Biography of Mark Pollins
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Mark Pollins's Works:
Mark Pollins Poems
Palestine Children's Rhyme
I was hit in the head by the truth one day Ever since the incident I've crawled this way So stick their legs, arms, hearts in plaster Tell me lies about Palestine
Ain't no waltz without a mindless war Ain't no graceful dive of the saxophone without heartless bloodshed Ain't no democracy without the tyranny of the mob Ain't no love without sex
Jumping, sliding along a blue rail, The crow seems at home next to the half-eaten somethings On plates, in the open-air restaurant. Another one, cheekier than the first, lands
Twelve Haiku Poems
pleasing November sun the porters rush in and out I rest my legs on a bench
Here I sit, wordless, Marooned, forgotten. I let my feelings float along with the music: Oud & guitar.
Here And There In The Land Of Israel, Wi...
In the trendy Jazz club, in Tel-Aviv, In the warm kiss of two properly-brought up teenagers, On the waves of the loud music emanating from the fast, safe cars on highways, Out in the cool night air, caressing the neatly carved kibbutz fields,
From Within The Unlit Fridge
If I were asked to name a god, I'd invent one for chocolate.
Breaking Of Certainties
At the time of breaking of certainties, When my eyes express absolute truisms, Shelley’s Wild West Wind seems chilling On such a hot sweltering day.
While Taking A Bite Of My Sloppy Felafel...
while taking a bite of my sloppy felafel pita while wiping the windscreen-wipers of my new car while lying on the beach in the hot, hot sun while reading all the right articles in the right paper
I'm so free, it hurts; I'm so free, it's useless.
Having Fun At The New Mall
I cling to the handle of the heavy fire-door that keeps the new mall safe from fire. The hefty push down helps push you one further step
The Boys Are Rocking Tonight
The boys are rocking tonight, There’s a bonfire they have lit, Little girls - clutching eachothers tiny hands - Are dancing around the orange flames.
Sanity Has Lost Its Mind
Head on the pillow. Head on the floor. Head under the ground.
I still blame my incompetence for my father’s death. Is it four poundings to the heart, then six breaths into the misshapen mouth? Should I get a note-book out and notch up each breath? What a mess. I informed the operator in a matter-of-fact manner: “If the ambulance doesn’t arrive soon, they won’t have any reason to come.” Mad dog barking, snarling; while my mother was led off to the bed-room to spare her the last lifeless attempts. But me, I was cool, as if preparing to go out and see a film. It was Friday night, we had to arrange for two Muslims* to remove my father’s body… “unless you’d rather it stayed here until Saturday night”, offered the ambulance driver. The last time my father left our home he was naked, covered by two thick blankets which acted as a stretcher. The two Arabs carried the body out to a big van; they nearly banged it on the back doors. I said, “Be careful with his head”, not fully understanding the implications of the sentence.
I still blame my incompetence for my father’s death. Is it four poundings to the heart, then six breaths into the misshapen mouth? Should I get a note-book out and notch up each breath? What a mess. I informed the operator in a matter-of-fact manner: “If the ambulance doesn’t arrive soon, they won’t have any reason to come.” Mad dog barking, s