This poem is so far out on the edge, it’s practically gone over it! Tonight at dVerse we’re tackling the Beat Generation. That culture of the late Fifties revolved around rejection of received standards, experimentation in drugs and alternative sexuality and rejection of materialism among other things. It was a powerful force for liberalisation that spawned non-conformity and spontaneous creativity among writers, poets and artists. Go and check us out to see what we’re up to!
Up there, beyond this detritus embracing us, stars wink on.
Planets, moons, suns feel the gravitational suck of each other and
this universal whirr and click is shot through with a nebula that blooms
like flooding paint in your eyes. A thousand dyes of reds and yellows
punctured by meteors that rocket through your vision completely blinding you.
Just this solar kaleidoscope filling your brain as you fold up the pain,
and lock it away. So while you drift in your own personal space,
bankers in counting houses,
the regiments of hawks,
those greeders and feeders,
I put both hands to my temple
and through finger tips feel the rhythmic
beat of the heart in my head. It’s the
pulse of all thoughts searching for words.
Those shapers of style,
the sowers of fear (this will give you cancer, that will shorten your life),
the sowers of hope (buy this and you’ll look that thin, do this and you’ll live forever),
all those who try to control
get swallowed up into that black hole created by the force
of your indifference. Later back in the coffee shop at our favourite table
we sit once again and waste everyone else’s day watching their worlds go by.