Levi Wagenmaker – 5 poems


‘a twitch in time’

two moving fingers of time
roughly translated and doubly brazenly borrowed
Ghiyath al Din Abu’l Fath Umar ibn Ibrahim  al Nisaburi al Khayyami’s
sixtieth quatrain
from the collection of them translated by
Edward Fitzgerald who lazily made their author’s
time-consuming name into Omar Chayyam)
(as well as one for himself)
(apart from indelibly writing)
as twitchers to dislodge
such signs of the time
as in number ever increasing
grey body-hair where sombrely accentuated
by darker spurts and crops of growth
that most men of my generation would shrink
from shaving such areas as
thorax or mons pubis
may well still be sufficiently vain
to want such markers of old age
(before the marked
themselves must follow)


‘not in cheek’

dilemma as a unicorn
a secondary side-effect
of sharing the ample bed
of a woman reticent in relation
to having been diagnosed
with SCS (split corporeality syndrome)
both of them simultaneously urging
extramarital consummation
priority’s duplication
X X marking the (G-)spot
horny dilemma
(lemma Greek for tongue
so perhaps…)

this must be kept tasteful


‘the elder bitch explains’

the invisible deities do not walk
they have no legs nor do they need
limbs of any kind for they are
everywhere at once unseen unheard
with nowhere to go so to speak
they have no mouth they never speak
they did not interfere in the evolution
of inanimate into animate nor do they
bother to interact with what from that
resulted over time they do not see
they do not hear they have no scent
no scent to distinguish them from utter
absence they have no need to smell
they have no fear they are unthreatened
they are unchallenged they are unseen
unheard unnoticed they are safely ignored
they are not dogs they are gods


‘the elder bitch explains more

to walk on two legs cannot be done
with impunity as you may see
in those whose arrogance took half
their feet off the ground and most
of their fur off their misshapen
bodies their hunger is such that
they crave to eat the world and
all its other creatures and have the moon
for afters and if they should ever succeed
they would have nowhere to live but
on the amassed collection of their own excrement
an eventuality for which as all of you here
must have noticed they are practising



tend the fire
seeing into one’s future
ignition (we have lift-off)
yes something like that
the soft bits
(like what helped write this)
will be the better flyers
for the harder bits (not thoughts)
there will be pounding
into ashes  ashes into urns
tend the fire
see how it burns

Levi Wagenmaker is a (re)tired journalist, living the low-life in the Netherlands’ flat mountains for most of the year, and a little higher up down in the French Creuse department (Limousin), for some of it, with three bitches, one of whom a woman, and a younger male, something of a dog also. Fingers stiffer than his upper lip, he writes poetry in English, one of the languages acquired in his younger years, and best suited to his urges in that respect. His poems have been published on the internet more than in print, and Google (Yahoo, Bing, whatever) will reveal what, where, and when.

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