Venice 09. dark poetry.

Floating body over sunken city

[Variation on an old stereotype: Venice the dark lady.]

dAn november 09 Venice

Venice is going down

but I only hear her

silence and the slightly

nauseating smell of dark waters

& confused behind masks

the last tolls of a hundred

bells are maybe just cries

of millions of seagulls fighting

over

the dead floating body

surrounded by blinking garbage

and soft weeds

& confused behind masks

there is no air there is no

space

and a floating body might

just be another dark hole

to see the star spotted night

of one's inner retina

& confused behind masks

one cannot see the

seagull-bell and her closing

in

floating in dark smelly waters

were last blurbs shatter

the moving surface

& there is no air

(c) Daniel Graziadei 2009

Words out of heart's ache

dAn 0133301208 @home

Whenever I see the news

flashes and whenever I hear the latest death

tolls I hear this war War WAR! deep in my ears

And whenever I hear our white collar red and blue

tie kind of guys talking about not talking but bombing

some so-called terrorists back into stone ages I think of Hitler

and that faked attack by German special troops in some Polish

costumes. And again I hear war War WAR! deep in my bloody head

So when twin towers crumble and red busses explode and morning trains

and subways and hotels and warships and cars and persons and discoteques blow to pieces...

I hear this haunting refrain

and it's rhythm doesn't fit

to the cycle of my blood pumping

one love, ONE LOVE, 1 LUV

And now that the bombs fall

again and the mortars and the missiles kill

again and now that the industry of armament is grinning

its big big biz and winner's smile again

Now that the kids are screaming

with the jets and bombs

Now that the kids are bleeding

with the city, land and scape

Now that the hate is pressure rising

again and every one has his opinion and her side

a flag, a song, a demonstration

Now I hear the screams of ancient furies

on news flashes and roof tops everywhere on every tide

But I do not surrender my pulse

And I will not surrender my rhythm

And I do not surrender one love

And I will keep and tender white dove

And I do not take sides

And I will never deal hides

And I do not

And I kill not

stop

Actually

I should silence myself

Better it would be and easy and free

(no friends I would lose on both sides of this bloodied river and its ready-to-throw silt)

I should silence myself - some say -

due to historical reasons and guilt

(Colonialism, Nazism and all that killing spree)

I could silence myself

but alas, what a silencer that would be on my poetical head

I could silence myself

but my ass, what a headshot that would be on my poetical dread

So speak I must

So write I must

hitting dust

between frontiers

impaled

on that forbidden wall

that Banksy coloured (the way I would too)

so let's end this rhyme 'n' stand silent, stand tall

You

who have the tanks and the jets and the might and the right

friends overseas and this everglooming historical plight

from Egyptian times to this very night

you could read your scriptures:

One I for an I

You

who have scorn and have zeal and have spittle

just to drown the other side and an ideal of world union

How about a little peace on your own side

instead of all that cutting and whittle

Hostages of splinters and fractions

you could read your scriptures:

You were not created to bombing die

You

both of you!

Unconditional love for the same land

unconditional love for the same God

how come you learned to hate your brethren?

You

both of you!

Cutting your men the same way

cutting your meat the same way

how come you learned to butcher your sistren?

You, both of you!

Shame on your war-mongers

your weapon traders

your killers

Shame on you

for not caring enough

for your children to raise

lambs instead of an army

For not trying hard and tough

to share that land that you love

in peace and harmony

Shame on you

for oh easily falling

for such bloody bait

as fury and

hate

You will say

I am an infidel

both of you

You will say

I am an ignorant

both of you

You will say

and you will sway

and find excuses

But all over the world

word has it

that your conflict

might just be

the ultimate key

to peace

So don't

tell me

not to

care

(don't

tell me

not to

dare)

We have already overcome

Instead of sleeping
waiting
instead of dreaming
reading
instead of rest
foreign politricks at it's best

And I am not waiting for the call
as the hope instilled
and the chain undone
is all I longed for

I cannot vote and
the fate of
this inter
national
change
is like warplanes
screeching
over my dreads

