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Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

FACEBOOK DON’T DO ITALICS

Posted by Ian McAdam on April 5, 2010

But does a billion
incomprehensibles.

While hope is
the Northern
thing as illogistic
logicises
and makes perfect
sense.

Improvised
Expressive
Dealership @ Hoxton.

Rivets well hidden
by hand crafted veneers.
(Doens’t do to show
the rust)

Even if the belly
overhangs.

Acado truck want to
be
(a beefed up van).

Loose parterships
dominate.

I like that foot tap.

Give it to me.
Give it good.

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Posted in poetry | Leave a Comment »

The page leers at me…

Posted by Ian McAdam on June 14, 2009

My cross is borne

on slight shoulders

my rectitude forms

dung beetle boulders.

 

In this recycle

shadows at noon

I push down and cycle

the city, my cocoon.

 

My African snakebite

my familial in-fight

my magical starlight

my aversion is my blight.

 

I stand here

with lost fear

and strength

in my Samson locks

free flow strewth

must rhyme like

in books

and poets who were

real, like

i dream to be.

Posted in creative process, poetry | 2 Comments »

self conscious poem

Posted by Ian McAdam on May 31, 2009

insecurity
rising
poverty biting
there is no
way out of
it all.
not now
but soon
i’ll find the
way out
into
security.

flow
with
my art my
pain it
starts to
rise upwards
into erogenous
zones
implosions
of self
gratified
bliss.

Posted in creative process, poetry | 2 Comments »

APRIL SHOWERS

Posted by Ian McAdam on April 17, 2009

Jon’s spending this weekend with a heavily pregnant French woman (we both got drunk last night, but on separate trails).  We struggle in our relationship, and it’s mostly to do with money, and my lack of it and inability to spend it wisely.  We need this time apart, and I hope we are both back in work soon.

As for my mood…it’s levelled out, but now I’m a bit too heavily medicated and battling with my motivation.  The human condition.  Here’s my next poem:

 

CAMERA

                         TIME

                                           FOREST

trigger

this solid, humid

push in temperance.

She lights her B&H

flame to matter

up above

broadleaf sunscreen

tackies bounce their

technological

vulcanisation

I think this

memory

(I hint

I wink

I suck the mint)

first beer

slow alcohol

diffusion

my love for you

a saturation drop

you drink

                        I drink

more

              and

                        more

toxicity concentrates

(mine own sympathy

empassioned)

Bloated memory water

pissed away

Refined sumptious

sheen…

rich rag tatter…

I run away, voice

biouncing of brutal

concrete,

long memory

holding me

re-figure-ate.

Amber

               Ooze

                             Disinfect.

Posted in chronological, creative process, journal, poetry | Leave a Comment »

untitled by noinvisiblehand and michaelalchemy

Posted by Ian McAdam on March 9, 2009

burrowed in like guppies
nestled together, but, not for propagation,
unruffled & placid
it doesn’t matter who has gone flaccid

monet and manet were yuppies
cut into photographic tradition
oiled and massive
goin to market that’s still explosive

corrosive as battery acid or coca cola
as kitsch & tawdry
in their appeal as though hung on a wall
in a 1950’s garage

the machismo nation and dire sedition
bookishly named tradition
as our livers fatten like geese force fed
layed down, flattened in, aardvark archaelogy

sucking the ant colonies for aardvark protein
no greater invention than nature’s technology
that we can only draw upon and maybe improve
if we learn to put back what we remove

(Only transferred in the blink
of massive waving magnitudes
this all encompassing panic
carbon frenzy nothing)

in seething poverty they pile on
debt to more debt, the crowded interests,
no way to pay back or stop the madness
just forgive and forget, the easiest solution

NAUGHTINESS IGNORANCES
narrow news streams
refracted red
spotlight ceiling light

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spring, at last!

Posted by Ian McAdam on February 25, 2009

First warm thermals
the crows acrobat on
rising by the towers and terraces
as terminal buds grow, secrets hidden inside
(overfolded leaves)

thick perfume blossom
on the dusky pavement…
headily surging energy
of people concentrated
sun-pools weekend distilled…

Southern aspect daffodils
in winter crust windowbox,
yellow – sodium yellow –
cheerful momentary memory bank.

Tanked tilted axis spinning
bicycles shorts
and eighties reprise
city haze to afternoon
as osmosis anti gravities
tonnages

sex sells

Poetry puns
on taxi cabs
buses hydraulically
music making voices footfalls
market baselines
as leaf formation unabated
pre-programmed,
stag beetle larvae
chomping
on warming, rotting, woodpile.

Circle gusty squall
with plastic decomposing
this evolving, non-stop
City Song,
this warming, inspirational
hope.

Shorter colder windows
are passing quickly by.

Fractal lattice branches
are calligraphy
with messages of
structure
and order.

My city spring,
has me in wonderment.

Posted in poetry | Leave a Comment »

The Fox’s Den, deserted.

Posted by Ian McAdam on February 5, 2009

I wrote this with my redbubble friend, michaelalchemy.  My first collaboration in years!

 

The fox’s den, deserted
the scent is followed
by a widow, half dead
standing on her head
the landlord, sad, indebted
speech became whetted
by the crisis now revealed:
let us all be healed
they chant through the fog
they disavow the demagogue—
the evictor, from Rome
off the throne will lose its home
washing down the Tigris
wedged between Isis and Osiris
to the widow, sins purged
renewal encouraged
fox-snout to human nose
from the thorn grows a rose
full circle! seagull above
scavenger and journeyed dove
aluminium sign: For sale.

Posted in poetry | Leave a Comment »

GLOBALISED NECK IN THE STRATOSPHERE

Posted by Ian McAdam on December 15, 2008

Globalised neck in the stratosphere

multivariate perspectives

of the gleaned

bits of converstation

floating on the

inversion layer

where its frezing cold

between two duvets

of warm cosy

city

and rain forest

delight.

 

Inverted

and delighted

and taking in

and processing

and delaying

thinking absorbed

but half lost

gone into the

mire

 

The mire

where it’s all

destruction and

besides the point which

is there but not observed

 

The point?

The point?

The peninsula

where currents oppose

and undercut the sandstone.

 

The point? The point?

the boredom

wondering why

boredom exists at all

 

(is boredom important)

(you bet it is)

 

And downturn mind

wars implosion.

 

Then upturn, besmirched,

creation.

 

The hark of the angel?

The wish of the shepherd?

The lager choice of the city banker?

 

All self involved after the

conversation

 

All lonely in the midst of

it all.

 

mis

under

stood.

the human condition

but so unaware.

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