The ying and yang need to be in harmony
we understand this is true
from a distance one views two of another species
sensually, violently entwined
it can’t tell whether they’re fighting or fucking
they are not of the same kind
closeness expressed in an intimate touch
the harmony of spheres, the unity of opposite forces
you know it is true
we need to balance things to feel peace
and end the unneeded suffering
Category: Poems
Tendrils
All the bright and joyful memories you make
you may think on for a few seconds here and there
lives you’ve impacted, people who love you
these come to mind when conjured very deliberately
in a meditation, or when trying to calm down in a vortex
of death related panic;
existential crisis again
And yet so easily the hurtful thoughts arise unbidden
uninvited, or at least so you say, lamentations, regrets,
accusations against the self
the negativity bias is a bitch, for sure
these thoughts wrap themselves like vines perhaps,
or cold, icy tendrils, constricting your mind
The egoistic concerns, the envy, the fear
letting this go, and breathing in, holding it, breathing out
realise violence is the last resort, a defence only
I don’t know why we’re here, but I’m growing surer of that at least
think on love, compassion, kindness
breathe in white light
breathe out black smoke
eventually feel the grip of the tendrils relent
Whiskey Helps the Death Go Down
It does seem to make sense to choose to make friends rather than enemies
when life is so full of pain and suffering, it’s almost to the brim
you may need sturdy warriors there in your last garrison
as they’ll need you in theirs
there are fates that seem so undeserved
I have fantasised often of revenge on those who’ve wronged me
yet there are horrors in this world, I haven’t the heart to wish on anyone
not even those who hurt me at my weakest
I’d rather keep things quick and clean
I don’t want any of these god’s creations to suffer
in a cage, a drawn out torture
what does it prove?
We know nature’s majesty
she has nothing to prove
so in the deepest pits
is a mercy shown?
A flood of hallucinogenic chemical to take away the pain?
Ease the transition of this child of God?
Is there some escape, always at hand, in the mind?
I love that sound
the crackle of the ice, as the liquor fills the glass
whiskey helps the death go down
the heat at the back of your throat is calming, meditative
it helps when your thoughts turn to the macabre
I can accept I’m ugly but I must be clean,
yes, always clean and pure, scrub away the day’s filth
As you walk down the sin-filled street at night
wondering and dreaming to yourself in an endless chatter of thought
there is an all-consuming black on the horizon of the cityscape
Forms appear out of the dark as you get closer
forms creeping to you, taking shape out of the nothingness
forms approaching you as you approach them
‘a metaphor for death?’ you wonder to yourself
an intoxicated grin upon your face
The Cycle
I understand how Dawkins feels sometimes
Or Einstein when he said belief in the afterlife is for those afraid of death
It must be a comfort to believe there is nothing
What utter peace
Consciousness can be burdensome
Love weighs heavy too
Naïve materialism is a blessed relief
The responsibilities of an adult make one weary, endowing nihilism with such strong appeal
Indra did not want to admit he could yet become another ant
Perhaps better to die a god and dissipate
You can see why Cox yearns for the heat death
Without recognising it as another thing it is
A cosmic orgasm
The French called cumming le petit mort
We know orgasms can create life in the right context
Somehow life finds a way even in the rigid restrictions of the Goldilocks principle
The life goes on…
The cycle goes on…
It’s remorseless
Billy Knocked Back a Bitter
Billy knocked back a bitter
Looked me in the eye
‘It was all a lie’ he declared
‘What was?’ I tentatively inquired
‘MDMA, when were young, taking it at the clubs’
‘Aye, you’re not 19 forever’
‘You’d be there, buzzing off your tits
A shy, awkward geek chatting all night with one of the cool kids
Fuckboy 101
You’d talk about life, death, your fears, and hopes
The meaning of the universe
Then you part ways with a sweaty hug, like you’ve bonded
The barriers betwixt nerd and lad lay in ruins’
‘How beautiful a thing’
Billy gestured to the barkeep to refill his pint glass
‘Except’ he continued ‘you see the cunt on campus 2 days later
You wave and say ‘hi’ wearing a daft grin
And they storm right past you
Showing you up in front of your course mates
They pause to look your way with an expression of contempt
Which conveys they hold you in lower esteem
Than the shit on the bottom of their shoe’
‘The Great British night out’ I chime in sardonically
‘It was all a lie, all that MDMA’
‘Where’s the truth to be found?’
‘I don’t know’ Billy shook his head ‘bloody tap water maybe’
‘It’s a shame the Brits are like that, everyone needs music and dance
You see a tribe in a Bruce Parry doc
They know how to share something like that
Without the British style of casual cruelty tainting it
Why do our lot find it impossible to have something like that?’
‘The Vikings came, took all the pretty women
And killed the men brave enough to defend them
The skulking cowards left behind to reproduce are our ancestors
So we’re stuck in this mess’
Billy’s sixth bitter arrived
He downed it in two between drags on a fag
I was quite impressed
One Last Lazy Sunday
By Thomas Caterer
Our Earth’s entangled in a cosmic web
I mean that quite literally
Bill read about in the morning paper
a spider the size of a sun
a planet eater
she laid a trap for us
awaiting our arrival
at the point in our orbit
where her web lay in wait
She tugs at the web to draw us in ever closer
unable to shake free
we are inevitably drawn into the gaping chasm
of her eager, hungry mouth
Bill sighed with exasperation
he pulled out sports and tossed me the rest
he shook his head, incredulous
‘you seen the keeper United signed?