I cannot hide
and I cannot
help

But nonetheless
this hope instilled
I bless

We have already overcome

"Vienna Night Walk"



dAn 0156051108 MUC

Island spotting on my mind

Rain is falling and
a swift breeze rises
German summer seems
over and my heart goes out
to the Caribbean
and the places I touched
a year ago
Soft sand between eager toe
and the coral blue reflecting
in my glistering eyes
whilst behind my uplifted dreads
the green green jungle
roars waiting for the first
smoke to rise
So he can come
down on
me

Grey clouds are stalling and
a cold wind surprises
German summer deems
to be over and my voice goes out
whilst dreaming the Caribbean
and the islands watched
on that mindmap aglow
Soft sand will change for snow
and the coral blue expecting
is just a shadow in my eyes
whilst in everchanging beds
I quench my haunting thirst
for the hummingbird's cries
So I n I pray come
down on
me

dAn 1742200808 Forstenried

No Poem [for three voices]

dAn 1548050508 Forstenried

I should write about Sex

but I think its rhymes make me flex

I should write about Drugs

but all is drinks and mugs and hugs

I should write quite right

but the wind of change blows a different kite

Ssht! Hide!

A, a-a, a-a-a, ey! What you tink you mumblin?

No poem to cheat

No poem for sheep

No poem in cheap

No poem to weep

A, a-a, a-a-a-a, ey!

Under plastic palms white whales do lie

under blueblue sky lonely gull no cry

This is not the magic island of thy dreams

this is not holy earth under sun's beams

this is just a stone in a sea of rocks

this is just one broad back of bloody flocks

A, a-a, speak up, come, say!

This ain't all bright and nice

hehe mister music give out some spice

This is to fight up twice

hey mister government take me advice

This is bad street and mice

stand up mister lazar shake off those lice

This ain't all right six dice

hehe mister gambler tell me your price

A, a-a, na-na-na-na, stop!

Thrice seems suffice

Under plastic palms I stare at bigbig bills

under blueblue sky not a cloud on the hills

This is not the magic island of my dreams

this is not the only earth under glory's beams

It is about one hole in the blue

but it is just a story for you

Get down knave, kneel pray!

No verse sound sleep

No poem short sleep

No poem dreams deep

No poem to peep

A, a-a, a-a-a, ey!

I know I should rant about Sex

but I think its rhymes make me flex

I grow I should rant about Drugs

but all is drinks and puke and jugs

But man, believe! I DO rant

and a little seed I will plant

A, a-a, a-a-a, ey!

Plant it deep

let water weep

let nature feed

plant it deep

Under plastic palms lies big economy

whilst under blueblue sky this ecolony

is not the magic island of thy dreams

but a nightmare of ¡oh so cruel! extremes

Ey!

One poem in deep

One poem to keep

One poem to repeat

One poem to read

out aloud and sing and shout

but only full of hope

Only full of hope

Hey, tell it, man, finally tell it!

Better than a plastic Eden

and longlong legs from Sweden

is the sweetsweet kiss of brutal reality

on this planetary island in rural universe and duality

Yey!

(c) dAn 2008

Thank you Mister Right Wing

Your Iraq spells Vietnam

and all the books of history

yes all your films and veterans

in vain

The cry of sanity and peace

in blue wide grinning sky

when spring 2003 killed hope

‘cause April blossom carried arms

and bombs and devastation

Quiet!

Your Iraq smells Vietnam

no luck no peace no victory

but fresh hot oil in cheaper cans

In pains

the beast howls off the leash

Killed in vain

so many thousands have gone by

bullets, bombs, starvation, rope

and desert air is shrill alarms

All wrong and war’s dictation

Silence!

Your Iraq bells Vietnam

one sound so far from glory

that creeping through all media runs

in shame

and takes what it can seize

Grilled in vain

on shiny reason’s tight knit tie

high on proper propaganda dope

and monger’s warring charms

What helpless desperation

Listen!

Your Iraq tells Vietnam

A tale so dark and hoary

that overspills all borders and all clans

in chains

of unknown brutal Western breeze

Milled their reign

in bloody sands that’ll never dry

but crackling creep from slope to slope

No oasis lives without grieved harms

and protest and resistance eat frustration

Mind!

Your Iraq hells Vietnam

Hush, hush!

