WordSalad: The Poetry of Luke Prater

And God created Jobs

(The Lord giveth,
the Lord taketh away).

Windows broken, adamant Steve
threw the Apple.

And He saw that it was good.
Really fucking good.

(RIP S.J. Feb 24, 1955 – Oct 5, 2011)

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Dad was a racist cunt.

Not
that I minded the leather-faced bugger,
‘cept when the bigotry became a bludgeon.

From
a different age; his outrage at being thrust
into the midst of multicultural mélange

was audible two doors down.

Dad was a racist cunt.

but
he frowned on the National Front. “Neo-Nasties”,
“Hitler-Spawn” – we fought like buggery till dawn,

till
drawn and shit-knackered, shattered – and we still
can’t squeeze out the despicable spectre.

No,
Dad was for Red Constitution. Working-Man’s-Rights
kind (Brit Whites, mind); Trad Labour scrimp-n’-saver.

Toffs
as bad as the fookin’ Blacks and Pakis. Got yer back,
mate, if you save me a place n’ a pint n’ not a damn

word ’bout Third-World affairs.

Dad, the racist cunt, swims in my ink;

writing,
I hear the Professor’s mantra – Show, don’t tell – soft,
steady, in the ears of this arid mind, wooing monsoon.

Dad
thought he’d taught his son nowt about the merits of
bigotry; resting in rotting plywood a few feet beneath

stunted State turf, he’d shown him The World.

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Hic sum; es ibi.

Si in medio occurremus,
demergam, quia

alas non habeo tui.

basic translation:

I am here; you are there.

If we meet in between,
I drown, because

I do not have your wings.

elaboration:

I am here; you are there.

If we touch in between,
I follow the fate of a
thousand seafaring wraiths:

I do not have your wings.

✩

Wanting to try two things out here – simplicity, and Latin. Which, it turns out, are not mutually exclusive.

Just for interest, the Latin for the more elaborate version looks something like this:

 
 
Hic sum; es ibi

si in medio tangèmus
fatum patiam idolorum
miliorum nautarum, quia

alas non habeo tui.
  
 
Much thanks to poet friend Francesco Vitellini for his help with the Latin.

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geocentric chart

✩

Ptolemy was the foremost proponent of the hypothesis of a Geocentric Universe, where everything revolves around the Earth. (Irrelevantly to this poem, this was shattered by Copernicus/Galileo, much to the Catholic Church’s extreme disapproval).

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.

✩

(Illustration: Etching from Marcus Gheeraerts’ 1567 fable Pride Comes Before a Fall)

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✩
Heavy edit and repost of awful poetry I wrote circa 2008. I hope it has some of the right vitamins in this time.

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loiter the tryst
covet covert lust

lollygag triptych timbre
rehearsal in triplicate

intricate self-discontent
unwilling, yet went

unsent unsoldered
unsold, yet rent; runt

ungiven, yet leant
unforgiven unshriven; grunt -

skyline severs stars from clay
inkyblack clumps, silvery dots

thinkback rotting hay sweats

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unbound

relearning rhythm

white-flagging on an easy exhale
to the viscera-pervading pulse

shutting down grinding gears; cognisance
pushing the canal lock

naked feet stamping the floor: timbre
timbales, tambourine

unwinding, unbinding

unbound

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