Here follows the content of the broken blog
chaosmatters in one big post.

This is for the archives...

The original is here


[5/4/2003 3:40:52 AM | nicholas alexander]
Limp Justice

Just before she came down with her dogs
to the village

Her crown fell from the roof of her landrover
and laughter was heard in the court

A congressional hearing was interrupted by storms
soothsaying by idiots mattered more

Predictions upturned handfuls of grain
as hordes of Hugh Grant lookalikes,
Neutered by angels,
were stopped before the tracks were laid

The chair
strikes the ground like a gavel

The chair
strikes the ground again


[edit]

[4/22/2003 6:02:56 PM | nicholas alexander]

Slipstream


In the context of our reality, do we form attitudes due to the force of personality or the effect of our deeds? Or is personality formed due to the attitudes we carry, the contexts through which we compress communication, the circumstances we find ourselves in?


The economics of friction and need that exist between increasing numbers of others forces the issue in an expodential curse; the push and pull of economics results in decisions; decisions form direction and events that define and shape the personality. These sharpened angles and well worn curves in the outer self dictates to the inner self what it shall think. Yin and Yang symbolizes the exchange or currency of living.


As breath defines form, expression burrows out an existence within the confines of hope. Caught in the verse of passing moments, the slipstream of current; what others may or may not do; each one of us remains and is still. The universe passes us. We are the light in the projector, and the world is but a film. As each frame passes the aperture and lens, we remain locked in the capsule of our opinion to examine the grand detail.


We all watch the clouds pass overhead even when in motion. The movement of the cloud travels with us as the cloud does. The stars are more effective for navigation. Despite moving millions of miles an hour away from us and each other they are so far away that for many years we may see little change.


We define the reality we share, but a greater challenge is the definition of our own interior.


23/04/2003 12:55

[edit]

[4/18/2003 4:38:09 PM | nicholas alexander]
Horror poem

Cutting the final edges
from the form

Loose change dangles
dignity forlorn

Stake in heart bleeds
life away

the blade drains the
soul breath away

Angels pass overhead and branches shake
out lies

The blade sinks in
and his victim dies

submitted to sffworld.com

[edit]

[4/8/2003 12:42:58 PM | nicholas alexander]


her love



there was a funny way she held her mouth

thus



and she said the very first thing that

struck her



the first thing to enter her head



thirsty soul hungry for love

but had to go



early departure

always a shame

what could been after

never again



falling from the sky like a leaf

better than staking out

the guilty



nonsense takes us

from life in which It made us



Every story has its final

Page.



Can't always see the sense

in what happens there



people cut off mid sentence

or fighting twisted up hair

laughter can't be contained

between the closeness of

her lips as she welcomes

a final drift from consciousness

a release from pain grief and despair



floating now above

free to express

her love

all the suggestions

left out in front

on the lawn

for all to see



10:59am

7 April 2003



[edit]

[3/21/2003 8:37:58 PM | nicholas alexander]

chaos matters


The wall fell down
the words fell down
the Walls fell down


the Word fell


Child picked up the pieces
stuck them together along
broken edges draws
narrow conclusions


his father's last words
fight to the death, son
honour your father
with the destruction
of our enemies
the ground is too full of our dead
our ground shall hold the blood
of the hordes of hell


Son, you may choose to live
in universities, become a doctor or a thief
but one thing is sound, and thats your belief
that anything against the Word
is evil


believe the world is but an illusion
to mask our delusion
like a game


you get a lot
if you die, carrying a sword
in the name of God





14:30pm




[edit]

[3/20/2003 9:12:36 PM | nicholas alexander]

explosions in bagdhad
tearing apart the life works of saddam
if he had left

the people could have done it themselves
with their own hands

america had to erase
every figment of
the imagaination

bagdhad born anew
with caves dug by
orders

children fall down
the holes


Links: Nicholas Alexander war blog
[edit]

[3/13/2003 11:55:56 AM | nicholas alexander]


oppose death


Call out your soulful armies and cry the cry of battle

Dawn drawn long shadow cast upon ground

blood that ran like tears down mountains

into plains



the sake of power



Swords drawn

spill blood into cups



bodies cry

dance the fatal dance

laugh the fatal last

time



Evil has a name

death is the cause



retribution unmasked






[edit]

[3/4/2003 4:21:26 PM | nicholas alexander]

spontaneous notes


nimble feet gesture

claws tightly enwrenched

into this or that



all those wars

it won't matter to the dead



lying there,

feeding



nor the torn wards

of the shame



the fallen take care in the village



gangs of preditors sweep their white

fangs over the heart that frail and stolen

creeps on its hands in the garden



all that weeps is for nothing

all that laughs is enough to sell the sorry story

to the blokes with the money



calling us fragile is not the storm

that makes crepe of the curtain

between the in and the out?



