Snuif Snert

Snert snert en nog eens snert;
snuif de muur van Weemoed op,
gillende muren, murmelende muren,
lyrische plee, erudiete deuren.

Onze dandy is manisch,
vervallen Amish
die de verleiding niet kon weerstaan,
drinkt, rookt, vloekt en neukt,
kwetst zijn borst met soepstengels,
naar de beat van trippel schuld,
(drie machtige lasten),
schildert groene graffiti
met ranzige kwasten.

Zaadjes op de zadeltjes,
een beker vol lol,
onze coryfee aapt Brel na.
Zonder liefde warme liefde
R vindt het maar zo.

Het spraakballonetje raakt de tijd aan,
plakt zinnen op een vervaagd drieluik.
Puin en gist en de stem van de heilige klacht,
tattoo’s op het plafond,
Puy linzen en peuken op de grond.

R spreekt wijsheden en bluf,
zaait en zwaait met zijn gelovige slurf.
Hij krast de stenen,
gooit klinkers op hun koppen,
plukt moppen uit vuil water.
Onze dandy begint door te draaien

R maakt danspassen,
R, met zijn dikke polsen, abdijbier in zijn hand,
R, manisch positief,
R, doorweekt in Corsendonk.
Hij plast in zijn broek.

Alléeee, alléeee!!
Hier komt Corrie de fee!
Haar vette vieze varkens
bewaken de WC.
Appellation Controlée.

Pocket Poisoner

Hairy Spoorlaan, you are wide and wet,
a sticky tongue rolled out
to swallow devils
and angels alike.

When words and moods come bawling
at me like toys hurled in tantrums,
you, tantric partner, whisper from a tunnel
“The enjoyment of life covers many things.”

You, Spoorlaan, smoking ribbon,
demon, the scales on your tail flashing
in traffic lightning,
you won’t eat or drink more than you really need to,
maybe a little dracula coffee,
a bijou bun or perhaps a portion of quirks.

Rail Boulevard, the city hangs on your howls,
and welcomes your comic zombies, who,
when the pigeons have scattered
like glass shards into dusty corners,
julienne themselves on bike frames.

Spoorlaan spell, drag the prey to beds,
make tea in concrete pots
and recite your curses,
while the actors stitch their parts together
with sausage casings,
because you see, aaaarrrrrrrggggghhhh,
monster pockets cause special effects.

Kirk Pram


12 long years have not broken him.
Exiled in a battle poem, wiping mud and blood from his knees,
he creeps like a puddle of cream,
advances on your magnetic north.

Every word he utters makes a dog bark
and the images trickle out of his head.

His eyes are half-shut as he paints his name in palest blue
on the door of the guilt enclosure.

Floating on a river of lava he doesn’t singe, just sweats
till at an opportune moment
he swerves to avoid the dark side, falls
into a warm salty bath
and gently washes off his erudite tattoos

Zen

do not confuse
sandals
with scandals
when attempting
to buy the former

do not rub your hands
with glee
when you think
you are disseminating
scandals
but are actually
throwing sandals
about

but if the subject
of your scurrilous gossip
is committing
unspeakable acts
with Birkenstocks
then it's ok

Snowball in my face - Dream 4

Standing on a balcony overlooking a courtyard
in which people are standing
in groups of two or three. It is snowing.
I am with…who? Can’t remember who. Friends
or family. I pick up a snowball and toss it
at someone down below
whom I know.
I miss and so try another throw.
The snowball hits a man squarely in the mush. I step back
from the balcony, cringing
with embarrassment. Then
I return
to the balcony
with my hands in front of my face
in a gesture
of supplication
as if
to say
“Sorry sorry please forgive me.”
I seem to feel that these
gestures are useless
so I shout down “You can have
a free shot at my face. How’s that?”
I scoot off down to the courtyard.
The man takes aim and chucks his snowball straight into my face.
I make an exaggerated backward fall as if I’ve been shot.

Aloud

She bent down and read a poem from the sole of her boot
as if scraping off dog shit.

The verse
was ethereal
layered
and pungent.

The audience were both
insulted
and in thrall to her ability
to balance on one leg.

When she was done with reading
she stamped her feet
making dust rise a little way
out of the boards
then fall.