Rhodesian Unification
Moldy snippets of transparent memories
Bright anecdotes and murmuring elephants
Swimming carefree in local waters and manmade lakes
- Kariba!
As I spin a series of web-like concertos
Into climactic synapses of clear thought
I wonder, and freefall 400 feet
Into my past, driven forward by the torrential waterfall
Of voices, ancestral markers
To settle in the Zombezi River
(the Kololo People call “mosi-oa-tunya”
or, “smoke that thunders”)
I revisit a village in the autumn of my youth
With wide-eyed sorrow and haunting joy
Huts of straw and necessity, with walls woven
In a timber wood orchestration, an emotional fabric
Over and under, chorus and verse
Beyond that, a man, seated, regally
In a folded chair faded green, as he surveys the night sky
Putting the stars to bed, one by one
His eyes, a reflection of my own, sharing my pain and loss
And deep hopefulness for a peaceful resolve
To my nation’s turmoil
As the amputated trunks and dry kindle illuminate
His face, and bespeak of praise for Makaha
And for the people of Zimbabwe
The Grass greens, and I recall
Our unyielding soil and forgiving crops
In my one tractor town
Tigere, my best friend, and one of the thousands of guerillas
Who were integrated into a national military faction
An involuntary contraction for ZANLA
(Zimbabwe African National Liberation Army)
A kettle for internal madness and cascading violence
That defined The Patriotic Front
And in a crystalline flash of repressed misfortune
The recollection of Tigere’s death deafens me
His killer, a soul-less 18 year old ZANU
With a 9mm Soviet
And one less bullet
The pool shimmers, and I embrace the image
Of a woman with child
Swaying in a sea of Zimbabwean Nationalists
Waving our flag in exuberance, in a stadium outside
Salisbury, during one of the many Independence Day
Celebrations held across my country, on my birthday
April 18th, Of all days
I remember the look on her face, and see the memory
In her eyes, every time I come home
And see my little girl’s smile, as she counts
The stars on a clear Zimbabwean night.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
wIReS
Wires
I move like pistoned drivers
Pounding the high rail skywires
With superfoil lightning
Skimming over skyscraper overpasses
To avoid Central City traffic
Bypassing the sub-city deluge that
Suffers the dregs of close quarter suffocation
When I reach the narrow patchwork
Of multi-current cable stations, I switchback
To Tri-gears, slowly, to speed my ascent
Magnetized momentum they call it -
Supersonic nightmares,
Always follow, but who can question
The sensation of flight at the cost of ten G's
Showering my Kisco contours
UBC steering kicks in, and my cortex responds
With firewire reflexes, synthetic synapses
Compiling directional data in silicon flashes
Triad Corp jacked me up good
But the version is as old as I am, so I feel
Tripsters hacking past me with the gem stuff
Freezing neon cables before I even
See them, rather sense them
The light show blisters into 100bit brilliance
Drawing saline from my dry ducts, every time
I cross the threshold, into Heavenhood
And descend rapidly through cumulative aromas
Of old town ethnicities - Curry Corner
And the Seven Seas, My home
And as I channel surf the Bark and succumb
To urban progressions - I can already hear
Mrs. Coolridges heartwarming histrionics
When I dock, waiting with a warm bowl of Teriyaki
Sushi and some purge cords behind her back
Home is where the hardwire ends.
I move like pistoned drivers
Pounding the high rail skywires
With superfoil lightning
Skimming over skyscraper overpasses
To avoid Central City traffic
Bypassing the sub-city deluge that
Suffers the dregs of close quarter suffocation
When I reach the narrow patchwork
Of multi-current cable stations, I switchback
To Tri-gears, slowly, to speed my ascent
Magnetized momentum they call it -
Supersonic nightmares,
Always follow, but who can question
The sensation of flight at the cost of ten G's
Showering my Kisco contours
UBC steering kicks in, and my cortex responds
With firewire reflexes, synthetic synapses
Compiling directional data in silicon flashes
Triad Corp jacked me up good
But the version is as old as I am, so I feel
Tripsters hacking past me with the gem stuff
Freezing neon cables before I even
See them, rather sense them
The light show blisters into 100bit brilliance
Drawing saline from my dry ducts, every time
I cross the threshold, into Heavenhood
And descend rapidly through cumulative aromas
Of old town ethnicities - Curry Corner
And the Seven Seas, My home
And as I channel surf the Bark and succumb
To urban progressions - I can already hear
Mrs. Coolridges heartwarming histrionics
When I dock, waiting with a warm bowl of Teriyaki
Sushi and some purge cords behind her back
Home is where the hardwire ends.