Sold to the winter of solids. Braile in the summer storm.



All hardly fit under land

surface and brain



hardly any morse



crying sins fake rain and small flutters under eyelids

all over again





5 March 2003






[edit]

[3/3/2003 6:15:16 PM | nicholas alexander]


Commentary:::this site needs a face lift



bombs do not rise

to meet

the endless prayers of those who need



bombs do not climb

from hungry childrens hands

they do not fall in the lap of humble america



bombs do not rise

on the day of the reckoning

bombs will be counted alongside

rape and toture a ticket to certain hell



bombs are not clean

they do nothing except

threaten those that do not tow the line



bombs are not welcome

in any place



bombs be decommissioned

and turned into bad sculptures


[edit]

[2/25/2003 11:24:38 AM | nicholas alexander]
Check out AucklandPoetry.com - submit your poems
[edit]

[2/6/2003 8:57:28 AM | nicholas alexander]
Verdue Saint Prisma
Kila Egein Wagom
Elis Qua Zorin
Weel Vartac Qualif
Lamba Juna Sama
Ta Lamso
Av Brasio


[edit]

[2/4/2003 8:52:16 PM | nicholas alexander]



One of these days


One of these days
I am going to get a new one


a better one that works better than the last one
a simpler one that people understand
a stronger one that won't break


when its under stress


One of these days
I am going to buy an egg
and roll it down a slide
watch it land
and break


watch it make that sound
cracking eggs make
watch it whirl around
like
an
egg


One of these days I am going to get
around





[edit]

[12/25/2002 12:48:23 PM | nicholas alexander]


seasons past


winter dulls in the trees

as spring loosens its grip

ice drops from twigs

and the air changes to mist



calling out to me

fallen gestures held fast

by time still standing

in the garden



all that ache

lost in the spine

of the valid wounds

so deep they can't hear


[edit]

[12/22/2002 5:10:14 PM | nicholas alexander]
Wither the wind drifts
Wither the clouds pass
Wither the dreams exist
or a daft dreadful dance
whether not the breaks
in time justify
whether or not the real slide
off style subsides or cruel
hands file little vapours from
the blind and their god ridden minds




[edit]

[12/3/2002 8:05:57 PM | nicholas alexander]
spring

this hour is gentle warmth
unfolding trees
waving files of glass
green sheets unfold
with the light
each morning

written just now on the spot (for a school assignment)
[edit]

[11/29/2002 6:27:07 AM | nicholas alexander]



He carved his name in the wood
as it burned
a mistake under the sky
burning threats smoke in the sky

the apple was taken from the head of the boy
and the soldier took the arrow

his eye was forsaken for the sly skins of the boy
who ran away

the old woman hid in the ground and spoke
of wounded children changing everything

but it was the local customs that defeated the
rain as it burns eyes taking vision

every colour and sound from the lands
the arbor of the lands
melted into ash

reason evaporated
and its steam vanished from the world


[edit]

[10/31/2002 10:44:08 AM | nicholas alexander]
Figure the last of them has taken its ferry
over the lands it does not own
and into the ocean it does not know

Nature at risk
Little safety in numbers
children standing in doorways
little men with guns
trained on the eye of the enemy

learn about emnity
from the day life starts
until its blood soaked finish
line exodus from reason

take the gun from the hand of the child
de-sex the soldiers before they spread
their disease across the widowed
hinterlands



[edit]

[9/25/2002 2:58:48 PM | nicholas alexander]

On photographing a bee


beneath the point of comfort
between the needs of image and safety
the worry of the buzz
waiting with your finger
hovering over the button
its sweet nectar the image

Its sudden action, the threat

you capture pollen
laden on both legs
your knees creak as you stand
as you return to comfort and distance

image ready, held in one hand


23:00GMT 25Sept


10:00NZT 26Sept

See:
Reflections


[edit]

[9/23/2002 4:15:15 PM | nicholas alexander]
Looking for a day

Beneath the trees
under the scars
over the moon
in the cars
under bees
before noon
after now
the day
is
borne
on the wings
of a bird soaring
high on the wish
of a cloud hanging
there wanting
to be mistaken
for an idea
to be taken
before a crowd

- 11:21 24sept2002



[edit]

[9/13/2002 12:44:27 AM | nicholas alexander]

