John and His Dogs& Other Poems

This e-book featured in the 2011 Poetry Super Highway E-Books Free-For-All

Walter Ruhlmann

mgv2_publishing

John and His Dogs and Other Poems

Walter Ruhlmann

mgv2_publishing, May 2011

John and His Dogs

# 1

Blackbalding womanshe says she’s weakshe says she’s deepand from her monstrous throatshe offers her audience – addictedto today’s magic – the moaningof her deported ancestors.

# 21

Geishawith the white faceyou will put on gloveson your handsof porcelainand latex endson the sexesthat will remunerateyour pleasures.

And out of your kotowill come the complaintsof the vampsfrom Tokyo.

And in this subwaypolished, dyedwith sarin gas

it is uselessyou will die tomorrow.

1 First published in A Little Poetry Fall 2008 issue

#3

He says to you:“- Let me goI am fourteen years old.Fourteen years is very old for a dogwho has never desired to reach this age,or the blue moon in front of its eyes. ”

# 4

Your greyhounds are far awayand under your handsthe colours beam.

Do you know Amazonia?Where the dark shadowsassault the green ones.

Gather in your gardenthe poisonous plantsand mushrooms.

# 5

Alpha diedThursday morningthe trainthe nothingnessa vacuum which does not end

and the brown demonsenjoy themselves

rotten blood ran through her wingswill grow on her for certainand I liked to lose myselfin her black hairher soilcountry likeeyes.

Alpha left usthe day of Jupiterunder groundin ashesnothing can get out of the trainof the nothingness any moreof the vacuum which expatriates meso farfrom my little dog...

# 6

Your Apis cowsays to mesecretlythat you are afraid

and let's go to sleepI feel like a little love

Morphéewill be ableto give me some.

# 7

The toy piglies on the ground

darkgrey carpet

and the red papersembrace the shadesof the man.

Sudden start

the odour is bitterand its cardiac rhythmfrightensall the good-for-nothingsthe yellow dogand my dark red curtain.

# 8

The golden beetle’s eyesare two opalstremblingendlessly.

Its bodyreflects the lightthe moon vomitsfrom the sky.

TomorrowI’ll marryits shadow

and my forgivenesscan then tame you.

# 9

Because nothingis sacred any morewhy lament?

Angelsdeserted the Skiesand God dies in the armsof disgracebornin paradise.

# 10

The Beautiful book that you offered meFatherit is one Beautiful book of Taleswhere one tellsthe strange and dirty storyof a god descended on earthto saveHumanity.

Humanity killed himand still tramples on himand his emptyand assassin words

and on the crossthe lawthe kings

tomorrow I will spitmy most serious venom.

# 11

In the shade of the poplarsin the shade of the stablemento write the damnedverses.

Sister Bernadettepirouettewith the universal martyrin the warmthof your cell

you still imaginehis bodypurifying you

in the summerin the shade of the olive-treeson your mounts longdisfiguredin the shade, obstinacy…

# 12

Fallen from the top of the skiesthe angel is not woundedbut we crucified himto be forgiven

and how many others yet

and God do you cry your son?that of the sacrificeAs for sons you have some...

Marie will remember itand the others too.

# 13

No other atmospherecame to find youyou whose heart is erased

and your gilded wingswill swim on the undulatingriveruntil they disappear.

#14

Sleepingis not freeconcentration of the lemonsand regeneration.

Scented flowersin the coffeeat dawn.

Your perfumeis sweetand your dog sleeps still.

Other poems

Snow Can Wait – 62

I counted the tears of a thousand menand clasped in my armsthey almost suffocated.

My god I feel dizzyand the ground is giving wayunder the weight of the nightsspent with them

I felt weaktoday when I think of itI was rather braveto have dared to spendso many nights in the caves fullof violence and absence,of bodies going into trance.

2 First published on Magnapoets blog (Canada) on April 22, 2008

Night Observatories – 93

The white doors are closed again and in the internal rooms, the infinite

shelters of the universal stoutness grow and sing the spellbinding chorus

of the lost fruit

the clandestine ones flee towards the red planets risking to lose

themselves in the prints of the night

and in the sky the insane and variegated stars recognize each other

while we fall asleep in the lanes of life.

3 First published on Magnapoets blog (Canada) on April 14, 2007

Masks4

Grey voluteson the deadenedface and the need to seethis eveningthe four dragons - blue, red, black and yellow -disappear fromthe acidulous dreamof the deceived child.

I would like youeternallytremblingin the sweetened housesof the countrymonsters.

A whole desire of lovedried without slackeningon the night adventuresand the shadesinvadeour secret corridors.

However springnothing tremblesunder the solar firesof a former brotherof joy.

4 First published on Magnapoets blog (Canada) on September 12, 2007

Three stars sealthe erased horizonsand our heartswhisper the salted words of the outside noises.