SIGNES DES TEMPS
Signes des temps
Windy sowing, repentant sorrows
Uplifting things and complete silence
Crafty people acknowledging triumphs
Idyllic footfalls withholding
Floral forfeits guilt-ridden for love
Folded values chipping gaudy prose
Visceral torrents, exuberant shallows
Silver diamonds forgetting secrets
Marrow feeding shadowy gossip
Inlets sweeping jagged expectations
Wavy horrors inviting pity
Gathering inches over eternity
These are signs of the times.
Windy sowing, repentant sorrows
Uplifting things and complete silence
Crafty people acknowledging triumphs
Idyllic footfalls withholding
Floral forfeits guilt-ridden for love
Folded values chipping gaudy prose
Visceral torrents, exuberant shallows
Silver diamonds forgetting secrets
Marrow feeding shadowy gossip
Inlets sweeping jagged expectations
Wavy horrors inviting pity
Gathering inches over eternity
These are signs of the times.
Another Poem Covering The Joyous Inauguration
Old Glory New Hope
Gratuitous, old glory, flapping odorless
Excitement across borderless continents, the contents
Of which has never been seen, bright patchwork
And ideological capitals
Thousands. Badging betters, sweeping the mall
1.4 mill strong, and growing, 5 inch dreams
Cascading presidential rubber
Over concrete ambition, (at intervals)
Vehicular juggernaughts are on the Hill now.
As generational icons cross under 30 candles
And a twenty gun salute…
A trumpet sounds, sailors dance with delicate attention
Beyond the pull of frenzied flags, a patriotic blur escapes
That which follows, a charming entrance, a fleeting chant
Preceding a pastoral dedication, facilitating
A musical tribute, scraping the convexed american canvass
Onlookers absorbing special increments, in time
The rotunda, pleased to receive
Vocal and orchestral objectives marrying
A floral accent that defies all circular logic
Goodwill avails the day
Flourishing in perpetual infinity.
Gratuitous, old glory, flapping odorless
Excitement across borderless continents, the contents
Of which has never been seen, bright patchwork
And ideological capitals
Thousands. Badging betters, sweeping the mall
1.4 mill strong, and growing, 5 inch dreams
Cascading presidential rubber
Over concrete ambition, (at intervals)
Vehicular juggernaughts are on the Hill now.
As generational icons cross under 30 candles
And a twenty gun salute…
A trumpet sounds, sailors dance with delicate attention
Beyond the pull of frenzied flags, a patriotic blur escapes
That which follows, a charming entrance, a fleeting chant
Preceding a pastoral dedication, facilitating
A musical tribute, scraping the convexed american canvass
Onlookers absorbing special increments, in time
The rotunda, pleased to receive
Vocal and orchestral objectives marrying
A floral accent that defies all circular logic
Goodwill avails the day
Flourishing in perpetual infinity.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Music
Music
Fast paced lyrical straights
Pushing drumbeats into dark ghetto
Grottos, spitting half-life synthetics
Into head thrashing mouths
Hopped up
On Trip-Hop, and Speed Metal
Green liquid fill the shots
Of grunge-green patrons, swimming in stasis
Green Sleep
Strobbed out - As acid
Backbeats drain the human element
From the crowd, moving in synergetic
Motion, Too loud to hear
Made to repeat, a feeling of breathing
By the fingertips of spinning tsars
Serrating chips of samples
Flipped in reverse
Dipped in digital, sickness
Vinyl Bliss, that's it
Rockin' the masses, thirsty for scratches
Beyond the f**k speed disease
But catchy.
Turning even the most reclusive wall rat
Into a maniacally dope - 100 watt strobe.
Fast paced lyrical straights
Pushing drumbeats into dark ghetto
Grottos, spitting half-life synthetics
Into head thrashing mouths
Hopped up
On Trip-Hop, and Speed Metal
Green liquid fill the shots
Of grunge-green patrons, swimming in stasis
Green Sleep
Strobbed out - As acid
Backbeats drain the human element
From the crowd, moving in synergetic
Motion, Too loud to hear
Made to repeat, a feeling of breathing
By the fingertips of spinning tsars
Serrating chips of samples
Flipped in reverse
Dipped in digital, sickness
Vinyl Bliss, that's it
Rockin' the masses, thirsty for scratches
Beyond the f**k speed disease
But catchy.
Turning even the most reclusive wall rat
Into a maniacally dope - 100 watt strobe.
