Category: Poems

Cheerful Cynic

~ Yanagi Studios

The world is too small, we hide the violence and lust in plain sight
the human life is too short, for moments wasted in a labyrinth of thought
there’s no progress made in these false epiphanies
the cheerful cynic has the secret to pain relief

Time crumbles away, a monument so brittle, sensitive like exposed flesh

It’s there somewhere on the horizon, that feeling you’re chasing, that peace you’re reaching for
lonely eyes grow accustomed to the colour of a false dawn
but it’s there, you feel it, the serenity your dreams and fantasies promise

Time crumbles away, broken down like old bones and joints, worn out like the elasticity of the skin

I don’t feel much like forgiving, I’m stubborn enough to ignore all sages and declare I want reparations
you do not feel sorry for a tyrant when they grow old and toothless, you remember the hurt they caused when they had the power to do so
defying all the sages in holding grudges tight
and yet it’s true that pain etches itself in the memory, an aging bully or abuser is not cute nor an object of sympathy

Time crumbles away, and the outer layers of your retreating ego dissolve, exposing a wounded spirit
now able to breathe, to grow, discover and spread wings, find a purpose
shedding your dead skin clears a path, lightens your burden

It’s somewhere out there, in the distance, outside of the animal mind illusions
somewhere, that glory, that greatness, that peace, that love
just beyond all the trappings of the organic life game
whether it’s zen, whether it’s biocentric, whether it’s religious, spiritual or transcendent and emotional, either way it’s freedom

Time crumbles away, it cannot be reconstructed from those broken shards, they will only form something new, there is no restoring that sticks, kid

This Temple’s Not Too Bad

~ Yanagi Studios

One monk had been here for years
living in the temple, meditating,
after all that still angry, bitter, jealous

A new young buck shows up
after a few months the cunt’s levitating,
having 1 hour orgasms, the whole 9 yards

I didn’t know whether I wanted to hit him or fuck him
I mean the monk didn’t know whether he wanted to
hit him or fuck him

I, no the monk, he throws a rock into the still waters
with petulance
the waters ripple and he sighs, thinking to himself
‘this isn’t too bad, it’s no hell-scape, you’re out of the wars for now’

Can’t Halt

~ Yanagi Studios

By T. Caterer

I finally left, bags packed, soul on charge on the way
there were spiders there too, ah well, they’re in the basements
and in the wild places, they’re possible to avoid

The smiles of the young; I feel a protective love for them
should I be sad, melancholic, that I can’t halt all the pain that comes
later on?

But I know from my own sorrows, that the attempt to halt
the natural progression, the march of time,
that breeds the darker pain

So just celebrate their wonder now,
they’re fresh from the other side
they’re so close to the gods
their time now in that space is fleeting
and it’s wonderful

The pains that come will birth strange new beauties
our world’s god is an artist
they have mingled shadows in the mix
to make the brighter joys and the deeper peace
they knew how to construct their palette

It’s a good thing we can halt nothing
enjoy this time now
it is fleeting, that is its gift
the tears are not from sorrow
it’s a stranger game than that
I’m grateful for it

The Bird in the Cage

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

The bird in the cage does not sing
The gaoler’s claws scrape the bars
they want to elicit a tune
their anger rises, for they see the bird
as a possession, a thing
not a living being

The gaoler know others have heard its song
when it flew from tree to tree
The gaoler is full of anger and envy
they reach for the scissors
they’ll teach that ungrateful bird a lesson
that little shit will pay

The cage door opens
The claws reach in
The bird shoots out to freedom
The claws swipe uselessly
slashing at air

The uncaged bird flies free
it’s overjoyed to find its wings are unclipped
despite the gaoler’s attempts
it takes to the skies
it sings its song
which the gaoler will never hear

To Cling is to Break, To Cage is to Steal

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

Love is letting go
In the act you know
You realise this
The possessive and jealous will deny this
They’ll reject this truth for as long as they remain
steeped in envy and continue clinging
They will deny it with their death rattles
as they expire kicking and screaming

