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I am as Pure as Romansowy
I am as old as time
Yet people still do
Stick wrong name tag on me
And sing made up song all
None sense for I am still
As steel as steel can be
For I am as old as time
And as pure as romansowy
For I am the ultimate
Dream’s germination
A song-bridge bridging
What is and what if
Becoming and being is
I am London Bridge
Bridging two lovers’
Longing arching arms
Into a rainbow over my spread
I am as old as time
I am as gold as Romeo and Juliet
I am as pure as romansowy
I carry the impossible
I am the possibility that had existed
Long before they built me
I was in the rhythm of his dreams
Later I was drawings and diagrams
Becoming his cardigans in winter
And his light cashmere in spring
And bare-skin sun in the summer
And his soft velvet gold in autumn
And his day’s tea and evening’s coffee
And his day’s sun and night’s moon
I was the river bed carrying the river
Of his expounding conversations
As he carried on adding layers and levels
Into the marrow and bones of my being
I was loved like no other
For no one knew how pure I was
For no one saw what he did in me
Only he did and he knew
I was as pure as romansowy
I was his Daphne and he my wind
I was as pure as romansowy
I was there in love and being loved
Long before I appeared to make my marks
On brown beach sands and dry earth dusts
Followed by white papers with black ink
And oh how he looked at those silly marks
That he had made of me and let me speak to him!
Looking at his eyes! Oh those eyes!
They were being in me and I melted like
The way his designs melted on the hands of craftsmen
And I began to appear as though a magic
A pure magic of a rainbow made of gold-wood
And he knew I was as pure as romansowy
And he left me to the world
To tell the tale and here I am
Still as old as time
Still being his Juliet in love
And as pure as romansowy
Then they built me
In woods nails and paints
Yet I always safely carry the heart
Of him in secrecy of the dark
And in quietetidue of the silence
Him I carry in whose mind
I was as real as his love
I was as sure as his breath
And you can be sure and deposit
Your heart on the southside or the north
I will keep it safe as though it his
The heart of King William
Or Queen Adelaide for I know
What a heart is
For I was his heart
In whose eyes I was
The mythical bee of life and he knew
How to keep me beating and make me cease
And only he knew so well
That I was as pure as romansowy
And he was as diamond as a rainbow
And it is he who I carry over me
Flowing through me he speaks
In a tongue that no one understands
But I who was is and forever be
As pure as romansowy
I still carry the eternal sounds
Of foot prints and footstepts
Of passers by and soldiers
Their carriages and horses
I carry all these histories
Of breakings shapings and reshapings
Of locations dislocations and relocations
As if I am as fluid as his tears
And yet I was as steel as his heart
As solid as his bone marrow
As soft and sublime as his touch
Yet I am as old as time
I am as sure as your breath
I am the rainbow path
Where two lovers’ souls
Walk like two parts of a rainbow over me
Like King William Street
Flowing over me as though
A white river over a black riverbed
Meeting midpoint like heaven and earth
There you go stand and silently listen
And you will know the heart of God’s Universe
Has stopped beating and breathing
And my friends then you sing as you go home:
I am as old as time
I am as pure as romansowy
And you will have taken a miracle home
Sing I am as pure as romansowy
And when you hear of marriages
In the city where law and lawless
Come to play as though a river
Is just only and nothing but mud
And when you hear they spring up
Constructions and deconstructions
Of papers and their wastebaskets
You forget everything and remember
To come hear to breathe
Or to deposit your heart or find it
Or just to come and stand here and stand
At the point in the grid of time and space
Where the heart of the Universe
Stops beating and breathing
And remember the faces of two lovers
On either sides and their raging hearts
And their longing feeding the high tides
Of the river below my body’s reach
And go home singing my friend
I am as old as time
I am as new as time
I am as pure as romansowy
And remember I am more
Than what money can buy
I connect beauty and breath
I am two-pair of hands clasping
Making reality reach further and
Beyond the arrogant city’s grasp
I connect St Paul’s and Southwark Cathedral
Where space reaches God’s silk
I connect heaven to heaven in the
Human grid of time and space
And take you where money’s filth
Never finds its way in or out
Only the city cannot make money off them
Thus they ignore the light and the dark
But you my friends listen here and come here
To get hurt if only to feel the fact that you are alive
For this getting hurt will make you gold
And your Bank of England has not got this gold
For this gold has not been invented by fools
That count papers and kill trees
And die believing they are king makers
And then you go home singing
I am as old as time
I am as pure as romansowy
As I keep the memory of King William
And Queen Adelaide dining over a majestic feast
On my spread under the smiling lights of him
In whose eyes I am still a quivering heart
That still forgets to beat
Seeing his images in the viewlance of memories
And as I keep the heart-beat memory of him beating
In whose I eyes I was the diamond
And still is and forever be
I promise you this
A promise that I will keep
I will take you to the connection-line
Of heaven and earth
Only if you know how to grab and grasp the chance
To just reach out for your beating heart somewhere
Over the bridge graduating with a gold beatless heart
Making a mess in tears and shaping dreams in wet paint
And you reach the mid point and call their name
My dear busy city friend then sing and go home
Sing and go home:
I am as old as time
I am as pure as romansowy
Go Up
Like Tears
On the rolling hills and
hedges of Devon
On the spa of lemons and melons
Where dreams are made of valux windows
And where orchestra of names keep playing
And from where people could post days
Wrapped in ethereal passages pulsating
And that says Paris is not forever
But now, this moment that you are losing
You should have seen them then!