Dakota Rain
Dakota Rain
North Dakota shivers with demographic erosion
lactic notions homesteaders delivered
to the plains and frozen acreage
expecting rain and frozen prosperity to follow
the plow
once teeming settlements across the Midwest
expanse, grassland economics demarcating
an 1880’s promise
to sow hope for a new generation of Euro natives
imprinting the flow of bison and wild mint footprints
across the land that forsook them
1908 brought gusts of despair to desperate ironworkers
and despondent farmers who watched their extemporal
settlements succumb to wet depression
and evaporating grains
the railroads threaded throughout the North Dakotan canvass
painted yellow buttercups and a thriving trade
to a doomed bottomland of patriotic conversions
Norwegian and German learners of the American way
on the high plains and snowy valleys
the dust storms devoured what the rain left behind
and worse, non sequiturs – precipitating
consistent torchings of holy edifices
sometimes abandoned, like many practitioners
of the word
decayed schoolhouses and empty grain elevators
frame the countryside now, void of knowledge
and common courtesy
for the seeds of tomorrow
ghosts and galvanized wringers
loneliness and third generation ruin
wall-less farms and homeless cattle
dismembered dolls and constant funerals
frozen wheat and basement nooses
dead badgers and gutted Fords
the North Dakotan expanse is rife
with indescribable beauty, unmoved
by a shifting economy and barren wasteland
waiting…
…for rain.
North Dakota shivers with demographic erosion
lactic notions homesteaders delivered
to the plains and frozen acreage
expecting rain and frozen prosperity to follow
the plow
once teeming settlements across the Midwest
expanse, grassland economics demarcating
an 1880’s promise
to sow hope for a new generation of Euro natives
imprinting the flow of bison and wild mint footprints
across the land that forsook them
1908 brought gusts of despair to desperate ironworkers
and despondent farmers who watched their extemporal
settlements succumb to wet depression
and evaporating grains
the railroads threaded throughout the North Dakotan canvass
painted yellow buttercups and a thriving trade
to a doomed bottomland of patriotic conversions
Norwegian and German learners of the American way
on the high plains and snowy valleys
the dust storms devoured what the rain left behind
and worse, non sequiturs – precipitating
consistent torchings of holy edifices
sometimes abandoned, like many practitioners
of the word
decayed schoolhouses and empty grain elevators
frame the countryside now, void of knowledge
and common courtesy
for the seeds of tomorrow
ghosts and galvanized wringers
loneliness and third generation ruin
wall-less farms and homeless cattle
dismembered dolls and constant funerals
frozen wheat and basement nooses
dead badgers and gutted Fords
the North Dakotan expanse is rife
with indescribable beauty, unmoved
by a shifting economy and barren wasteland
waiting…
…for rain.
A Glorious Image
A Glorious Image
.the image. of progression.
.an effigy. fitting. a slender statuette.
.of change. visceral and biting. a presidential
.euphemism. cheering.
.a ringing endorsement.
.carried. on the pinions. of impassioned. applause.
.arisen. riding a wave. of boisterous
.euphoria.
.forefather speak. a preeminent exception.
.as elections go. and visionaries, bold.
.the man. momentous. a badge, that honours.
.patent expectations. & compacted decisions.
.for an inclusive future.
.capital minds. foraging,
.for tomorrow wood.
.eyes. averted. from black silk. and gossamer promises.
.a discarded futility.
.a pantomime embrace.
.well deserved. and well earned.
.by all.
.a goodness, fathomable. an exaltation. long.
.and necessary.
.sentimental. crochets. interwoven.
.into the fabric of forgiveness.
.hopeful. united.
.oval. predilections. in an oral function.
.crucial. for peaceable. permanence.
.once thought impertinent. once.
.the image shifts, and tomorrow is.
.now.
.the effigy. is our own. and the moment.
.remains.
.unfolding. and. unforgettable.
.the image. of progression.
.an effigy. fitting. a slender statuette.
.of change. visceral and biting. a presidential
.euphemism. cheering.
.a ringing endorsement.
.carried. on the pinions. of impassioned. applause.
.arisen. riding a wave. of boisterous
.euphoria.
.forefather speak. a preeminent exception.
.as elections go. and visionaries, bold.
.the man. momentous. a badge, that honours.
.patent expectations. & compacted decisions.
.for an inclusive future.
.capital minds. foraging,
.for tomorrow wood.
.eyes. averted. from black silk. and gossamer promises.
.a discarded futility.
.a pantomime embrace.
.well deserved. and well earned.
.by all.
.a goodness, fathomable. an exaltation. long.
.and necessary.
.sentimental. crochets. interwoven.
.into the fabric of forgiveness.
.hopeful. united.
.oval. predilections. in an oral function.
.crucial. for peaceable. permanence.
.once thought impertinent. once.
.the image shifts, and tomorrow is.
.now.
.the effigy. is our own. and the moment.
.remains.
.unfolding. and. unforgettable.
Historical Day
Today, history made me.
Today I watched an "ideal" shape a consciousness. I observed a nation embrace a concept, and a world lay a foundation for change.
A political upheaval and prospective look for a country aside, today was also a day to celebrate the common man. A generational and cultural evocation of spiritual progression, that resonates with every person who has ever embodied the title "underdog".
