@poet’s corner 10 dec 2025
fellow poets, the end is nigh.
this is called, the hoarse foreman of the apocalypse
life under actually existing capitalism continues;
a unique combination of boring and stressful
the yoga word lost to an armed counter revolution
be mindful, namaste,
despite the flames, be restful
the firewater fades to a numb, dumb dysphoria
as we tag along
behind the hoarse foreman of the apocalypse
on foot due to cutbacks
i think about time a lot, the hopeless impossibility of the past, its unchanging nature, its doubtful provenance. but do facts remain or do they change over time? the despots of the past become sanitised by history. they become great men. nearly always men anyway.
but we don’t need great leaders. we need stability, peace, equality, food, shelter and entertainment. we need good company.
this is called
endless time
how would you feel
if everything happened forever
if every moment of your life was still ongoing
everything always in total contradiction
i want the unexpected
off script, dumbfound me
astonish me quick
with your attention to retail
when they finish the history books we’ll see
we just have to just accept the past
it happened
i was once diagnosed with a terminal illness. that was the start of my midlife crisis. i was then completely undiagnosed on my 39th birthday. a misread x-ray was all it was. i went to decathlon and listened to madonna.
i remember the days after diagnosis. feeling so heavy. feeling like i could forget to breathe. this is called
lonely consequence
maybe we can choose
our consequences
and gain energy as the
days accumulate
have i mentioned my inability to visualise the future?
scared, listless,
unreadily forced to bear witness
a dusken golden moment lighted
a sudden recognition;
that leaden feeling
when they tell you are going to die
is loneliness,
as much of it as you can have.
my on and off girlfriend and i were finally turning the dial fully to off. we were taking active steps to move on. it seemed like that was what we were going to do. i decided i would focus more on my housework. but as usual. the temptation to check in arose.
inconclusive, in conclusion
anyway, that was yesterday,
with that we close the chapter
for now the winter sun flits
over scarecrows, toclips and frosty nips
and it all begins to feel conclusive
but then the things as usual
start to get ambiguous
and once again of the good souls
we must ask forgiveness
and one last thing. this is the last chorus of the first year of my epic, ongoing, poem, the love epochal.
the redemptive final chorus
o wean in a manger,
your chocolate trough
it’s a preposterous amount but
somehow never enough
i have a theory
that love is pain
different but the same
the love epochal. n.n. benn 