5min pressing a day (#215)


Somewhere out on the track
that traverses life
a old beggarly looking person
wearing not much more than a loin cloth
advice given here
come and get it
strolling on up
looking directly into the mouth
nothing comes out
nothing happens
advice is not forthcoming
the head is all white
it looks like his hair fell out
a dusting of white chalk
a ring on the finger
comprises a dandelion flower
wound around
and tied onto itself
other than that there are red lips
deep red lips
and dribbling
featureless eyes
there don’t seem to be any eyeballs
just a hole
and the mouth
with its red lips
open in horror
in despair
in confusion
in unimaginable emotions
that we all carry
advice given here – but it never comes
looking for a button to press
a slot to put a coin in
a lever to pull
then seeing that it
has run out of fuel

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5min pressing a day (#214)


There are some days
like walking down a long corridor
there are only tiny windows
just slightly above our heads
that we may not quite see
what lies outside
passing through various sets of doors
one after another
one identical section of corridor following another
with no variables
it is hard to see
whether or whether not
anything has happened
or is happening
or will ever happen

Somewhere along the way there is a tower
from there
if only we could find it
we might see much further
than our short legs
aided only
by even shorter tippy toes
would allow us to see otherwise
after imagining all of the many things
that we might see
seeing only our own footprints

walking around and around
over hills and circumnavigating rocks
weaving through towns and forests
through inescapable grottoes
looking at those grottoes once again
how awful they look
the vines that will entwine
around your ankle
and dreadful bitey beasts
slathering and licking their chops

Somehow we survived it all
one tribulation following another
yet surely we fondly remember
it all as being a great adventure
whilst passing
through this featureless corridor

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5min pressing a day (#213)


After a long time
across the deserts and alpine places
and all of the barren plains
anything will seem nice
if you want it to
a comfortable range of temperatures
a fine piece of architecture
to view – of course
a song drifting from some place unseen
a king and queen
who both became blind
after losing their kingdom
they wander together forever
as if by chance
they find a house made of grass
with wild flowers and melons growing through it
they had passed through shady realms
where no shadows were cast
no footprints were left behind
only to arrive in this now
they might stop
everything they were doing
become still
like a tree or a rock
ground away by the strong hand of time
eventually to blow away
like grains of sand
like dandelion seeds
in the wind

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5min pressing a day (#212)


Romo Purocari rides his motorcycle across the sandy beaches
Romo Valentino Sebastiano sits behind him
his coat tails flap out behind him
roaring by on a Harley Davidson motorcycle
there is a group of local children
his fan club
when they see him they cheer
Romo Valentino! Romo Valentino!

Legend has it that he rode his motorcycle here
rode it all the way to the tropics
from Europe
from Italia
with bags of money
from the working poor and the mafia
and from persons selling indulgences
in shady alleys

He has built a new church and schools
followed everywhere he goes
by his fan club
legend has it that he painted a frieze on the wall
he blew on it and all of the figures came to life

Once sitting on the beach with his fan club
Romo Valentino! Romo Valentino!
(he is like superman)
don’t you think
they watched an aeroplane fly across the sky
it is going to Kalimantan
you can tell by the picture on the tail, he says
once I rode my motorbike all the way across Kalimantan
pursued all of the way
by man-eating Dayaks
and crocodiles
that’s what I had been told
then I found that they only wanted to stop
they were curious meeting someone from beyond the edges of their world

The people who built the plane must be very clever
it’s not all about cleverness
he says, all that they needed
was to learn how to do it
otherwise they are no more clever than you

What they are really made of
he later told them
was dreams made solid

One day he was found under the water tower
he was measuring how and why it should be
that moist air would rise
it had puzzled him for years
when the old water pump fell from the top


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5min pressing a day (#211)


A parade of donkeys
just for today
a procession a parade
of donkeys wearing brocade

What! – you are having a birthday party –
and didn’t invite me ?
it is a cruel and sometimes surprising world

There are those who seek to travel
unburdened by scruples
thinking that it will ease their passage
alas they will find that traveling
in such a manner adds
to their weight

Looking up and into a clear and cloudless sky
neither the moon nor stars are visible
there is something stopping us
from seeing them
scruples or not scruples

To be precise, if scruples are involved
we can be sure
they will be adding to a clearer view
increasing the net buoyancy

Out beyond this immediate area
there is a place where political and religious systems
are tested
one thing is for certain
that at one stage of the process, ideals
fall away
without buoyancy they sink
passing through gaps in the flooring
into a festering pit
whatever happened to our ideals ?

Buoyancy can be helpful
in many cases
especially those requiring flying
flying off and beyond

As if to illustrate the point
waiting for our pilot
she arrives carrying her big square
pilots suitcase

I’ve always wondered what they carry in them

Some time in the middle of the flight
sneaking a look into the cockpit
the suitcases are open
large maps are folded-out in the cockpit
there is a compass and some dividers
the navigator holds a sextant
upside down whilst reading the instructions

On the console there is a thermos of tea
some pistachios (in shells)
and salty black licorice

The pilot looks over her shoulder
we have a full cargo of scruples
problems will bounce off us
repelled as if oil and water
as if by like magnets
we have buoyancy and lift

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5min pressing a day (#210)


Somewhere out beyond the bounds of sanity
digging into the soft sand
digging and digging
as sand is removed from the hole
more sand falls in

Off to the side of the dig
a drunk man
a disbeliever
a teller of lies and of truth
every court should have a jester
and for this court it shall be me

It is every archaeologists dream
to find a lost civilisation
the remains of an empire
in the sands

The jester sings
and swigs and sings and swigs and sings
the deserts of the world are full
of dead empires

Dig anywhere and you will find one
digging down
we want to know
who made them
what made them
and what brought about their demise
the academics say

All of that is well known says the jester
to see it mid flight and divert its inevitable course
do that and you will be free to dig all of the holes that you want

When the holes have been dug
all is well done
and done well
it will rain
watering the fig trees
olive trees and limes
that you have planted

If the empire dies
when it dies
they will still be growing there
waiting for us to visit them

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5min pressing a day (#209)


Out in the far flung reaches of the sky
a tribe that watches over everything

Presiding over the high snowy peaks
tumbltuous rivers
that can neither be navigated nor crossed
smooth and unclimbable rock faces
harsh sun that will burn everything that it sees
roads where one daren’t look
to the right nor the left
craggy craggy craggy
of those who have quested through it all

They sit around a fire
together they drink beer
and coffee
teas and juices and melted chocolate
they compare their injuries and wounds

Down the road is the physicians camp
dispensing walking sticks and crutches
wheelchairs and injury repairs
dabbing and daubing purple medicine
onto the face of a child
who ran into a rock – or was it a tree

They stand as togetherness
in drunkenness and sobriety
occasionally one of them will fall over on the spot
or tear their clothes off
jump off the side of the wharf
and into the freezing sea

Composing poems that encompass
everything that they can see
from whichever perspective of glory they see

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