Lago Atitlán

Lago Atitlán

evening 100807 at the lakeside

Clouds are painting in the sky

and down on earth

little waves wash swash slash onto shores

a slight little breeze comes to greet

with the beat of the lake

„Hello stranger

I am Atitlán

and my real name will not be

told. Sunken am I

from heights unseen

by human eye

Yes, I touched the deepest sky

once, when I was high

but sunken have I

and instead of dry desolation

I took water's life and consolation

Now all the peaks around me

are humble

as they saw and know that

they can fall and stumble

just like me

and be

a lake

.

Book of life

Book of falling pages I will have to leave you soon

Book of fewest rages I will have to shut you soon

Book of many stages life is on my moon

book of many ages there is always room

for yet another story yet another time

yet another glory and another rhyme

No place to worry one place to chime

with no other hurry than the body of mine

gives me takes me leaves me is and is to be

yes wanna be and gonna be free to see

what there is and what there might just be

between here, there and me

traveling right through the middle and the place to be

is here and on sea sides where turtle slides

back into shallow water and on mountain peaks where the Rasta resides

and the maroon once again hides

as life is a circle and me just in it a bicycle rides.

Please go out and sing it. Yes do trim it.

Sing it just the way it is. Bring it to the stage of your choice

don’t you lower your voice,

it is beautiful to hear on this open and clear beach,

this high mountain peak and some other places in reach.

Bleach your so called civilization,

it is just a bad imagination

and lifetimes of propaganda in full frustration.

This is one occasion to change to another radio station

and tune in with softer spots, big green dots of life.

Strive to be with the powers that made you.

Don’t sniff the big cities glue

just get another hue

of green bless and do

nature, the earth do caress!

dAn1725060707 Ocho Rios, JAM

unHOLY WARs

[inspired by Kingdom of Heaven and jaded by everyday's news]

dAn0257120307

Dust and sand and wind

but no water

Dust and sand and wind

but no green

Dust and sand and wind

but no flower

when the war started.

When eager to cross swords

both spat insulting words

the dust did not stop

to cover every inch

the sand did not move

but made them flinch

the wind never died down

the earth lay bare and brown.

And no water arose from the rocks

and no green covered the hills

and no flower blossomed

when all was smeared

with red disgrace.

When all was smeared

- hand, hair and face -

with the red of fratricide

the red of a killing case

red unwise

in-colour

off-colour

palliation

for

repeating

dissolution

Same ol' bitch-mess wrong

Right on.

Give me that bitch-mess shit.

Yes, the whole choking bit.

I tried to hide.

I tried to get by, slide.

But now I'm standing right here

But now I'm standing right there.

In the middle of Babylon.

In the heart of Buyingdom.

In the middle of little shacks

golden shimmering stacks

loud singing packs

Little angels with horrifying cheeks

staring happily for weeks n weeks.

What a mess. Ou bitch!

suddenly I am part of a heaven gone kitsch

or is it crazy paranoia of some old witch?

Am I sharing the navel of a world gone rich?

Ou bitch!

Of a world in a hurry in a flurry?

with too lil spice and too lil curry?

Ou mess!

A world rather sweetened

a world overseasoned?

Ou bitch!
It is always the same short quicky

at the end of yet another year

gone tricky

gone on the fast lane?

Yes, it is all the waiting who's to blame.

Ou bitch! Ou mess!

Could you please pass some time?

I shout it out!

Could you please pass some time?

-

Next to me: a wonderful dark angel

is freezing is waiting is thoughtful is looking

and I try to imagine how waiting would feel like

Waiting for her in the double sense of meaning

waiting in any case

waiting instead of living

waiting as substance and base

waiting and giving

giving in

to bitch-mess time.

But alas!

All humanity seems to be waiting no matter from where

no matter if you care

no matter when

big clock Big Ben

It is I who stands here yet there

and while asking why thoughts are going by

people keep strolling and memories floating

byebye bye!

Black stained ink is waiting to dry

for eyes to fly

for a dove to spy

for a child to cry

without any reason

in this

blessed best rest crest ever season.

But rewind and cum again!

Could you please pass some time?

Together – alone – forever??!

Ou bitch! Ou mess!

What a wrong!

Ou bitch! Ou mess!

Tribute to Miss Lou

Island of laughter

[Tribute to Miss Lou¹ 1919-2006]

dAn1533081206

I heard that once there was an island

full of hope, good people and laughter

they worked hard, sweat, smiled and sang.

