll be there. This oil has to be used. You take your cue from governments and bureaucrats. I take mine from hot air balloons. A tendency to over dramatise promotes servility. Dignity. Formality. Affection.
This is an age of barbecue and beans, a comedy of inbetweens or rebellion in a cup. Certainly not a reality I’m familiar with. How tired I am of inarticulate drunks waving banners of peace over fallen women! I’ve pledged my allegiance to space travel and flightless birds, less a surrender of will than a submission to the inchoate.
An explosion of light on the dream screen. There are various ways to interpret what amounts to a global revolution. Your part gifted by M&S. Peace is the ability to reside within oneself regardless. It matters that I know when your birthday is.
Unable to distinguish the flame, I engineer an implosion. Omniverse. Now that I know I am infinite, I vow to no longer concern myself with matters beyond my reach. An extinguished gentleman. Karma. Power lies in the ability to ignore repeated requests to purchase recyclable carrier bags. An unfit mother. No, a full fat father. No, a son who has overcome the hollow reed of rejection.
Of all the dreams I had as a child one stands out. Holyrood or Hollywood. A papal delegation obfuscating its way through streams of insignificance. I dream of genii. I dream of Joni. Revolution in Beijing is television in Bombay, or Mumbai, or Wemyss Bay, or Wombai. My mother is an expert in the field of nutrition. She used to bake birthday cakes of a deliqious sweetness.
The Great King
The anticipation of astronauts relieved by a mild antiseptic. A woman’s top lip. You choose bed linen in accordance with the season. Aromatic stimuli. This at least is my projection. Towards an elegant euphoria.
What I dreamt once I may be about to experience as an unmistakable reality. How can I possibly communicate this without invoking the laws of my father the prophet Hezekiah? Once I dreamt of an unshakable reality enforced by a rigorous dogma. The spoils of diplomacy. Or denial. I have only twisted the essence and made us look inward. This is more about routing my being in the root of my being. Astronauts have trouble remembering the colour of grass in September.
At least I’ve not been duped by insufferable evangelists. Or, if I have, at least I haven’t gelled with duplicitous suffragettes. The position of dogs in the springtime bothers me. A sudden burst of flower arranging. Tired of the trickle, I anticipate a deluge.
Stephen Nelson sings in unknown languages & regularly throws words & images on to a blog at afterlights.blogspot.com. He can read minds at a distance of 10 paces.