White maskson vermilion bed sheets which join the bitternessof a decayed countrystrewn with thousand dangershiddenin the deepest of her womband then nothing morein one second of pleasure.Impatience…

Rex and the Cyclop5

In the wood cabin I sawRex and the Cyclop

naked manand his mongrel

drinking English teawhile talkingwithout understanding each other...

5 This poem is part of the chap-book Rex & the Cyclop published in 1997 as a supplement to Mauvaise graine issue 8

Snow Can Wait – 96

At night I caressthe angels’ and demons’amazing smileI will loose my mind

Uncommon friendshipsthe bodies walk in the fogin a lost city,undressed

not knowing the namesof these angels and demonsI fall into oblivion.

6 First published on Magnapoets blog (Canada) on April 14, 2007

Out of the Night – 67

I smelled eastern fragrances hidden in his coat. He had stolen them from

a Cretan wine merchant by a full moon night. The angels do it their own

way. So do the titans. Farewell woollen boy, I am going back to life. You

knew it was vain to try willing. Madness shall be mine, once oblivion has

come.

7 First published on Magnapoets blog (Canada) April 2, 2007

Fireflies

1.A tiny ash in my glass of fresh milk as I was listening to her songs again makes me think of the one I should have forgotten but never forgiven. And if the stars keep on shining in the night sky, then I might go back over there with no fear of the future. And if you keep on smiling for no reason, I could knit you this jumper of woollen tears. But don't even try to come back, all the landscapes of our lives have left us without anything to dream of. She keeps on singing in the rain and her voice is like a hurricane destroying all the happiness inside my soul after a hard working day among my own private jokes.

My pen has sunk into the fresh milk I stopped drinking and started to read the dark ages book again. Men have come back in my eyes, landing on my hair. Shall I ever forget you?

2. Fireflies

You cannot but see them in the darknessof your deepest dreams.The last but onesthey never die.

This one is an old queen escaped from the dark ages. This other one's a young Luke Skywalker, fireflyer who has never known his unforgivable name.

Another one approaches. He's like a mirror facing the sky. An illusion from the future of mankind.

New genesis of the Fireflies in the dark skies.

3. Crimson Star

Who could you be when no more light shines in your eyes? Your soul could become a space bit, but too proud to be doomed you carry on your life sitting in between a funny death thought and the orange peels from the last break you took.

Mr Freeze has come back from Iceland. Will she sing again for you?

And if something breaks up in your soul, you are to be a stirrer of the past, something that might never exist again. Some sort of old humanoid, crimson star lost in the skies.

Bath8

She wanted to lie down next to me.She did.I said she ought to know there were no chances;she took hers.

I remember this silent nightin my flatup thereup the Plantation ShopBathNineteenNinety-six

Fannywas her nameshe once met the Nativeand shared his wrathagainst the wallof uncertaintiesthat went upbetween us.

Andy and Paulwere cutting plants,tidying the shop,clearing things,counting money.When she went downstairsshe helped herself with a cup of coffeethe smell of it filled up the kitchen.

8 First published in Aesthetica Magazine (UK), July 2007

I let her goI had toshe had to goand there were noother ways.The Native would come back shortly after.He had been out all night.Staring at the sky,talking to the moon,to the stars,his fingers touching the darkest patch of the ethereal netup there.

He entered the roomI was still lying on my bed.He lied next to me.The wine vapours still lingered in his hair,on his clothes, on his pale skin.I touched his back. He said I ought to know there were no chances;I got upand went to work.

Green days?9

I was spreadingmy grey working shirtson the balcony.Down therecars were passingfastengines revvinghardbuses rollingdriving people to whereother people were.

Fumesall over the city.

Smogon my grey working shirts.

Carbon dioxidein the air.

Black dustin my lungs.

I took a bottle of bleachand poured it on the clothesand wishedsomething similarhad existedfor the atmosphere.

9 First published on Magnapoets blog (Canada) on October 17, 2007

Kingdom of a Doomed King10

Things are not the sameI feelA waste of time runningalongand the wind of Austriablowing on my face again.

Lying down on the pavementwhere my feet strode too many timesand all the wicked boulevardswhere I found the sweetest solace.Feeding on a few fruit and seedslike a bird - a fragile preyto the vulturescircling around up thereand God would let them dobecause He could do without me.

I did a few mistakesbut how can one let a poor soulrotting on the side-walkof this greying city.

Eighteen fifty-four.Have I come out of age?The heart lies in the sewageand I used to be one of them- bright and beautiful,rich and popular -now the time has come for me to playdead.

10 First published on Magnapoets blog (Canada) on August 21, 2007

Loretta11

Lorettawas a friend of mineshe waved in the darkshe crawled in the lightbright lollipopalways on the run.

