Tag: death

A Crisis Of Finite Channels

i.)

Radio? Radio!
News cast, a lure a hook,
whether I should or should not.

These days are cold; nights hot,
a conformity desert for the song
and the city, no end probable.
News may never stop but there is
control — pop news for pop people
with pop tastes — thought control…
Individual  termination,
a politics of fashion to be
worn, warned, or discarded…

All census and no report.

ii)

Have a pleasant evening?
… As I am ordered then to do.

A-ha! So clumsy.
A-ha! So deafened…
A night of firsts.

I know what I am doing:
not enough, no — not enough.
Everyone is beyond, out of range
of vision and “vulnerable” bites.

Everytime I see that wall
of brick, I see a wall of brick.
The window panes insult me
like  the bird.

… Please don’t kill what makes “me”.

iii)

Gasp from my tears, hide
in the blatant, safe in the open.
Every society needs their bastard
like in their stories I disbelieve.

I am forced to look behind all masks
because     they are there.
Most masks smile: those
who donned them deaden.

Lit with awe and wonderment
this night, a suspect am I.
All ways in ways no more I will
see what is left to be done.

Look beyond the rags on that fence.
I will say hello… And scare you.

The voice
on the radio
stutters.

iv.)

Us us, or them them?

Some point in argument,
all that sustains the pop plan
leads me lost, rules my ruin —
the propaganda of sticks!
All as one is strength is not
when one is one and knows,
when everyone is aware
as merely a one there can be
no bundling, no propaganda of sticks.

Too much is too little.
The majority are tight.
The societal common stagnates —
so many creative ways
to be imprisoned by the imprisoned.

v.)

Shown the starkness
of being, awareness creeps
that the average are sold the gain
of strength through conformity.
They are to aspire to be
a part, a piece, never a whole,
no self in a part, in a piece.

The powers devised a plan
that all should be unaware
in a swarm’s instinct.

Am not weak — am not apathetic.
They hate, so hate themselves,
fight and struggle — stare with eyes
growing weaker at such sights.

vi.)

“So, you think
you’re special, huh?”
… No. I just have
my differences.

“So is that what makes you
think you’re so special, then?”
… No. You just seem to have known
no one different than you
or your belief and ways.
I do not share your beliefs.
I do not share your ways.
I am no more;
I am no less.

“Not being too elitist are you?”

The voice
on the radio
changes.

vii.)

No clear patterns have emerged
as to who as a rule will succumb
to individuality or
of awareness nearly individual;
freedom is  myriad.

Conformists have died
on their coffee break.
Conformists have died
during coroner inquests.
Conformists have pulled
party lines too hardline.
Conformists have died
live and on the air.

They are they and I
am a man out of room.
They cannot break
what has been broken,
an attracted stare that will not
undress just any woman.

viii.)

Listen!
An underscored symphony.

A lot of time is spent
out of room.
Firsts are reluctant;
to fight for.
The thinker must fight to think
and to practice the thought.

If the room was my mind
I would arrange my thoughts
felt physically, to be the scene —
would be the centre of it intricate.

In this place
when one leaves
one leaves with them,
and everyone is there
as bereavement clashes.

ix.)

The place is bleak
cold and dark; most endangered
are the naked in the rain.
No security, no shelter.
Fear makes it darken, sends you
deeper, clutching the broken.

Be adrift
in the cinema of the soul.
Sordid corners,
eMpTyVision,
satisfaction is not mine;
performance is not yours.

Let go — all this time.
All this pain — too long.
Stay  not still.
Century     to century.
Fire. Murder. Wheel. Moon.

Channel love, my love.

©2024 David Alec Knight All rights reserved.

David Alec Knight grew up in Chatham, Ontario, Canada. In 2021, David was recipient of The Ted Plantos Memorial Award for Poetry. His first book of poetry, The

Heart Is A Hollow Organ, soon followed. His second book of poetry, LEPER MOSH, was published by Cajun Mutt Press in 2022. It featured his artwork on the cover, combining his interest in art with his writing.

Recent works have appeared in Verse Afire, Night Owl Narrative, and Medusa’s Kitchen. Anthology appearances include Poets For Ukraine Volume 1 and Love Lies Bleeding.

David sees dark and light around him in equal measure and explores that in his poetry, whether exploring working class themes, neurodivergence, addiction, urban living in conflict with Nature, and the effects all
these things have on relationships.

He works full-time in Long Term Care.