[s]How can u exist[/s]

between the shards of flame
lowbrow digests closing
valve joints open
swollen with faith

we walk unto thee
and hold a mirror to
thy slave

recording its breaths
and counting the hours of the day
until its time

until it's time
the golden petal falls
slice the air deep
with its frozen call

we walk through
the burdonsome maze
and chaff at the noose

wiping the other out
our sisters and brothers
lie down without need
as we burn out the truth
the fall to their knees

praying things will get better
and you end the disease

and pull out your tooth
[edit]

[9/12/2002 1:31:03 AM | nicholas alexander]
death is sad

the walk away from the earth
the way back from here to there
the eating of the earth
the testing words
the venting of words
to assauge the angel
to fly from the earth
the earth dying behind her
she leaves a trail of stars
the vauge hope someone
may listen and hear
the crying by time
over the gentle
folk who abide
by the wishes
of the most




[edit]

[9/11/2002 3:16:49 PM | nicholas alexander]
saving the world

for another day
he placed it carefully
in his open pocket

and went outside to play


[edit]

[9/7/2002 4:16:59 AM | nicholas alexander]
Light uneasy said the Mercury
at Jeffrey each noonday at midday

calling out to them all that seeth and
struggle in the vat

laughter and doom go together in there
bricks of antipathy and burning basics


[edit]

[9/6/2002 7:23:42 AM | nicholas alexander]
All that Matters

That ear of corn falls between clods of dirt
and now resting soaks in liquid water
blood for its sequence of regeneration
blood for its day
its bursting force
surging and writhing into the light
spinning with the day and its turn
open like the butter that seeps down the
edge of the cob

after its water torture
or the eating and
the humiliating pick from the teeth
sometimes hours after the rest of me
has settled in the smelly animal's gut

so much for being a vegetable

"call any vegetable, call it by name"
the instruction said carved into the the thin vine
curling its leaves about the faith you held
or the fat wheels carving a grove on each side
of your sagging spine. You are lost in the dark.

the floating carcass of a bumblebee enters
and breaks it off with the frost

the floating spine of a mystery
felt like a dress dropped from nakedness
somehow holding the attention
and you, with your sadly slow eye,
missed the knife entering between
tightly held ribs

always the same
on the seeded beat
on the dreaming feet of the
saddle

on the fashionable needs
in the muddle.





[edit]

[9/6/2002 7:13:15 AM | nicholas alexander]
Lose your face
Lose your face

dance a lot
dance to time

dance a lot
out of time

out of time
out of time


[edit]

[8/30/2002 12:19:20 PM | nicholas alexander]
Out of space

Out of time

Out of haste

out of signs

out of waste
out of shine
out of taste
out of spine


[edit]

[8/30/2002 9:08:30 AM | nicholas alexander]
tiny dimension

before the beginning was a pause
and on this

time settled its hash

time took it out
examined the issues
and relaxed for bit

time waited
time timed itself
time procrastinated

and then with a shrug

time began



[8/29/2002 4:42:59 PM | nicholas alexander]
No Title

token slices of war
the destination unfolds like a story

the mind bends along petty waves
little disturbances in the village
little corruptions at the council
a little bit of confusion at the party
and the sounds of reason befuddled
by nuances

unspoken

untaken

photographic evidence of a smile
left a trail
led to a flicker of an eyelash

said too much
in anger

said too little
love

mindless agony
drained from the
hollow



[8/29/2002 3:32:57 PM | nicholas alexander]

all the weather in the
world is not going to blow you away from me

the cobwebs in the head
are there for good

the cobwebs in the bed
are there for food

the cobwebs in our conversion
are there for rules to be broken over the back

of our history
in the backwaters of
mystery




[8/27/2002 10:07:39 PM | nicholas alexander]
almost there
never here
[edit]

[8/27/2002 9:15:21 PM | nicholas alexander]
you can not straighten it
unless you take it back
you can not unfold it
without unravelling it

back before it
started it was only there
in person

only there at the edge

but here on the advice
of the major
hear all you can
and don't spill
any honey
don't kill any jam

the uncle fell over the gate before
the curtain fell on the badgers

mustard and rushes
mustard and weeded rushes
through parks
in boats
wooden reeds unfurled and bespoke
reasons for needs or ungestured
or unspoken or forgotten about tears

calling on the phone
when no body is at home

written right now right here
Copyright�nalexander.com
3amGMT(ish) 28Aug2002



[8/7/2002 9:13:24 PM | nicholas alexander]
foul mouthed politicians
all of them

nothing there without splinters
and going nowhere

fatal switch pull by fanatic
leaves us no wiser

dead people march in protest
at the tax decrease

angels pass overhead
reading newspapers over your shoulder




[8/3/2002 7:31:07 PM | nicholas alexander]
jacket divine over takes the sea
bovine cast from moulten pole
liquid regarding atmosphere
cool in morning
hot in evening
cool at night

lost in the daisy scrolls hovering
dance of delierium wobbling morning
painting sundays wishing hard for
journeys between the rafts
that shine as they splinter in
the bright daytime

and the tears that fall
all night

dreams that eat thought
weird nights spent lonesome
silence trees and stars and moon