The forgotten, the down-trodden, and the oppressed, the multicoloured and multi-national, all know this feeling. Obscured from view. For every entity slighted by tyranny, or inequality, hatred or indifference, we are made stronger today. Whether your charter embraces individuality, nonconformity, or if you exist on the fringes of society, as an ascetic, a minority of many, or a class of few, as an outworlder not by choice, or perhaps exiled to the extremities of the common minded, or not-so colour blind, today we revel in the acceptance of change: body, mind, and spirit.
We celebrate the ascension of one man, a mirrored representation, a familiar silhouette, seen by many as an underdog, one of us, to the highest station in the land. His triumph signifies our own. A victory that overrides any notion of creed, colour, nationality, or belief. And although wholeness begins from the inside out, the world around us has become that much more inclusive, inviting, tolerant. We've been made stronger.
Today, history made us.
Better.
Today I watched an "ideal" shape a consciousness. I observed a nation embrace a concept, and a world lay a foundation for change.
A political upheaval and prospective look for a country aside, today was also a day to celebrate the common man. A generational and cultural evocation of spiritual progression, that resonates with every person who has ever embodied the title "underdog".
The forgotten, the down-trodden, and the oppressed, the multicoloured and multi-national, all know this feeling. Obscured from view. For every entity slighted by tyranny, or inequality, hatred or indifference, we are made stronger today. Whether your charter embraces individuality, nonconformity, or if you exist on the fringes of society, as an ascetic, a minority of many, or a class of few, as an outworlder not by choice, or perhaps exiled to the extremities of the common minded, or not-so colour blind, today we revel in the acceptance of change: body, mind, and spirit.
We celebrate the ascension of one man, a mirrored representation, a familiar silhouette, seen by many as an underdog, one of us, to the highest station in the land. His triumph signifies our own. A victory that overrides any notion of creed, colour, nationality, or belief. And although wholeness begins from the inside out, the world around us has become that much more inclusive, inviting, tolerant. We've been made stronger.
Today, history made us.
Better.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
WELCOME!
Hello, All!
My name is Jose Holder and I'll be your guide into the mad musings of Holderology : The Science Of Word. Okay, actually, this will be a home for displaying my written works, with a clear emphasis on poetry. But you've got to admit, Holderology sounds cooler.
Basically, this branch of undiscovered science was created to highlight my literary side. And for those of you familiar with the artistic exploits of my alter ego "JohJames", he, or rather we, will still be creating pics for the masses. We'll just be wearing separate hats from here on out. He takes up too much room at home as it is. Time to hit the skids, Junior!
Poetry, short stories, and the occasional script have taken a front seat in my life, and I felt it was high time I share a little science with anyone who'll listen. It, that is to say "writing", challenges me in ways perspective and anatomy never could, and I welcome the chance to flex my fingers and pour some prose onto the Net at large. Writing fulfills a part of me creatively that serves to expand the boundaries of who I am, and ultimately, where I'm going as an artist and as a human being. It's more than a cathartic path to enlightenment. It's an expression of my metamorphosis, my unraveling of self and self thought, a record of my single-minded progression into freedom. Freedom from labels. Freedom from self-doubt. From self-made purgatories and from the ego itself. I've spent a lifetime stripping my world of expectations, of labels, and hunger for material growth. Now I'm ready to create from a place of stillness. Now I write from silence.
This is an exercise in ego exorcism. This is the science of my word.
This is Holderolgy.
My name is Jose Holder and I'll be your guide into the mad musings of Holderology : The Science Of Word. Okay, actually, this will be a home for displaying my written works, with a clear emphasis on poetry. But you've got to admit, Holderology sounds cooler.
Basically, this branch of undiscovered science was created to highlight my literary side. And for those of you familiar with the artistic exploits of my alter ego "JohJames", he, or rather we, will still be creating pics for the masses. We'll just be wearing separate hats from here on out. He takes up too much room at home as it is. Time to hit the skids, Junior!
Poetry, short stories, and the occasional script have taken a front seat in my life, and I felt it was high time I share a little science with anyone who'll listen. It, that is to say "writing", challenges me in ways perspective and anatomy never could, and I welcome the chance to flex my fingers and pour some prose onto the Net at large. Writing fulfills a part of me creatively that serves to expand the boundaries of who I am, and ultimately, where I'm going as an artist and as a human being. It's more than a cathartic path to enlightenment. It's an expression of my metamorphosis, my unraveling of self and self thought, a record of my single-minded progression into freedom. Freedom from labels. Freedom from self-doubt. From self-made purgatories and from the ego itself. I've spent a lifetime stripping my world of expectations, of labels, and hunger for material growth. Now I'm ready to create from a place of stillness. Now I write from silence.
This is an exercise in ego exorcism. This is the science of my word.
This is Holderolgy.
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