rain?

rain?

by N3ko

blue emptiness
framing telephone poles
between the roofs
of the platforms
through the railings
of the walkway
changes. Light footsteps fill
the sky with distant echoes.



the lifts still go up
and down: this city's
arteries - the roads, the rails
don't stop
for the grayness, sprawling
purring in the sky

where pedestrian thoughts float
then sink, ponderous, laden,
waves bearing down
close over her head
(must be hard, living
in the basement with all those thoughts
of people above you
down on your head every day).

the rain starts
falling, drop by drop.
it creeps, it seems,
catching us unawares
with the flash of its eyes
and arch-backed roar, spreading its claws
to scatter us in one fluid pounce:

it sets the whole forest aflame, white hot
as iron, molten sparks fly and fall, each drop
chiming from deep within its soul, the call
to disappear, disperse:
the basso continuo moving us,
conjuring up partings and meetings.

tension:
the rubato of wind and clouds
pregnant with intent, frenzied
release:

finally the faraway mountains
are visible once more through the clear
sky from this vantage point
and the people come out
again, scurrying:
rippling, reflected on the asphalt
under the amber-tinged evening.
are you there among them?

© N3ko 2009

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N3ko is born and bred Ipohite, rarely logically coherent, terminally sceptical, usually found reading something, often found in a state of hunger or starvation.

impressions

impressions

by N3ko

self-induced
consternation - laziness
as usual, diversions surround
my shell of smoked glass

haplessly
wandering the labyrinth days
i search for prismatic remnants
of her animated memories
transcribed in numbers

reflected shadows strike
long-forgotten chords
on these toneless strings,slack
and dull, still resonate
in anticipation of sunrise

sleepless
struggling at dawn
to shake off those half-conscious words
conspiring simultaneous release
of torrential desperation:
flocked clouds
cozily floating in the blue-warm
sky and saturday-morning softness
wooly procrastination pulled over
my head: by now it's too late

tortured wait
for a reply:
hazed by light, love and life, she
types for a day and half, finally
those disinterested echoes reach this valley,
afternoon heat occluding the mercurial message
from the capital, a resounding 'was afk, sorry'

i know, and writhe - she's
taken, misses
him: my dull wits split
in ha
lf: i
bre
ak

alone, walking hand in pocket-
the road to dinner,
fences in my wandering mind.
footsteps: someone approaches
from behind (without mercy
she pursues) and passes,
(la belle dame) saying, 'Oh,Hi.'

on the kerb, i mutter
a response- she jogs on
to turn and start back. i do not want
to be misconstrued: feigning disinterest
i avoid, and keep my hand in my pocket the whole time


© N3ko 2009

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N3ko is born and bred Ipohite, rarely logically coherent, terminally sceptical, usually found reading something, often found in a state of hunger or starvation.

18+

18+

by N3ko

cracks
in the pavement,
like those in my head -
alone, I walk on:

followed, turning to
following; their tracks
(sweat-dew-soaked) dusty.
morning seven-thirty:
chattering, their voices
float: two. happy.

I lift my head.
endless paradoxes engulf
and drown me, torrents
of melancholy :( meant to be)
"accepted or rejected?" I still am
myself, alone I walk on:

my shadow beside me
thinks i'm too dull, thinks
i'm too dumb, i think to myself:
"halitosisshortdumpystalker
blurwackosociopathgeek = me"
therefore,i Am

weird - how they avoid
and stare back, and laugh -
how funny, a portrait of the inmate
as a young artist, raving paranoid
on and on about mushrooms and Alice,
butterflies and eggs, Hamlet & Juliet:

cracks in the pavement
(Lo, the oracle bones indicate
the hexagram DUL AN: trouble
arising as incessant rain and thunderstorms.
Avoid sliding doors and curry chicken.
Come back in three days
if you still can't feel
your teeth) are cracking up my head.

***

i go on, brazen, driving
rhythm-foaming-mouthed rearing -
on the flat whiteness
of the shore; only fragments remain
of your smile, sad
resignation - playing along
over the dim-swelling tide,your song:
silver sharp, seldom heard, ceases.

shake shake shake that old tattered rag:
it's an imitation, such a lovely notion -
that one can write with one's own mind
possessed - i foretell the hour or the day,

which i know not, being of insubstantial importance
like a half-misread canto of misrepresented misery
in my mind, i rule the barren plains of bone,
wiping my eyes with a rag, leaden verses whirling through my head -
no wonder the tears are leaking
out! dear, i have folded
many, many - for you, just for you: cranes
out of reams of nonsense (all
the above) were reenacted specially

for you (i avert my stare,
the kaleidoscope of vision
through coffee-hazy eyes, i ignore
the shadow beside the sunrise, yet again i strain
my neck again to steal a glimmer
of you, through the sheer starry distance.
for you, i hope and want) to crack up my head

© N3ko 2009

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N3ko is born and bred Ipohite, rarely logically coherent, terminally sceptical, usually found reading something, often found in a state of hunger or starvation.