She found solacein every breathshe tookwhenever night fellshe knew it was her timeshe never skipped a datewith the vampire.

The dogs came to herand found her in a ditchhalf buried underneathchestnut tree leavesrotting.

Lorettawas a friend of mineat night when I wanderin the woodsabout where she used to liveI look at the skyhoping she'll come backbut all I can seeis a bright starwaving in the dark.

11 First published on Magnapoets blog (Canada) on May 14, 2007

Günter

He danced around a bonfirewith his hands waving to the sky.Half naked, his shorts showing through.Flames were licking his body, his feet movedrapidly, in an urgent motiondefying all gravity.

When I met himhe was the counterpoint of all thosewaiting in line, behind – he could see faeries in the back of my gardenand fireflies were his most intimate fellows.

Nowyears laterTime achieving its duty,compelling him to spread milky lotionson his face and ex muscled limbsdroppingdownon him,to moisture his skin and hair –both greying.

Faeries have vanished,fireflies switched off.

Awakening12

The sun trembled of its hot rayssensitive to the cold, he remained there, doing nothinghe looked at the world in flamesthe earth burningthe hell in front of his eyes and the flowers' as impure as the skieswhen they ejaculate the psalms of the divineavenger.

It is like a flashback:a brother at his sidesseem to wait patientlybefore the scream lay them down.Marie, you still suffer from these infamies,Joe shakes you such a long time, so often,flowers of the fieldsthe songs put the spell on yougo back to Consecrated Land,go back into the blue cave,the children will show you the way.

In the blue caveI am lying down on a bed of straw,I am looking at the vault,the solidified drawings,the traces of my depressed ancestors.

The house burns.The brain explodes.I don't want to stay here any more.

12 First published in English on Ancient Heart blog March 2011

Psalmodic Ghost13

Now that's it's overI can feel deep inside my soulthe lonely heartbrokenessof those years all gone byand the tears of an old psalmodic ghostcreated by rain and the wheezingwindflushed all over me.

He once came next to mechantingand left upon mea stain -some mark -that never washed away.

The Witchoffered her breastbut it didn't change a thingthe old ghost's enchanted blurred stainstill lingered.

It never disappearedeven when he left for goodfor himthis other one sent awayby a rotten family.

They're both over there nowand I stand alonein the rainpouring down on herearound this desolate land.

The Witch pops in from time to timewhen she feels like itbut her worn broom cannot take us bothawayneither can it quiet our disarray.

13 First published in Ygdrasil (Canada) in the March 2011 issue.

Many Slit-Opened Heads Later - to Julien B.14

I want to write something for yousomething specialbut it seems that won't do.

You were something far beyond us.Some unreachable star.Already.Ten years back - seventeen - Late nineties.

All of us craved for you.He did more than I,he was probably right.But he diednot from it -from something closer to what he had always been - ludicrous - but not quitethe same.

I want to write somethingbecause I surfed past you a lot latelyand saw how grown-up you arehalf smiling bare nakedin front of camerasreading your poems& proseto audienceeverywhereyou go.

14 First published on Magnapoets blog (Canada) on July 19, 2007.

I wanted to write something specialbut it seems I didn't. Doyou care if I hate younow?

He'd written something for you.Something special.Something good.Let's Not The Tea Go Cold - it was called.

He is cold nowand so are youlost in the Swiss snow.

With Love from Euphor15

On the tiled floor, I saw strange forms appearing.The head of Spartacusor that, more exciting, more modern also, of Actarus.

Princeswhether they come from Thrace or Euphoralways haunted my frozen mornings,my capsized nights.

Later- much later - it is by their laughter that I was started the most.

The princes always had an open throatand amazed eyesin bed.

I saw their wings growingat the same rate as their sexeswho were spread out around meeverywherein meon mein my eyes and the clouds.

I flew away toofar from this nestto joinin dreamin the bathroomunreal colourings,small encrusted gravels,in the shape of happy princes,in the shape of dark princes.

15 First published in Poetry Super Highway (USA) September 2008.

mgversion2>datura

mgversion2>publishing

05_11

Walter Ruhlmann: John and His Dogs & Other Poems

Cover and inside illustrations: Craig McCafferty (UK)

ISSN: 1365 5418

mgversion2datura@ gmail.com

http://mgversion2datura. hautetfort.com

Walter Ruhlmann was born in 1974 in France. He currently lives in

Mamoudzou, Mayotte where he works as an English teacher. He has

been publishing mgversion2>datura (ex-Mauvaise graine) for fifteen

years. Walter is the author of several poetry chapbooks in French

and has published poems in various printed and electronic

publications world wide. He co-edited and translated poems for the

bilingual free verse and form section for the anniversary issue of

Magnapoets in January 2011.