Really you should have seen them then!
And they were wearing the same cardigans
Without knowing for dogs years
You should see them if they knew
This little cardiganesque conundrum!
When Mary from Hong Kong said
Years ago in Greenwich:
I saw you walking in Scotland
In the year in which you were born
You should have seen the way their eyes
Popped out hitting the clouds
As though they had an invite
To attend Kensington Palace
To shake hands with Diana’s ghost
You should have seen the way they recruited
New graduate friends offering them jobs
Of bridesmaid, maid of honour and metron
Best man and this and that
And performer and magician in the weddings
Of their dolls and they carried on floating
The way the sound of the Bells of Shoreditch
Or Bow or Camberwell ring out like smoke
You should have seen how they
Screamed like whales when
Someone said: Don’t!
Don’t read
Don’t drink
Don’t watch
Don’t write
Don’t write poetry
Don’t paint or trace
Don’t aim in the dark
Don’t love
Don’t call
Don’t cry
For immediately they knew
They were all utterly done
Screaming with names of Michael Faraday
And Albert Einstein and so on and forth
You should have seen how their eyes
Left their eye-holes
When they saw village folks
Mucking about in Kensington Green
Eating Avondale ice-cream spoiling the road
And the drunks climbing trees like crabs
And singing to buy players with rubbles
But most of all when Lily told them
That the heaven is nothing but a house
On the hill
That rolls down like tears
That rises high like smoke
That melts like butter
That repeats like knitting
That rolls down like tears
Like tears like tears like tears
You should have seen them then!
You should have seen them then!
Go Up
To Read
the Following Poems Follow the Links
The
Inner Phantom
I
Search for the Myth of Life
Like
a Blown Kiss
Rainbow
Lady
East
Grinstead
Epyllion
Circularity
of Our Understanding
Playing
I do with Words
I’m
no Macbeth
The
Straight Line Theory
Keep
Falling Starlike
Slaves
of None
Through
the Window
In
the End
Theory
of Spin
A
House of Clouds in the Sky
The
Bud Dramatics
Sizzling
To
Read More of Munayem Mayenin's Poetry |
Oh Captain! My Captain!
After the storm the harbour shattered to a disarrayed display
In the aftermath of messed up boats and ships
Smoke and haze and splintered things settle in a mist
The Captain decides to dock himself off
Onto the land of docks and buildings
The sun-rise corner of the city
Cold and clean as broken glass
He wonders on a wet day
Morning marches to afternoon
After the inhaling of memories their red-cell blockages
The evening strolls up spreading like his inner disarrayed dock
The Captain! Oh Captain! On the land of docks and buildings
Nestless he nestles in deep in his netless head
where somewhere in the fulsome city
full arm fully hammered in on the tune
someone drinks coffee
with cigarette burning with a guilt
must quit must I
looks at lilies and stands beneath
the candle of loneliness
wonders off onto a mint green attire
remembers purple
the oven must work well
for fish is being cooked
and that rainbow boat on the beach
knitting patterns on chemical ink on the notes of the beach
beyond reach the song simmers
The Captain! Oh Captain! My Captain!
Hungry cold and cobbled in
The storm and the torn apart ship
The disarrayed dock
Walks in the rain and does not find the will
To force himself to go back to the disarrayed dock
Keeps walking on the land of docks and buildings
He anchors in the phone
Just to hear the voice of a song
Would cost to listen to this tune
Market he thinks makes you pay for all
Even to breath one must pay
Even to leave messages unanswered
Must pay, must you pay
he listens waterfall opens
he listens to his heart on a palm squeezing
jumping upward like a Scottish Salmon
he does not know
whether it was breaking or singing
but he listens to the universe breathing
in a song after the storm
and he wishes to carry on walking
all the way up to Cairngorm Mountain
and tear off the soul of Waterloo Bridge, The Strand
the whole bloody Aldwych and the City
and replant it on a strand of hair of a made up mermaid
Yet he decides instead to feed himself
With fragrance of Starbuck Coffee
Crossing the knots watching busy people
Parking and not parking their thoughts
Hurried tommed dickened harried and horsed they are all
He thinks of the poor souls that the market burnt
With untested medicines for they had been paid
He thinks of the pavement manuscript waiting
He dives in the memory of a call
Inviting spring to have coffee with him
In the blooming summer but it won’t come
Oh no! It would not like to nip the clock out!
Mr Bean speaks Anglo French and dances in Cannes!