Poverty and bad politricks kept people down

but you gave them all superiority and highness they needed.

Yes, they say you were the unquestioned queen of that island

showing them the dignity of their doing with a smile and a joke and a laughter.

They say you laughed and cheered in good mood till the end.

From the forties to the new millennium

your rhymez worked its magic

whenever an audience was present

and your voice was allowed to speak out.

How would I love to hear and see you perform!

But no, I am too late.

Yes, too late.

I noticed you too late.

The hint I got is (c)old.

Only a grave I can visit

only a flower I can send

wrapped in cheap paper

and some lines scribbled on it.

And the lines go like this:

All a dem poets

all a dem singer

all a dem rasta

all a dem tella

tell a dem story

bout you

All a dem poems

all a dem songs

all a dem chants

all a dem rants

tell of you glory

Miss Lou

All a dem uman

all a dem man

all a dem children

sing in praise

hands all raise

chants of grace

riddim an pace

to you

All a dem people

all a dem tellies

all a dem stations

all a dem nations

still in praise

of you

Miss Lou

And with a likkle dancehallstyle

and a likkle ranting time

I say hello and goodbye to you

queen of the Island, Miss Lou.

1 Louise Bennet-Coverly was the first Jamaican poet performing and writing in patois and thereby giving rise to the fecund oral poetry from Jamaica to Black Britain, Canada and many other places where a Caribbean community has found new roots.

Please read the instruction leaflet

Modern world's stupidity [date of expiry: 0000]

dAn1305031206
(yet another shit-house idea)

This poem is HOT
do shake it NOT
please do HANDLE WITH CARE
do NOT use as underwear
do NOT reheat in a microwave
do NOT cut or shave
do NOT try to white-wash
do NOT hurry and rush
do NOT drink it fast
please do LET IT LAST
please do give it breathing SPACE
please do bow in GRACE
please do give it LIGHT
do NOT paint it white
please do LISTEN CAREFULLY
do NOT gasp and stare dully
please do PAY ATTENTION
please do FUCK CONVENTION
do NOT try to criminalize it
do NOT mute or materialize it
please TAKE PRECAUTIONS
do NOT clean with baby lotions
This poem might just CHANGE your life
please do SHOUT it out, perform it LIVE
please do give ACCESS to your inner sanctum
do NOT use to clean your Highness' rectum
as this poem is that HOT
so I repeat do NOT
do NOT consume it lightly
do NOT smoke it highly
do NOT abuse it
please do USE it
as this poem is too HOT
for stupidity, is it NOT?!

Riddim n Rhyme

What a Time
when Riddim n Rhyme
fuse to confuse
use to abuse
alladem shoes
n let em dance
right into trance

No visitors

I watched yesterday
n di nite b4
I clicked like a rabbit
n it bcame a nasty habit
but no chance
no change
no dance
no range
there was all alone
written on a page of stone
di same ol ZEEERROOOOOO
tellin U fi sure
that no soul spoilt or pure
came 2 read me words...
So I n I decided it is time fi swords.
I jus put down a few of dem key words
of search n destroy,
smoke out of holes
n torture in unknown jails
2 mek sure unwanted visitors come
n rejoice in finding nothing
but a lil white rasta
eating vegan pasta



;)

It's time 4 pictures

Pictures

from the last performance
in Ravensburg(GER)




dAn on the left with Marius Putenquark speaking.



dAn reading some prose to the audience in Ravensburg.

Starting from the bottomline

It is time
fi some rhyme!?

Hello and welcome to 'It's time 4 dAn'!

Please feel nice and comfi, leave your shoes outside and your surfgear too, come in and be @ home. I am starting this blog for a few reasons:

1. U know, it's time 4 dAn
2. I will be in Latin America @ the beginning of 2007 and be a tourist with typewriter
   
3. Poetry needs to be on the net

Yep, these R the reasons. And... if U C it as a coincidence that I start this blog on a special day, think again, or send Ur virus to the next ballot machine.

But now is no time for politricks.
Time 4 dAn
Nice 3 poetry
Time 2 start
Time 1 time

Man
can
.

Woman
U can
.

Together
way better
.

Nice sunny weather
write a peaceful letter
.

Time for some
Time for one
.

Love
...