[7/30/2002 2:58:27 AM | nicholas alexander]
Poem selected by poetry.com who are great if you used to love ordering dozens of readers digests or these gilt edged collections of Dickens or Homer (basically work published out of copyright, or with the author's permission, like this one). I didn't order the title, Letters from the Soul as it was nearly US$70 and they do not propose to pay me for the poem, but instead invite me to receive a natty engraved silver cup at their prize giving ceremony in Washington. If you really think I should go, (huge) donations would be gratfully accepted, but I do not have the guts to ask you.

So here is the poem, free and with no silver cup.
No offence to Poetry.com who have now published two of my works and made money from my writing.

Long lost dawn




away from my jeopardy

all through the grinning darkness

waiting for it



it came in bright colour

and splendour



the sun



and its rays



hit me in the face






[7/23/2002 8:29:25 PM | nicholas alexander]
tortal supfroze

on the way to the well berry
jungled along path to very ment
cool on the clock
vast amber park
loose barbs aardvark
loose in the cherry orchard
making a play

end of the world
talk in the room
between cast
art and alabaster stone


[7/21/2002 5:06:26 PM | nicholas alexander]

for the dead

dusted over with sorrow
a pyre of flaming souls rising
from the now to the yesternow
nobody waiting inside
your yearning
feet wander though the open meadows
and argue with branches that
sweep down across the eye



[7/15/2002 1:37:20 PM | nicholas alexander]

lost

child in the wind
talking on phone
the chill in his ear
nobody's there

walking aloft
death in the air
fumes of the city
drown out all sound

climb wall face down
see ground take
cover from air
keep safe on wall

walk away from
hate

walk away from
hate



[7/8/2002 1:57:04 PM | nicholas alexander]

scissors
a weapon in one hand sculpts paper in another
knives
divisions in space silence along the edge self definition
road
pathway between boundaries ideal traction
fire
wipe away the misery without trace
watch the painting burn







[6/19/2002 7:14:52 PM | nicholas alexander]


falling


sometimes a raindrop

is carried a thousand

miles before

it falls an

inch





[6/12/2002 12:22:15 AM | nicholas alexander]




rain

falls into your eyes

and makes you blink



twice






[6/12/2002 12:13:41 AM | nicholas alexander]

weblog ? poetry

12 June 2002


whoever said it need
be a daily
journal

will
never understand
the point of poetry

is the deflection of
time's well honed crystal

be never afraid of darkness
be only afraid of being totalled




poetry does not give me an opportunity to explain myself, moreover it does not do much at all apart from exist as voice. the point of the poem is the reading of it.




darkness not sorrow

feathers the world with fresh plans
totally transposed garden
spirits of all that has been
left behind and destitute

nothing much
unkind



[5/24/2002 3:20:33 PM | nicholas alexander]


The Temperature

feeble attempts at waking her
and drawn out talk about it all
nobody home but ants drawling in the sand
long path up through the arteries of the house
heat bleeding out of the sweating eaves
head pounding shout
left out cold and bitter rain
drenched fur lost shoes and skys

it rained all day and all night



[5/24/2002 4:57:34 AM | nicholas alexander]

random feats of nature

drawn beneath the saws
fallen behind in time
drawn short straws
dumb deaf and blind


man in the dark
wearing hat
keeps the sun
off his gleaming hair

calling all shores
cats and rouge claws
sinking and sodden sands
sold lands broken deals and shaken hands

dead on the stroke of five
slashes of the barbed
fire stain

faked it again
rolling in the sands
both feet tied behind
both hands


[5/24/2002 3:41:14 AM | nicholas alexander]

point of view

"The shoes fit like gloves onto tender hands that caress midnight fears away..." starts one poem I wrote ten years ago in a world not as maladjusted as this one. We watched the millenium pass and jeered as it floated by with little impact on our lives, or so we thought.

A radical shake up of how things could change in a world looking and feeling more like 1914 than the new age and all its vacant promise; any loose pebble could unleash an avalanche at any moment and we watch world events wondering if it will last to the end of the week.

Negotiations between nations seem to start and end with ultimatims. It seems that war is the new age solution and the time for talking is over.

All guns do is eliminate. A state of war allows us to kill each other as a solution to unresolvable problems. Talking is hard enough. Listening is even harder.

A solution to prevent war should benefit both sides.