Nominative and Accusative

NOMINATIVE AND ACCUSATIVE

Steel spire cross structure 
Pliable, malleable cushions.
Night time flowchart arrow 
Pointed into and out
Of the circulating ego 
Of nomenclatura. 
I, me, someone, a person. 
Rusting nails that own the obese 
Cylindrical gravedigging, roboticised 
Telescopic end of the night, 
End of the end, journey to no end. 
As if a soul danced. 
As if the mind had strings. 
As if a man is just 
A devoid puppetshow 
Scrawled onto a pinhead I. 

WEMBLEY STADIUM 

In a green memory I remember 
Johann Cruyff, the last footballer 
Was the inheritor of total football.

In a lost sense a flying Dutchman
Yes he’s no time server
As he sprints for freedom

Onto the final touchline
There’s a word for it, liberty.
There’s a flag there, perfection.

There’s even a sword there
Splitting the flanks
Of the Scheldt basin

Carving a kind of passion
From the rebound, from the thousand
Knights amazed at the crazy

Header that’s finally lifted the cup.
Everyone’s on their feet
As the fatal note, an atonal plank

On board the Dutchman’s ghost ship
Replete with the harmonious Cruyff
In search of dry land or a narrow inlet

Or practically anywhere.
To find lost love
In the odium of final victory.

THRONES 

1.Landing 

Alien teapot caught

Against a Martian landscape

Predicts after the battle

An astronaut will inherit

Thrones of the solar system

Eventual dis-memberment by tree-like

Organisms on the planet Neptune .


2.Implementation of alien devices

In the central crater Cawdor

Astronaut and wife at rest

Devise a plan to lure

Interplanetary experts to utter doom.

By a crack in the solar panel

An icy dagger presses against

Refracted Martian sunlight.


3.Mr Death at crater 1001

Appears with unsung retinue

By the gates the gatekeeper

Is blasted by cosmic wind

Under an unending sun

Lit by dying stars

In a tubular galaxy far from home

To encounter death, Mr Death.


4.Conquest of sunken deserts

In the pitch black night

The sunken deserts, shrill winds

Endless lights on windless nights

An army of pure cosmic will

Gorges the surface of the planet

Disembodied worms and stark

Unbearable microbes inherit

A monocellular destiny.


UNDER THE ROSES 

du solltest etwas tun 

For ten years the red roses 
Are a fascinated haze against 
The miasma of ambers, ochres, flames 
That faze into each new day. 

Feel the superabundant eternal dance. 
Wake to meet a million emotions. 
Even if the light betrayed you 
Even if the thorns of the red roses 

Sometimes draw a little blood. 
We beat back the harmful, insolent 
Soil but the thorn always returns 
Seem to insist we need them. 

pauL murphY