Instead the Captain carries on
Now on a borrowed bike
On a land that does not belong to him
For his is the oceans and the dome above them
For his is the seed of lights and the womb of darkness
A a marriage of concave and convex shapes
The map of which does not exists in heads
And he circles the neck, back, front, up and down
Visible and invisible passages and caves
Of the city as though it is a white piece of paper
Where he is writing a poem with the logarithm
Of nautical miles their alpha beta gama theta
Coss and sign and tangent
And the compass and baring
And with the chalk of his bike route
With a necklace of bridges
Westminster
Waterloo
and yet the mint green and purple
and the fish and the lilies
all somehow relates him to King William
yet he is no relation of royalties or raspberries
and bloody BBC is trying to clean the bill
at number ten!
why is Gordon Brown talking about
chinese new year anyway!
this is the year of rat
not the honeybees, dogs or snakes!
Tired docked in his head
The Captain! Oh Captain! Sits on the green
By Waterloo St John’s Church
And his eyes his hole-painted eyes
Out of all things get fixed
On series of circles that meet halfway on top kissing
Almost hissing nothingness into life
Almost like two waves meeting
Curving a zenith of two aqua mountains colliding
Onto the body of space rising and falling
Like butter and words
Like steam and heat
On the façade of the beautiful church
Not one but twenty of them
Why on earth it has to be twenty
He thinks and rises up
tired and tossed but not bent yet
carrying incessant storms now inside him
he carries on his borrowed bike
thinking of nights and days
months and years and their silences
lilies, mint green and purple
cafes and tube stations
the fish being cooked
and his heart on a palm squeezing
and he rises up and jumps
like a Scottish Salmon rising to reach
through and beyond that falling water
as though it will reach the depth of the universe
and get that raging diamond-fire out of the cold
set this bloody city into a raging madness
of merry making, cats purring and neon barking
at the dark sky compounding jasmine into jaguar’s eyes
catesyes fermenting the nights into blooms of non existent flowers
You should have seen how excited they were
And the way they took each stride as though
Walking to achieve the accolade of joining
The impossible: drawing heaven and earth
Together on a simple pencilled line
Go Up
I Give You This
In the end one is always one
Left like salty beach-sand
The sieve with memories
Of waves waters foams passing
In the end there is the one
As it was before bearing
The burden of the image
On the mirage-mirror
In the end as always one
Sings the notes that one
Always did now blending
Bloods bites bonds of dreams
In the end one has to stand
Hole-chested torn-ribbed
Cut-painted silence-stung
Yet one ought not ask why
For in the end regardless of
Whether flowers bloom or
Birds sing or rivers rise or fall
One ought to be the perpetual
Bloom-spring in the eternal cycle
Of seasons of light and dark
Of silence and sounds
In the garden of what if
For this is it, this breath,
In which each lives and dies
This instance is never repeated
And each breath blooms
A country and choreograph
A landscape and language
That otherwise will never be
Never be anything but lost sighs
And without one rising and falling
In response to the touches and calls
Whether they are cuts or bruises
There is always music even in the
Shattered glass-pieces on the road
A sparkling curved illustration over
Glistening black surface of earth
In their atoms in their inner geo-shapes
One ought to pull them together
Each atom calling their own power circle
Gather their elemental pulls and steels
And force the atom-universe come forming
Come rising into an awesome storm
All atoms of all glass-pieces all in one
Now together a transparent silver-fire
Glass-phoenix rising towards the sky
One wing Orpheus other Prometheus
Held on the spine of the symmetry line
One must now thrust the air and flow
Even if a flying cut-kissed Frankenstein
Now a phoenix a glistening awe of magnitude
Over the majesty of spread out nothingness
The monumental thrusting of wings!
Of Orpheus wings ! Of Prometheus wings!
Let the universe cease in awe and tremble
Even in cuts and bruises there is still
This rise and fall this flight and thrill
No room for rooting self pity! None!
Being is the cuts the bruises the wounds
If one fails to grasp it one must go and ask
The earth moon and sun: one must ask
And learn to drink joy like desert sands!
Thus one wing Orpheus other Prometheus
Held on the spine of the symmetry line
One must now thrust the air and flow
Even if blood dripping cut-kissed Frankenstein
Now a phoenix a glistening awe of magnitude
Over the majesty of spread out nothingness
The monumental thrusting of motional notes
Of Orpheus wings! Of Prometheus wings!
Go Up
To Read
the Following Poems Follow the Links
The
Inner Phantom
I
Search for the Myth of Life
Like
a Blown Kiss
Rainbow
Lady
East
Grinstead
Epyllion
Circularity
of Our Understanding
Playing
I do with Words
I’m
no Macbeth
The
Straight Line Theory
Keep
Falling Starlike
Slaves
of None
Through
the Window
In
the End
Theory
of Spin
A
House of Clouds in the Sky
The
Bud Dramatics
Sizzling
To
Read More of Munayem Mayenin's Poetry |