19980928

Just Imagine, My Son

28 Sept 1998 




Just im a gine the sun 
Foll ow ing the ri ver
It sens es the life
Co ming out of the u ni verse.

What a lie I have told you,
My son, I do not know
What the sun sens es.

Just im a gine that it
Is there for you,
Be cause it is,
Why else would you know It?

Son, I love you.
I watched you feed by your moth er‘s breast.
You suc kled and you wept.
You lov ed your mother
And I lov ed her through you.

Just i mag ine
What it was like,
My son.
You now hold your fish ing pole
And yet you do not wish to catch
Be cause you have your father.
Your hook has not been checked for an hour
Or so
And you smile to your old-man
And a tear goes out of you
Like some squeez ed fruit.
Son, love your mother.
Love her boos em.
Love her.
Love life.

Call her, your mo ther, and then
Call your wife;
Call your sis ter,
Call your daugh ter,
Catt your vir gin moth er Ma ry,
And call your mis tress;
Call Kali
Call Sha Di Yah

Just im ag ine the sun,
If you would, my son,
Be cause I love you
And that is All that mat ters to me now,

And son, re mem ber the wo men, too.
The sun, they can al so see.






© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOMK Arts 1998
© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 - 2017
20170624 -ABN

19980925

Like Water

25 September 1998


At the beach 
In the sand
On the water
By the boat
Near the river
To the sea
We floated our souls

When the buoy sinks
At the shore
Near The castle
The greatest leisure
The kindest feature
The able brow
The bloody cloud
The sable coat
The moat
We continued our trek

Your‘s is the seed
Mine is the tandoor oven
The bread is sweet
See The shoal
See The shell
See The reams of fabric
Test the waters with your toes
My love
My love
My goodness‘s
Your goodness reflects
The creature's corral
The gold
On silver
ls nice
In nether words
The chosen few
Manipulate
The waters

In the beach
By the lake
In The sand
On The floor
I'll be your man
I‘ll do what I can
I'll reap the belly
Of you, laughing woman.



© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOM-K Arts 1998
© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 - 2017
20170624 -ABN



19980922

The Yellow Poem

22 September 1998


Yellow, a color not to be messed with,
Begins somewhere over there
Past the water and beyond the breeze
That blows the sand into the faces
Of children and adults
Camping and playing drums
In their minds
In their minds
In their minds.

Yellow is lodged in between
Red and Green
And people seldom obey its
Warning
Instead they speed up their pursuits
Afraid of Red
And missing Green
Missing Green
Missing Green
Missing Green.

Yellow is piss to people
It gets the attention,
But it gets nothing else.

© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOM-K Arts 1998
© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 - 2017
20170723 -ABN


19980910

E... A... R... S... .

10 Sept 1998


When Bill, The Bastard, ate bread
The rocky shore became
A brick thrown from the sea

Special munitions were launched
in fever of The Queen's knickers

Not sure when to Jump
Not sure when to hide
Colliding with The sea
And seagulls came resting together
in from of the heather

Resting seams like Bill
After getting it old and ill
And hilly
Like water-flies
The kind gentle water-flies
That rest upon your eyes
Water-flies

Crabs that catch the sun
in claws worn from Bill‘s hands
The Bastard lands another blow
Left up the neck and down
His crow
Like a brow
For an eye to meet
The sweet smell of success‘
Shorts
Sports
Ports
Port-wine
Have a good time in the rain,
Bill,
You comma-nist.

Subconscious jerking The shore
Again the planes dodge radar
To crash into the sun
That the crabs were holding by the ears
E... A... R... S...

Spoken from the plumage of the rummy hand.



© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOM-K Arts 1998
© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 - 2017
20170626 -ABN