MORE POETRY BY RON
Love So Rare
(for Holly, with homage to Ian Curtis) And so I rise to another
sad day My room in its tired old way Its contents strewn with painful care
Through these moments of life unfair Caring acts of love denied I swallowed
my desperate pride Shaking my bones deep inside Again there is no place
to hide As rasping jaws eat at my heart With you I never know where to
start The first steps are always so hard This love has me falling apart
The awful truth an ax in my mind I wish I were dumb and blind Through the
fear; we will never find This love so rare, it's one of a kind
© August 1996, Reinhard Palovcik
Still Life With Room
The austere stillness of this room Its volume enclosed in four walls
The pressure of my presence Within leaden limbs Fills but a fragment of
its space While a near silence hangs in the air Through walls pass faint
echoes Of cars, children at play A high pitched gusting of wind My mind,
connected from above With perception of moment upon moment Like a brush
is dragged through viscous paint Stroking grey tones on my image of this
room Embedded in the ceiling a ring of light from the room's only lamp
Beneath which furniture sits, quietly in fossilized crevices Amidst the
absence of her breath
© August 1996, Reinhard Palovcik
Clouds
Clouds of visions tumble in myriad cascades Under sleek wings of her
passionate embrace Avalanches rumbling down cragged rock faces Sweeping
climbers from slopes to frozen graves Glaciers shoving mountains, crushing
forests Carving deep canyons filled with sap and blood Fish and seaweed
spiraling skyward from Oceans of foam stirred by typhoon madness Rains
of hail under corona of an eclipsed sun Pelting holes through leaves and
thin tiled roofs Volcanoes spurting umbrellas of white lava Charring our
bed and cities to rubble and ash The Earth exploding to massive asteroid
choirs Islands and meteors hurtling away from gravity lost Until I again
saw her vast landscapes of textured grain Rocking gently to the rhythm
of my breath
© August 1996, Reinhard Palovcik
The MACHINE
Looking UP, we See maSSive StructureS of SkyScraperS as MoNuMeNts BUILdinGs
fiLLed with turninG Gears in a MetropoliS of enSlaved BIOSoulS Steam, Powering
ProceSS, eScapeS from ventS PreSSeS Punch ForM FroM Metal Computer-Brained
mind diRects cuRRent in wiRes controLLing artIfIcIaL, goaL-Seeking proCeSS
Looking DOWN, IT sees ITs body mEcHaNiCal eLEcTRoNIc digiTal THougHTs from
InfInIte lIbrarIes Of Optically stOred media EMotIoNs INgraINed IN chaoTIc
haRD-wiReD AnAlOg nEUrAL nEtwOrks A meLOdiOUS HEART-RenDing Song DODges
BEtwEEN DOpeD aND uNDopeD Silcon cryStalS Life is but iNforMatioN iN space
ON a NoN-lINeaR diffeRentiaL RoLLeR coasteR THrouGH DisTance and Time MOrphing
To frAcTAL TempOrO-spATiAL aTTracTiOn TO CHAOs Some of this INforMatioN
is theN SQUASHED past the iNterdiMeNsioNal Mesh into the likes of YOU and
ME
© July, 1996 Reinhard Palovcik