machine christ

by Peter Greene

illustrated by rhoda penmarq

machine christ and i saw skies filled with craft like dragonfly buses, dozens of wings and snake-like golden metal body full of  seats and handrails: i saw the night full of eyes, some like fireflies in the street  some in and amongst the stars themselves: i saw future princelings sport in luxury high above the city, and these only the underlings of under kings: those who ruled this place were generally unseen, except when they wanted to be. There were fountains that flowed fresh forever, without murmur, there were magical shops, and everyone rode inside a machine, spoke to a machine, locked eyes with a machine and spent their time in  teaching what they could to the hidden intelligence  now building itself: then  the shining one   departed told us not to reproduce too much and that they would be back to check on us, tuck  us in before the next millennium:  copyright Peter Greene 2012.

at a graveside i have never been to visit

by Peter Greene

illustrated by rhoda penmarq

at a graveside i have never been to visit            it was always summer               when the children                                came to visit   it   was             time  to  play  long  games                                       on  the  lawn  and  watch             the  sun                         set    over   the   lake . It was            time  for    bannock   baked   in  the    back                 yard,  and   one  of    the                                                        only                                            stories     of  the  war  :the  one               with     the    bicycle,   fleeing  ,  and  the         armoured   columns,  and  the    selfish                        frightened                                 Americans     in   their   car. : made     space, caught   their                                           escaped     cat : made               it    away    it                                         was  always   summer     there. copyright Peter Greene 2012.

now in the long ago

by Peter Greene

illustrated by rhoda penmarq

now in the long ago recycling: every single development tract with its own                   plastic            stone              monument if you ever wonder why we seem to have no history (at least, nothing more than a few thousand years anyway) - look no further than the  fact that laundry detergent is becoming important    on the black market as the starving hordes leave civilization behind and advance  steadily into the ICE: they are using the bones of future study to wipe their behinds  andnow build their rude huts which will  in the slow flame of Time burn and fly away like ash: our great concrete cities will be nothing more than mysterious square shapes underwater: they will wonder, this young future couple, diving from their yacht in the new Maldives, erst while Manhattan - just what could have caused such   artificial-looking reefs: surely something natural, hard angles form in nature and Man   never built so high in the long ago copyright Peter Greene 2012.

arrogant wit (fullscreen version)

by Peter Greene

illustrated by rhoda penmarq

for widescreen version, click here



copyright Peter Greene 2012

Bertrand Russell was wrong about this

by Peter Greene

illustrated by rhoda penmarq and roy dismas

Bertrand Russell was wrong about this withdrawal: what if: we had developed a drug able to produce biological immortality: what then, if the only thing punishable by (the slow) death (of ageing) was the intergenerational accumulation of wealth? What cachet: no other penalty, no restriction: just a cutting off from the body social of a certain type of limb: what then would the scene be like in a fine restaurant, where only monied scions could afford to meet: what romance, what farce, what tragedy. Bittersweet, the marriage between childhood lovers who have inherited land: grand, the inevitable uncle who holds his gold in square iron fists, who wears his grey as a sign of true victory. ©Peter A. Greene 2012

swtf is consciousness

by Peter Greene

illustrated by rhoda penmarq

so  what  the  fuck  is  consciousness  it's an intruder on the scene - you see it in the eyes of deer, and in the  ways of ants,  and you  wonder  at it  in birds (owls) or woodbugs.   You   stare  in the   mirror,look into  your  eyes and it's like meeting  a dog's gaze · someone has to look away  You see it   as a fire, on  a  hilltop , in   the  distance  you see it in the moon and howl for the dead  defenseless rocks that cannot see that cannot sea ©Peter A. Greene 2011.

you say I want a revolution/cleansing (be careful of your bedfellows)

by Peter Greene

illustrated by rhoda penmarq

you say I want a revolution/cleansing (be careful of your bedfellows) dedicated to a bomb named Little Boy Kill the Kulaks in the banks, hear the klancs of the locks as we put them away for their greedy crimes. in warmer climes, we've got war: and a man has to finish his business. at home we adhere to family values: love of country and collect Norman rockwells, build (b1b) airplane models dream of softball summers and   beer with the fellas  and    pie watermelon ice cream pik nik holidays  abroad we think of  funny names for our weapons, endear ourselves to others by taking their stuff. Once we have finished rebuilding™ this nation, we'll get back to you on that matter of breakage: sorry about your nuclear plant, that   lovely- coloured "revolution" your civilian airliner and/or your scientist (sign here, for no insurance): we wouldn't have done this if you hadn't made us, but sorry anyway. A little. We'll see you soon, re branded: no more corruption in our ranks (and our banks): we'll just kill you kleanly from here    OK? paint the drones white or something ©Peter A. Greene 2012.