If

If

by N3ko

You would (of course)

prefer to (you should)

allow distance     to build

its walls of        solitude

 

between us - the South China Sea;

or the speed-shot artery

of the Peninsula? Both mingle

in double-vision.  Single

 

thought on my mind, I sink

still  - standing - slowly

into the mire of memory

saying: "sorry   sorry       sorry"  ...

 

I

Play     on, bleating       discordant harmonies

grating on     scaled words, along the rusty

meters,  bent allusions, broken-winged poesy

ceasing song,      finally..

  

And a Voice speaks (dust echoes)

hollowly: "Do not arouse or awaken

Love     until      it so desires." Wackos

like me  (LIKE me?) are so mistaken.

  

"Thank You for HIM" -- and everything

belongs        to YOU     (or was it Him?)

Peace prompts      a coddled soul to invoke

the unfathomable     (Send your God a poke!)

 

To have your heart and eat it,

and break it almost twice:

Really that bad, is it?

Well, just take my advice:

 

Hypocrites like me and you,

inclined to paranoid blues,

are truth-addicts,truth to be told-

Sent to earth to save our souls

 

so burn      your roses

while they are still red,

Come lie with me - no, not on the bed! -

Let's lie to the world, like so many have,

and make our own gods in our lives in our heads!

© N3ko 2009

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N3ko is born and bred Ipohite, rarely logically coherent, terminally sceptical, usually found reading something, often found in a state of hunger or starvation.

Twisted by N3ko

Twisted

by N3ko 

words writhe
merging
with the salt-stench
'twixt my teeth:
your
electronic epiphanies
pinned in blue-black lyrics
of last decade's pop
trailing thoughts of news: dated
refuse

singing, you wring
words from wrought-iron cages,
strewn, sewn into excuses
for your serenity
or eternity,
you pick and choose
sight, prolonging plight
as you let things take
(or fake?) their course,
breaking through, not to move:
the same ruse

it is
as you make
it to be, shown
in the spaces, known
only to you
and the "You"
you speak of: sold
two for a penny, cold
you fall again
longing to return

"no no no
you'll never walk alone
on these empty streets:
I walk beside you
sword and shield, pain and pardon
never gone, life goes on
you believe
and the road is long"

help me not to despise
your hope, bright
grace unmarred
by so many crossroads
i know you'll always choose
the way back to Him

© N3ko 2009

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N3ko :  This poem began as a reaction to a blog post by a certain person. One of the things I had in mind when writing this was the blurring of distinction between divine will/guidance and the subject's own desires due to selective perception by the subject, specifically in relation to a relationship/romance. The capitalised pronouns "You" and "Him" were used in an attempt to convey this confusion, this forced reconciliation of occasional (or obvious) cross-purposes by invoking/soliloquising a higher purpose/power.

stanza 3 line 8  - "two for a penny"  : ref. Matt. 10:29
stanza 4 line 2  - "you'll never walk alone" : Liverpool FC anthem

N3ko is born and bred Ipohite, rarely logically coherent, terminally sceptical, usually found reading something, often found in a state of hunger or starvation.

for L.Y.

for L.Y.

by N3ko 

chased
from gray yesterday's throb of compelled error:
start on the back-beat
and prophesy of tomorrow's sheen, dread
moonlight - burning down
on our sundering:
the straits, and sometimes the mountains
meander

blackly
under pouting skies, withering
all sense of forgiveness, fading -
your masked words, betraying
our listless vision
of the chiming hour; none
but your damned distance
would burn me thus, and press
to make rose-thorn tears heal
this heart stitched with regret:
mine, still
waiting
for the blooming dawn -

that which never came:
left behind
only for a moment - i was
hiding in the corner
of the turning, from May rain
to July farewells, forgotten
as you strode off, ample shadow
quivering slightly, the fixed melody
of your life: focused, denying,
ignoring my interlude -
went on

© N3ko 2008

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N3ko is born and bred Ipohite, rarely logically coherent, terminally sceptical, usually found reading something, often found in a state of hunger or starvation.

"Know your enemy" by N3ko

Know your enemy

By N3ko

none but you
know or fear
this handful

of dust, this
resignation
to fate

try, please try
not to laugh
or smile even

at this dream (a mere
flutter of wings) of a butterfly
vaguely trying to be

me, my shadow
on these gaping
walls a cover, to

reveal your grace, or loftiness:
heights unreachable
by my undifferentiated unwieldiness.


© N3ko 2008

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Creative process: N3ko : imitation? plagiarism? crystallisation? maybe just a collision of the notions brought about by reading ZhuangZi, T.S. Eliot and pop comics. I'm still not making sense, no?

N3ko is born and bred Ipohite, rarely logically coherent, terminally sceptical, usually found reading something, often found in a state of hunger or starvation.