In your pain or from empathy you pray
to whoever’s listening
Any god will do when you’re not proud
Love is empowering someone
so they don’t need you
Love is helping someone’s freedom grow
Love is letting go
Relinquish and then you know

We need to realise those that cage birds,
clip their wings
They don’t love
If they say they do
Know it’s false even if they
convince themselves they don’t know
Take away their blades and cages
Leave them with nothing

Revenge Obligations Eat Themselves and Yet Always Hunger

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

You rape my daughter
First blood is spilled
So I kill your son

It’s unending slaughter
The beast’s stomach’s never filled
A vengeful cycle’s never done

Small mouths, big guts
hungry ghosts’ despair
a curse brought on by unchecked greed

Hands twist in chains leaving deep cuts
no spirit or soul left here to repair
no meat left on the bone, no way for your children to feed

Blessings and Curses

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

The young who fear old age are cursed
The old who envy the young are cursed

The old who yearn to be replaced and wish
power, freedom, and joy to the young
their burdens are light, and they go
not unhappily to their graves
they welcome the dark with smiles

The old who fear the end
are resentful of those who took different paths
jealous of the new wave of life meant to replace them
they writhe, and they kick, and they scream
their faces contort with rage, and their mouths foam

They spat at and cursed those who were different
but they were made to feed worms like all those
they looked down upon
their burdens are crippling

The old who guided and healed
Liberated and truly loved
not a mockery of love, but truly did
who told truths when it was hard
rather than lies when it was easy
their joints may ache
their backs may play up
but they are not so attached now
to the material they borrowed
they feel at peace
and are reunited with transition
embracing it in mutual affection
like seeing an old friend again after so long

The young who fear old age are cursed
but they have time to lift it for themselves
and perhaps for others who see them

Down the Well

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

How can I let go off anger and hate?
I know they are poison
Yet I still drink from the well

How can I stop?
Stop this unrelenting stream
of images; memories and imagined possible hurts
of imagined possible future scenarios

The heat rises, and the blood boils
I’m ruining myself
Do these visions come unbidden?
Do I not have power to turn away?

Is it true I could wake up anytime I want
Yet why don’t I?
Why would I not want to wake up from this?

I can scrunch up my eyes tight
Stare into the back of my eyelids
Hold my breath in silence
When I open them I’m still here
In this well
Do I not want to be free of it?
I’m sure I do

I Need to Get Away from Here

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

At first it was a spindly one, long creeping legs
summer’s heralds here are spiders and slugs
the long-legged spider guarded the bathroom door
so I held my piss and resented the little bastard

‘Being stuck here’s no good for my mental health’
a mantra I’d tell myself, but a cop-out too
why couldn’t I be stronger? Just not think on
all the painful memories, just clear your head,
to clear your path to escape

Later there were those thick black ones
almost furry with fat abdomens
they move fast, and when I found them in my room
they kicked me out, and I went without sleep

‘I need to get away from here’
I told myself for the umpteenth time
these past couple of years
as much to get away from the bloody spiders
as anything else

Yet also to get away from the memories
the ghosts you’d pass in the town
the voices of your parents bringing to mind hurtful times
the feelings of anger and hate when remembering
the wrongs done to you, your hands balling into fists
I’d imagine a scene of bloody revenge, and call it righteous
I don’t like who I am in those moments
There’s no shortage of scapegoats to take the blame off myself
for those pitch black feelings
for example there was this one big black spider, near the size of my hand

I couldn’t sleep at all that night

Like the Proverbial Onion

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

There’s this ball of energy; life force
it gets covered in so many layers
like the proverbial onion
covered in matter, flesh, memories,
experiences, wants, and fears
until it is weighed down
so heavy with the burden

It is so farcically easy to corrupt,
tear, and stain the many layers
and the spirit beneath
like spilling wine on carpet
or dropping fragile glass

Yet it is so difficult to heal and repair
the hands require such skill so rare
and even with the best efforts of
all the best trained
you can still see the scars
and things don’t work the way they used to
not anymore, not in this life