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Strange Powers

THE RING

 

 

Glorious luminosity,

Music of pure gold,

Genius like a spirit still alive:

Rheingold, Walkure, Siegfried, Gotterdammerung.

 

 

 

DEEP THE SEA

 

 

All the fish of the deepest sea,

Among those colours endlessly changing,

Under where the bubbles burst,

Sea-horses jumping in white surf,

Corals dreaming, without doubts,

There the rumbling wider real ground,

There the sweet sound of the earth turning,

There the dreaming of the world burning,

There something under dreams of browning,

Open a bubble as a peeping shell,

Glugging is this account of the Universe,

My girlfriend is sexy, and beautiful as anything.

 

 

 

SPOOT-STENG

 

 

Why in the night-strange light I die,

Or play changingly, in boisterous draw,

The doggish cooks creak and blow,

Ah, peace my fish, stamp in the spoon!

 

Stooping spam illustrious fly!

Jooking cram like gruel jam,

Spooping spies sleep along

Atop gejuggling engling lie!

 

 

 

THIS IS THE NIGHT

 

 

Thus is the night of strangeness;

Ah, well I sigh, her deepness;

Sleep is wild, no one knows,

Dawn splays lights and colours

Into dangerous thoughts and hopes;

My bleeding is so grey and mad.

 

 

 

BRITISH SLUGS

 

 

 

They slouch like slugs, from rainy day to night,

Thoughtless through moments, lazy in their business,

Slugging a tea in teeth, talking politely,

Then jerking to The News, seven more dead, they say

 

 

 

FLAMING BLUE

 

 

Flaming as if the world were blue,

Hopeless crazy wild galaxies bum,

Ascending scales into Nature‘ s dream,

Fire explodes into all lmagination‘ s being!

Glacial flow unto Universal Eternity!

Deep dream of love and all, lnexplicable!

Where am I at this moment of Truth?

I gut myself as if in insanity;

Dip you down into the eal1h‘s bowels,

Feel the Forest grow in tingling bulbs,

The mountains rear up, the skies fly,

Sunlight streams ecstatically upon me, alone,

Now, the air is blue with clouds and air,

Free as heaven, the World is free!

 

 

 

 

 

 

AS I ALWAYS WANTED TO LIVE AND DIE

 

 

As l always wanted to live and die

(I was always lonely deep down there)

I heard a violin screech far from home

(Was it a gypsy, or Sibelius?)

Dying is nothing, a soft disappearing, but

(I hate those affected dissertations)

You just live, and then you don‘t,

Like the wine-drinker in The Rubaiyat

(Not that I have ever read the bloody thingl)

But I have read Hamlet: what is there

Beyond all this, and is it worse?

(Why should l be persecuted for wondering this?)

 

How strange! The stars still twinkle

And dance, in ancient lights of hope!

 

 

O LET MY CHILDREN

 

 

 

O let my children grow up feeling

Their grandparents fought for them,

Let them grow up knowing

All had been done in the crazy house

Of scions, to fight for them!

 

And let us praise famous men, infamous

Mice, unknown dogs and crooked idiots,

As there is a place for all of them

In God´s Scheme for Plenitude!

Yo ho ho and a big bottle bum!

 

 

 

BEAUTY IN DARKNESS

 

 

Excellent are the notes of beauty,

Those dog-eared, fearful, hellish noises,

The damn-dark bloody hells of pain,

Those usual failures of communication.

 

 

 

MOBIUS LOOP

 

 

 

That is the way of

                   the machines

                                                       everywhere

The mind that thinks us

making us believe

We do what we do

                   because we are

What their braincells

         programme

                                                          us to do

The machines of their hardware

in Mobius loop

lnto our minds and culture

                  twist us all

Into the mad hatred

       of crazy lies

 

 

 

HOLES

 

 

 

Something

     like

                          an eye-empty

                                                  hole,

I wonder

                if knowing

                                   all about

The jazzy galaxies’

    beginnings

And those strange(!)

        black holes!

Helps to understand

                                     our strange beings

Or beginnings.

                          Genes

                                      memes

                                                    or History?!

Jug a dog dug, sex is the slug!!

 

 

 

LOVE DREAM

 

 

 

 

Love dream, as if all were swept away,

All petty cares, misunderstandings,

Leaving only clouds and bare skeletons of heart-squeezing

Truth, in never-existent Love, only the dream of it,

The soft memory or hope of it,

The final notes drifting through a last light of night.

 

 

 

DARK SHADOW

 

 

 

 

A fear creeps throughout the whole of me,

When l behold the shadow of your dark sarcasm;

Uncertain as an ice-dew-drop in melting or freezing,

In death of all unworried peace of soul.

 

You with your Power, erode my red blood,

Snip the nen/es that string across my globe;

Confusion in organs induced by your cold tyranny,

Surges round my brain and drowns my limbs.

 

To breathe and know my spirit, I must expel

The hellish air of troglodytic monsters;

Always wandering and waiting to strangle confidence,

And throw me into oceanic miseries.

 

 

TO MUSIC

 

 

 

 

In the holy darkness of the Night

Music transports us to the Light

Out of our misery and deep depression

Our sense of loss and wild regret

Balm from a sacred transcendent realm

Lifts us from shattering pain to bliss

 

 

I HOVERED BETWEEN FIRE AND DEATH

 

 

 

 

I hovered between fire and death,

Funnily, knowing I would end in both anyway

Eventually: the point was only

In which order or alternation

I would find them. O you who decide

Our fates, what ecstasy it must be, for you.

 

 

DADD‘S MASTER STROKE

 

 

 

 

When if morosely, maniacally, I fly

In depths of cloud like streaking waltzing fire,

O, how dreaming, foolishly, this drowns

And dying, grants the wildest fruits to bloom,

The autumnal colour changes, strange

To dew folorn in golding fish at dawn,

A hoping idiocy, sweet in bluey glory,

The jump in streaming, fall to insect silence.

 

 

 

 

 

MOZART

 

 

 

 

Utterly independent of the Real World,

Yet infused with every feeling from the rubbish,

Transcending and transcendent, but not avoiding

Anything of Love, Hell, Dying, Agony, Pain, Hate;

Just distilling All into sounds, music, Art.

 

 

THAT IS WHY THE SKY FLEW

 

 

 

 

That is why the sky flew

Like wild spiders in the night

And all intensities of trying fire

Raised themselves in ultimate pitch

To achieve their explosion, death of fear,

And rise, metamorphosed, into air.


Biografía

Tim Cloudsley nació Cambridge, Inglaterra. Es sociologo, escritor y poeta. Trabajó como profesor en la Escuela de Idiomas, de la Universidad Industrial de Santander, Bucaramanga en el ámbito de estudios culturales y literatura.


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