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Masonik Revelata Sub Boris Wet

Masonik Rememberence Boris Wet

Masonik Revelata Dys Boris Dry

Masonik Revelata Sub Boris Dry

The Curious Story of Frank on Radio

Masonik Rememberence Boris dry

Masonik Revelata Dys Boris wet

The mePhone/The Day Death Died on Radio

Lewis Fiander and a troupe of actors from Victorian College of the Arts perform  two of my poems "REVELATA SUBTERRANEA" and "REVELATA CELESTIA".  They were absolutely amazing and took the poems to new dramatic heights! 

These are the poems. You can read them while listening:

REVELATA CELESTIA ( A RHAPSODIC TRANSFIGURATION )


I remember lying on a hillock
as a small boy with some friends,
watching the sky up above...
 
We are having a competition -
who would be the first to guess
which object each passing cloud
resembles most closely.
 
There goes a giraffe,
followed quickly by an elephant and a dog;
one looks exactly like our history teacher,
making us burst out in fits of laughter.
 
Another resembles for all the world
that girl in my class
on whom I have a secret crush
and so I say nothing,
letting my best friend win that round
with his claim that it looks just like a rotten potato.
 
Suddenly the clouds redden
and start to mold themselves into globular shapes,
identical in appearance to red blood cells.
 
I can even see within each cloud
the inner architecture a cell is comprised of,
the nucleus in the centre,
the mitochondria moving around the perimeter.
 
Not only does the appearance of the clouds change,
more than that,
the very nature of their motion
acquires a completely new aspect.
 
No longer are they drifting
in their usual random, pointless ways.
 
Instead they are now moving
with that unmistakable and inimitable sense
of purpose that only living matter
and all matter saturated with the breath of life,
from tiniest bacteria upwards, possesses.
 
Off in the far distance
an old grey-bearded man dressed
in flowing white robes is making his way
across a deserted field of grass
in a manner most inconsistent
with his advanced age.
 
He skips like a playful boy
and every few steps he jumps up high
into the air and does a complete rotation
with his decrepit body.
 
We hear him shouting out in high excitement,
he doesn't even stop or look in our direction
but his words are clear and seemingly
reverberate all the way to the horizon:
"Don't you see, Boris?
This is the long-awaited sign from Him Up Above!
God, too, is The Son of Man!
God, too, has blood rushing through His veins!
I can now die in peace,
knowing that the Prophecy has come to pass!"


REVELATA SUBTERRANEA ( A POETIC MUTATION ) 


One day,
my friends and I descended
into the sewers
beneath the metropolis
and discovered the most unusual eel-like creatures
lounging indolently
on the concrete banks of the subterranean river.

There they were,
lying close to the river's edge,
only deigning to bestir 
and dip their heads languidly
into the passing current,
when a particularly choice morsel
of human waste floated by.

Their appearance overpowered me
with its repulsiveness.

"How could Evolution ever
conceive and give birth to such a horrible abomination?"
I remember wondering to myself,
"How could Nature ever allow
such a glaring insult against Herself
to arise and flourish;
such a  travesty,
such a betrayal,
such a perversion of the very natural order?"

Yet when I looked closer
at these anathemas,
a most astounding feature
revealed itself to me.

Somehow, through some playful whim
of the Goddess who directs 
and oversees the evolutionary process,
these overgrown worms
developed human faces.

Nay, not just human faces,
but visages of angelic beauty
such that no earthly woman
would ever dare to possess,
lest the Gods become spiteful and jealous.

This discovery was so unexpected,
the radiance of their mien so intense,
I stood transfixed,
unable to take my gaze
even for an instant
away from these heavenly subterrestrial creatures.

Their eyes looked at me
with all the cognition of a person;
Their facial expressions were those
of  kindness, serenity, wisdom.

There were two over to the left,
holding their heads close to one another,
gazing deeply, just like two lovers,
into each other's eyes.

Suddenly I felt an odd sort of compassion for them.

MY POEMS PERFORMED AT THE POETRY NIGHT

Boris G.