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The Web Poetry Corner

Chris Harfman

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Mississauga, ON, CA

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Airport Music

by

Chris Harfman


It’s 4 am
I stand in the S Gate Lounge at the Airport
Nothing landing
Nothing leaving
Odd tourists sit like sacks of dirty carrots in there plastic bucket seats
I am completely awake and aware
I feel every foreign word and time zone stink off there glazed bodies
These are my children
Sitting here in the Limbo Zone
Sinking in there Dead Time
Waiting to become crash victims


The Tip of All

by

Chris Harfman


At the furthest edge of South America
Chile to be exact
My 1983 Datsun drowned in the meridian between
Oceans
Fire belched from the tinted windows
Then extinguished as waves rolled over the roof

A farmer watched from a distance
as I threw the keys into the sea
and kicked the empty kerosene can
down the beach

Bright sky
Blue sky
met
deep blue water at the horizons edge
I laughed
My clothes lay scattered to the sand
and I stood nude
arms grasping at the sun

The farmer leaned on his shovel gazing intently
I smiled at him and waved
My penis hard with nothing
Then when the gulls had quieted
I squeezed the trigger
and embraced the hiss


Sureal Garden Home

by

Chris Harfman


Fewer plants grow this year in my garden
To many weeds have crept into my zuchinni
Old friends came by to churn up the dry old soil, looking for worms no doubt
Past loves slide letters of spite under my door
Each envoleope containing tiny mustard seeds
Halfway threw my year my suumer tree split in half falling onto my tiny pumpkin patch
Maggots scramble from the rotting wood and made there way towards my basement
I can hear the silent creeping vines stranbling my livelyhood
And the photos have all gone yellow
Fewer photos are taken now of our frozen sun


Cake Walk

by

Chris Harfman


Many years from now
When the Earth has been stripped of all its natural resources and we live on a sheet of transparent tungsten to protect us from our fission core furnace that heats under our plastic feet

We will wonder how we ever lived in a world over crowded with plants, oceans and rocks.


Música de Aeroporto

by

Chris Harfman


DreamMachineThis poem was translated by Carlos Wood
The Dream Machine --- The Imagination of the World Wide Web

Google

São 4 da manhã
Eu me encontro na Sala de estar do Portão S do Aeroporto
Nada pousa
Nada parte
Turistas estranhos sentam-se como sacos de cenouras sujas em assentos plásticos
Eu estou completamente desperta e atenta
Eu sinto todas as palavras e o fedor daqueles corpos vítreos
Estas são minhas crianças
Sentandas aqui na Zona do Limbo
Submergindo no Tempo Morto
Esperando tornarem-se as próximas vítimas


Passeio de Bolo

by

Chris Harfman


DreamMachineThis poem was translated by Carlos Wood
The Dream Machine --- The Imagination of the World Wide Web

Google

Muitos anos atráz
Quando a Terra foi despida de todos os seus recursos naturais e nós vivemos em uma folha de tungstênio transparente para nos proteger de nosso núcleo central que aquece debaixo de nossos pés de plástico

Nós desejaremos saber como nós vivíamos em um mundo repleto de plantas, oceanos e pedras.


Jardim Surrealista

by

Chris Harfman

DreamMachineThis poem was translated by Carlos Wood
The Dream Machine --- The Imagination of the World Wide Web


Google
Menos plantas crescem este ano em meu jardim
Muitas ervas daninhas treparam em meu zuchinni
Velhos amigos vieram revolver a terra velha e seca, procurando por vermes sem dúvida nenhuma
Antigas cartas rancorozas de amor deslizam debaixo de minha porta
Cada envelope contém minúsculas sementes de mostarda
No meio do caminho espalho meu ano minha árvore de verão dividiu caindo pela metade sobre meu pedaço minusculo de abóbora
Larvas de inseto sobem da madeira apodrecendo e fazem caminho em direção ao meu porão
Eu posso ouvir as videiras rastejando silenciosas que tropeçam em meu capuz vivo
E as fotografias ficaram todas amarelas
Menos fotos são agora tiradas de nosso sol congelado


A Gorgeta

by

Chris Harfman

DreamMachineThis poem was translated by Carlos Wood
The Dream Machine --- The Imagination of the World Wide Web


Google
No Oeste da América do Sul
Chile para ser exato
Meu Datsun 1983 afogou-se no meridiano entre
Os Oceanos
Arrotou fogo das janelas tingidas
Então extinguiu-se como ondas roladas por cima do teto

Um fazendeiro assistiu de longe
como eu lancei as chaves ao mar
e chutei a lata vazia de querosene
praia abaixo

Céu luminoso
Céu azul
encontrou
as águas azuis e profundas na extremidade do horizonte
Eu ri
Minhas roupas se espalharam pela areia
e eu levantei nu
braços estendidos ao sol

O fazendeiro apoiou-se na pá contemplando atentamente
Eu sorri e acenei
Meu pênis duro com nada
Então quando as gaivotas tinham-se aquietado
Eu apertei o gatilho
e compreendi o assobio


Maximum Entropy of The Sun Maker

by

Chris Harfman

Before there was an after
Timeless Expanse of nothing
smoothed there way into existence
Beauty had no bearings
Hate had no Idea
Lines made no form
Sun Maker made no Suns
Its mechanism knew nothing of nothing
Calling its own name
Ignites it’s cold furnace
Duality has non-birth
Death begins with its first light
Shiva’s left hand closes
Nothing begins once more


Butterfly

by

Chris Harfman

Butterfly bumps my leg
saying hi and goodbye
all in one motion

Moved to Van

by

Chris Harfman

Moved to Van
its Fan!
Dont live in a Van
Hang with the also-ran
Dont give a dang
Man
What a Sham
Damn, I wish I was your lover

here now

by

Chris Harfman

I know you look here
but I have long gone
our time was over before we started
from that joint onwards
I think of you sometimes and regret
the ways I was with you was not fair
the past cannot be fixed
but now I know

Untitled

by

Chris Harfman

fuvk u