light-hungry

I am standing on fertilised ground
when the man asks me if I’m hungry.

I tell him ‘not for a long time’,
not since I’ve been consumed,

afraid of the sound of making
an impact on others.

of accidentally ringing
the emergency number

on the screen-locked phone
in my pocket.

I had been ravenous once,
scattered breadcrumbs of light

for snacking later.
I did get so hungry at night

but it crept into everything
in the way that sand does,

leaves no stone unturned.

cryptograph

write it down,
your whir of brain,

of algorithms dancing
to a tune

only you know.

key it in,
this cipher spider

you pseudo-random you.

pattern on the page,
hidden in plain sight,

a braille, a treasure map,
a most dark chocolate

of secrets.

I implore you
to keep your private key

private.

Send me your string,
yes, your electric eel

swimming to me
fragmented.

assemble
chinks of armour

to the obsessive music
of order

until I have your thoughts
in sequence

and in snake oil.

– from the e-chapbook xor

nine year microwave sky

This poem is the namesake of my rebooted blog here. It was also 1 of 8 poems shortlisted for the Australian Science Poetry award in 2013. It then featured in ‘Tic Toc’ anthology by Kind of a Hurricane Press.

 

You thought you could dive through time
as you did the seventh waves
of Cape Conran as a child

 

You thought the gaping black
was hollow,
except for the odd miracle

 

languid and creaking, bejewelled
in moons and singing.

 

But it’s a dusty contradicting force,

full of debris and decisions
colliding like chance love.

 

You didn’t realise your ballooning mind
dined on curiosity
at the periodic table,

 

impossibly expanding in
the belly of a finite law, stuffing

 

hot stars into your skull
[ as much as your pockets
could hold ]

 

You didn’t notice your flesh
was blushing,
even as you lay your cooling gaze

on me

 

I didn’t notice
because my newlywed’s red dress
had me burning up

on her entry

anti-inflammatory poem

It always comes back
rushing in,
one fell swoop
of southerly,
the grass turning heads
in a stampede,
stopping some sightless
traffic as if to
gridlock the earth
with her glamour
and airy graces.

 

You don’t fight back
but instead let her run
cool fingers through you,
attempt to be weightless
instead of spineless,
to be taken for a ride
instead of kidnapped,
to where stiff old stone
doesn’t crowd around,
murmur of stockholm
syndrome among
the weeds in your yard
and your story.

 

It always comes back
rushing in,
but only after the heat
has been trapped
in too long, like you,
and you stand in the path
between bricks,
seething,
waiting to be turned
into gossamer.

 

–A poem from my free online chapbook ‘XOR’.

XOR back online

Hello,

I’m back online (in a non-technical way anyway).

To celebrate, my last electronic chapbook of poems ‘XOR’ is back online at its own address http://xor.migueljacq.com.

Enjoy (or not!).

I consider it my best collection to date – though there are bigger predecessors, such as Magnetics.

look back

remember to always
look back

at your metadata
of footsteps

as you walk into
the sun.

 

your story, it could be
etched
in black wax,

made me skip a beat
to hear our fable
on rotation,

faint crackles of dust
in the great interstellar
disc.

 

I lower a needle
gently,

carve out a path
in wave form

so you keep singing.