art music poetry

The Real Meeting.

We sat in a circle fourteen of us,

pointing knees at each other, drinking

coffee and trying to look relaxed.

Sweaty palms discretely dried on

trousers leg

One of the six women in the group

began talking – women are better at

airing their feelings than men- she

went on, a great length, about a life

of endless cocktail parties around

a swimming pool, posh wine in

expensive restaurant, of which I knew

nothing; fiddled with a lighter,

a sign on the wall read NO SMOKING.

Then the other five spoke in turn,

they all seem to have sprung from

the same glamorous background.

Ten minutes left when the chair asked

if any of the men had anything to say,

we mumbled something about feeling

fine; a short prayer, meeting over and

could go outside lit a fag and the real

meeting began.

————————————-

***

Jan Oskar Hansen

Palestine.

I sit in my kitchen the wall clock

Ticks ten past seven evening time.

I feel at ease and doves of peace

Cross a distant sky.

The unchanging hum of the fridge

Accentuates my inner harmony,

Perhaps there will be peace too in

Palestine where a child, newly born,

Died in a senseless war and became

A bitter memory long before she

Had a memory herself.

” We’re so very sorry, we apologise,

But we have the right to defend our

Settlers of this land.”

“¦And from the dispossessed, a cry

Of revenge echoes through ravaged

Streets.

I sit in my kitchen and the fridge

Hums a lullaby of everlasting sorrow.

————————————————

***

between the breasts
of bestial
Marj lie large
men who praise

Marj’s cleancornered strokable
body these men’s
fingers toss trunks
shuffle sacks spin kegs they

curl
loving
around
beers

the world has
these men’s hands but their
bodies big and boozing
belong to

Marj
the greenslim purse of whose
face opens
on a fatgold

grin
hooray
hoorah for the large
men who lie

between the breasts
of bestial Marj
for the strong men
who

sleep between the legs of Lil

***

e.e. cummings – all which isn’t singing is mere talking

all which isn’t singing is mere talking
and all talking’s talking to oneself
(whether that oneself be sought or seeking
master or disciple sheep or wolf)

gush to it as diety or devil
-toss in sobs and reasons threats and smiles
name it cruel fair or blessed evil-
it is you (ne i)nobody else

drive dumb mankind dizzy with haranguing
-you are deafened every mother’s son-
all is merely talk which isn’t singing
and all talking’s to oneself alone

but the very song of(as mountains
feel and lovers)singing is silence
***