What an overspend!
Rovers had them over a barrel!’ Bill tutted, and the spider’s eyes widened with ravenous lust
so in the end, this is the end of us
I had rather hoped to decompose on solid ground and turn to dust
rather than break down in the acids of this gigantic arachnid
To Kill a Frog by Mistake, and Befriend a Tortoise on Purpose
By Thomas Caterer
‘You’ll get what you deserve when you die
rest assured of that!’
the tortoise said this to me, just after I stomped on a frog
by mistake mind you, and he did die instantly
I cleaned the guck from the bottom of my shoe
and yet not the guilt from my heart
‘It was an accident!’ I protested
yet the tortoise showed me no sympathy
he walked across the sand, his expression severe
‘you rush about carelessly, not looking where you’re going,
not paying attention to your surroundings,
now poor Mr. Frog is as dead as disco!’
I have often thought of this as years have flown by
the karmic consequences of our actions
are destined to catch up to us eventually
I should have paid more attention this I can admit
Tortoise and I eventually became friends,
putting our differences aside
one night as he poured me a fine whiskey,
taken from an oak cabinet
I asked; ‘is it ever frustrating to move so slow?’
‘Moving so slow… it means you see less in life, and yet more clearly’
his eyes welled up a little as his flippers gripped his tumbler of Scotch
‘you do not need to rush, you see the fine details in what you do see’
I replied, ‘you don’t step on any frogs, I suppose?’
‘Well ape, no I guess not, not that I remember from this life anyway’ he said
with a kind smile on his old face
I remembered again his first words to me;
‘You’ll get what you deserve when you die
rest assured of that!’
I don’t know if justice is all that quick,
as we all die so soon
but eventually I’m sure he’s proved right
Philosophy on a Monday Night for a Carbon-based Ape
By Thomas Caterer
It’s some kind of joke
that so much despair stems from the idea
that value is found in permanence
but that value is found in transience
the perfect offence faces off against
the perfect defence, and how then to judge
the outcome of the contest?
A perfect little moment in time; a child’s laugh
their smile as they play with you
time marches on, and they will grow so fast
we’ll all die, the universe too
so then transience wins
but it always goes on, life goes on, love continues to flow
an eternal sea, its waves lapping against a shore
waning then waxing, relenting, then taking back ground
so then permanence wins
They remain entwined
perhaps things can be trusted to change when they must
and come back when they should
and you, a shaved ape, need not worry yourself to death
There is No Answer
There is no specific answer
it’s not at the bottom of a bottle
or at the end of a joint
it’s not in pussy
or in any of your life’s dreams
There is no absolute solution
not in the right-left games, or god games, or death games
the dare to yourself to stare down
the precipice
denying all gods or talk of souls
shouting ‘take me black infinite!’
and then pulling yourself back from the brink
to laugh ecstatically at your heartrate
There is no answer
not in the legacy you could have
not in statues built, books written, records broken
not in your personal progress, fears overcome, grudges let go off
not even in the things you know most profound;
the people you love, your respect for living things, the clarity of orgasm,
the tranquil quiet of a lake, not in REM sleep, the euphoria of a perfect chord change,
the smiles and laughs of the innocent, the striking vibrant colours of art
There is no answer
and yet as you search still
for a thing that doesn’t exist
you can almost hear
wise jesters laughing at you
anger rises for fear they’re mocking you
But maybe they laugh because they can’t find it either
and what a mess we are all in, and they laugh with you not at you
the only answers are as real as fairy tales
or more optimistically;
fairy tales are only as real as the answers
Not Quite Strangers on a Train
Two not quite strangers on the same underground train
hands grab either the pole or loop through the handgrip
It’s an unplanned hook-up, unexpected and not even one
previously fantasied about by either party
after all he might well have a bright future ahead but now he’s
washing dishes, and several years younger, so there’s not
much she would have found interesting until…
Another empty wintry night proves one too many and she’s still waiting
on a married man’s promise, this night is already warmed by the intoxication
of after-work drinks, an informal farewell, as she sets her sights on another blank chapter
The train, the moonlight, the coldness, the dead eyes of the commuters as they pass by,
the cries of animals, somehow it all feels detached from the world they both know
one populated by pressures and ambitions, offices, coffee shops, phone calls from relatives
A moment suspended in time, it doesn’t know of yesterday nor tomorrow nor anything else stretching further out into the void on either side
a unique moment in time exists in its own space carved out and separated from the external continuity of life
it exists as part of the whole but also in its own self-contained atmosphere
and in that there is a mysterious quality, a feeling that in that moment,
I didn’t have to be me, you didn’t have to be you,
we can each be any character we choose in any story we choose When it’s all said and done, the cycle will continue and life will march on
unmoved by whatever we may have to say about it
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