Peter Black Poems
The Natural World
This human world is fixed with chains and locks. Children are told with their arms and legs clasped, 'Do not think of what is not sold or bought.' As they are led from closed box to hot box,
It is contrary to your station Get on the floor Slave master is going to chord you hit you up blood, put your head in a hole,
I have a good friend called The Beetle. We are true companions And passionate lovers Of the night and silence,
Tithonus And Fallacia
Introduction In an old cabin hidden by the woods, Made with care, and each board placed securely,
Cherry roses and sweet things your hopes up, Are in the sight of eyes that split the light, Make new colors, stones for a diadem. Spectrum bursts, your eyes such colors contain
Perfection is but a human conceit Impossible, though constantly placed Like salt upon all things we eat To be judged bland, good, always in need.
Burn it to the ground Any structure or house And stamp the bones and ash to feed the grass, Raze the fields that rise in sweat and blood
I set controls to starboard, Move at a steady clip and pace Around the corner, And make my way
The Clean Life
In terms of life, at first sight people seem Like ants: move sand, dig holes, walk in line; But we make far worse a society; Even I smoke holes through my lungs and throat,
Counting the days which were thought, To be something better, bringing a change Simple as a close and kind face, To see not with eyes; but the heart
Regret the losses thrown in wind as sand, passes all the pain from refused lips and hands, But when I walk upon the black grout stones, Down side roads, off the main, drone
Out In The World
As a kid I searched the sky for lost gods; Drew marks on my arms for the demons to cut, Wishing that I had a different face, Changing my fate living in a different place:
The Next Day
I find myself living for the next day To get to tomorrow, fall asleep, awake, To find myself hoping for a new day, To bring about a sudden switch and change;
Picking up butts, I will not kick this addiction— Handed a pamphlet with the strangest fiction: Says god loves you if he's in your heart.
What is this, this love it stinks
Of a long forgotten nether region
Which now bears the salty brunt,
Smelling of redundant seas.
O, Lord, I see
The heart shaped pulse
Beneath her burning breast
Which so longing tempts me.