Posts Tagged ‘ronit kory’

more poems

April 23, 2013

Some poems from the last half a year or so. read the tags to see what they’re all about 🙂

phone
Replaced Screen

Pry it open
Snap it back
Call the East
To fix a crack

Appease our deep consumer lust
For false, convincing copyright
And reach us with the creeping shadow
Cast by Beijing’s city light



Passenger

Saw a number
On an arm
On a woman
On a bus
In a decade
Whose tired limb
Will remind
The rest of us?



Windows Media Player Time Machine

My dear Nicolas, my sweet Django,
Dress me up in shades of Gipsy.
I’ll be your Gitana, ruffles swirling,
Your lorn Third Reich jazz refugee.



Campaign

We are but a faint rebuttal
As the warlords tightly cuddle,
Hiding clocks with broken gears
To reminisce on fonder years.

Washing us with fruitless vision
Rife with paranoid derision,
Out of instinct, feathers rustle,
Adding to the furious bustle.

Captive spirit once departed,
Rigging games before they’ve started,
Feeble minds clung to division
Clear space for your next incision.



Be Mine, My Other

The slumber stalls
For waves of thoughts
Identities
Haves and have nots.

–Filter me through your sifter
–Bend me like a shape shifter

Twinkling lights and knit hats,
Posh tri-lingual welcome mats



Makers

Did Your skilled hands form us,
Give breath to the stale dust,
Weave tendon and sinew,
Or did we create You?

The holy one
Blessed be He
The only one
Blessed be We



Ode

But Thee I adore
In pureness of spirit
In loathing of doubt
I tremble, I cower
Before Thee,
O, Wonder

To Him that establishes the mountains,
Towering with naive faith.
To Him that compels the tides,
Crashing with baseless conviction.
To Him that commands the winds,
Erratic with blind contradiction.

And I, but a child
Ever longing for a Father
Shall know synaptic clefts
As cleaving to Thy breast



First Degree

Double slanted cross check
Thus the fool regresses,
Wanting the first letters switched
By the triple exes



Logic

A quiet thought quite
A comfort: not always fright
No, dear, not always spite
No, Lord, but
Mercy – dare – love carries
Meek me, meager me, even me.
My shallow, selfish soul grants
Pardon.
So, pardon me, but
How much more, dear,
How much more, must
Any just author of them
Both grant?