Attention Deficit Disorder

 

I sit out here in No Man’s Land

where humans are an alien race

whose minds I cannot understand.

 

My zigzag brain cannot keep pace

with all these transdimensional words

you spray across my helpless face,

 

that drone like fifty hummingbirds

from your anaesthetic pipe

and turn my brain to lemon curd.

 

All I can hear is “Overripe

encryption standard implements

of catalytic prototype

 

for viable equivalents

of upward-trending demographic

low-cost programmed increments

 

of calibrated antistatic,

why aren’t you listening to me?

What’s wrong with you, you dozy spastic?”

 

Perhaps, my friend, I just don’t see

your world as some inspiring empire

of work and cash and liberty.

 

Perhaps, for me, this world’s a tripwire

behind which soldiers of the dull

rattle off their jargoned shellfire.

 

The years bring an emotional cull

and every woman now seems bland.

Their otherness bores through my skull.

 

I sit out here in No Man’s Land

where humans are an alien race

whose lives I cannot understand.

 

I cannot sense the tiniest trace

of the secret people won’t reveal,

that builds and welds a deep embrace.

 

I cannot see or hear or feel

whichever force it is that drives

two hearts into a bond of steel.

 

No matter how my spirit strives,

I cannot grasp the fruit-clumped branch

on which the rest of humanity thrives.

 

Perhaps an enigmatic bunch

of spirits wait beyond death’s fence

for me to spread my arms and launch.

 

Perhaps they wait in cold suspense

out on the plains of purgatory

for me to seize a newfound sense.

 

Perhaps this life’s a nursery

and gardener-gods watch how we thrash

out pain from their observatory.

 

In the back garden squirrels dash

from elm to elm, transporting shards

of chocolate to their moss-rimmed cache.

 

I envy how they leap for yards

around their world, so bold and grand,

and play no civilised charades.

 

I sit out here in No Man’s Land

where humans are an alien race

whose joys I cannot understand.

 

 

 

 


 

From “Disoccidented” by Alfie Shoyger:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Disoccidented-Alfie-Shoyger/dp/1999922859

 

https://alfieshoyger.blogspot.com

 

Views: 332
critique and comments welcome.

25
Leave a Comment

2 Comment threads
23 Thread replies
3 Followers
 
Most reacted comment
Hottest comment thread
3 Comment authors
IfyoupleaseAlfie_ShoygerMitch Recent comment authors
  Subscribe  
Notify of
Ifyouplease
Member

My mind ever since I learned Pitman’s shorthand 2000 tries to analyze phonetically your language especially in poetry. Our very strict teacher — native speaker of English — forced us to use the most british accent and Americanisms were forbidden – and what I find erroneous sometimes in your poems are lines such as on which the rest of humanity thrives. so how about: No matter how my spirit strives, I cannot grasp the fruit-clumped branch on which each human thrives. nursery observatory problem there too. the previous strophes are good, the third Perhaps strophe not as good as the… Read more »

Mitch
Member

I love the tetrameter aims and skill in this rhyme scheme. ‘Maybe ‘humankind’ ?

Flag Content