ENTERING THE POETIC WORLD OF PHILIP MEERSMAN
OCEANUS REFERTUS MICROPLASTIC: PARADISE ON A SLIP OF PAPER
Reading through Philip Meersman’s anthology, Oceanus Refertus Microplastic: Paradise on a Slip of Paper, is not simply engaging with his poetry – it is stepping into an emotional kaleidoscope. His words do not remain politely on the page; they surge through you, often hitting hard - stirring something deep, raw and honest.
Even the titles of both the chapters and the poems evoke emotion, demand attention, invite reconnection. Within the pages, there is humour and heartbreak, rage and tenderness, delight and despair. The poems scream, they sing, they dance, they mourn. Some whisper. Others explode. All demand to be felt.
Who is Philip Meersman? I still don’t know exactly - and perhaps that is the magic. What I do know is this: I am profoundly grateful to have entered his world of words. In doing so, I have been reminded of how deeply language can move us and how poetry, at its best, becomes the bridge that connects us.
It is our privilege at Flourish Digimag Online to share BELOW a few selected extracts from Philip Meersman’s powerful and thought-provoking anthology, "Oceanus Refertus: Microplastic Paradise on a Slip of Paper."
For our Substack readers, we hope you enjoy them and find them as compelling and inspiring as we do.
Thank you, Philip!
With warm regards,
SARAH UNSWORTH
From the chapter ENTER A NEW ERA
INTERACTION INTERNET
Alphabet poem written after a binge watching weekend during the corona lockdown. Edited in anticipation of the jury verdict on the punishments and the aftermath for the Zaventem-Brussels Attacks in Word for Mac between September 11 - 19, 2023
anticipating the future
buy your future
Candy Crush
dare to seek
eradicate loss
find the bunny
go where no one ever went
hide whilst seeking
into the rabbit hole
join the tea party
kill bill
lost in a translation labyrinth
massive data melts
a nowhere mind
open all hours
picking leftover memories
quakes of cornflakes clutter
the rusting dishwasher craving for a treatment
of soap bars where cocktails are shaken nor stirred, but 3D-printed
the unknown unknown has become the incomprehensible incomprehensible peeling
the facial recognition with an internet scrub
under the cover of the dark all is possible
vanity reveres the past tense of period pieces
waiting until spring starts the averaging out
of Xanadu, the dream on wheels with sunflower seeds
yellow earth creates yellow bricks to be used in a yellow big road
zero dark thirty zillion dance moves obscure the end of this poem
From the chapter ENTER A NEW ERA
THE A-SIDE OF “WHAT GOD LOOKS LIKE TO ME”
Written in Word for MacBook as reaction to recent war crimes taking place around the world in this New Era
Start cleansing your dreams
they are leaving today
forgotten in the closet
smeared with illusions and promises
seams stretched faded, once cheerful, motives
drying on the clothesline of combat
What to do next?
“Parler” with a whitened flag
wring teabags or draw lines
on a blind map
x marks the spot
a dream in the making
From the chapter I WISH I WAS A BIRD
BWINDI IMPENETRABLE NATIONAL PARK
February 1st, 2021, as part of a series of short poems dedicated to animals on the brink of extension by the homocen tric society becoming homnivores. (A term taken from the title of the book “L’Homnivore” by Claude Fischler, seen on the book shelves of Les Bains Publics, Rimouski, Quebec, Canada on February 1st, 2024). Written in Notes for iPhone
Soft oscillation
trunk thumps
knuckled quest
poached slag ransack
no rebuilding on the ashes
in orphaned outback
cherished chaparral
machete-ed
shades of grey subsiding
coffee table carpet
staring at a walled adornment
From the chapter I WISH I WAS A BIRD
UJUNG KULON NATIONAL PARK
February 1st, 2021, as part of a series of short poems dedicated to animals on the brink of extension by the homocen tric society becoming homnivores. (A term taken from the title of the book “L’Homnivore” by Claude Fischler, seen on the book shelves of Les Bains Publics, Rimouski, Quebec, Canada on February 1st, 2024). Written in Notes for iPhone
In their horn
a sad song
of grinding might
steamrolling into extinction
vigor and virility
being lost
a myth of plenty
valued by weight
lonely wandering
of plethoric placebo
From the chapter I WISH I WAS A BIRD
THE HUMID FORESTS OF WEST AND CENTRAL AFRICA
February 1st, 2021, as part of a series of short poems dedicated to animals on the brink of extension by the homocen tric society becoming homnivores. (A term taken from the title of the book “L’Homnivore” by Claude Fischler, seen on the book shelves of Les Bains Publics, Rimouski, Quebec, Canada on February 1st, 2024). Written in Notes for iPhone
From tusk till dawn
sculptures scare
bony and ivory killing
together in perfect harmony
side by side in the jungle
they lie dead, naked, dusted and finished
only to fertilize the soil
already rich
already raped
more than a million times
From the chapter BACK TO THE WATER
A PEBBLE OVER THE WATER
Written in Notes for iPhone, December 2023
I may give you fire to burn the images you don’t want to see
There will be hope and love and peace
We forget not silence
tell the world love
loud voices sell life jackets
over and over
water seems too deep
boats filled too full
life
cast away a pebble over the water
sinking hope
found ashore
with every cycle of the washing water
From the chapter I WROTE A POEM NEAR NGONG’ HILLS
PARADISE ON A SLIP OF PAPER
Written during Masterclass “Writing at the Cradle of Civilization” Naivasha, Kenya, February 23-25, 2023 based on phrases heard during different conversations, written in Notes on iPhone
It is said that to have children
is to watch your heart walk
around outside of your chest
it lingers and gets cluttered
it longs for the sea
the sea is calling us
and kindness reveals itself in
eating oranges at the shores
writing paradise on a slip of paper
From the chapter I WROTE A POEM NEAR NGONG’ HILLS
THERE ARE MORE AFRICA’S FOR US IN A FEW MILLION YEARS
Written at the Naivasha lakeside (Lakefront House 5 Oloserion) after conversations with poets Ian, Tizzita & Norman on the way from Nairobi to lake Naivasha 04/06/2022 in Notes for iPhone
Greeted by crows
(un)natural intertwined trees
dyed yellow
by the rotting of their roots
- water of life, taking it –
they die
whilst lakeshores migrate
into the bottom of the lake
we merely gaze at birds peddling to the burned ochre sunset
turning into a pale purple
wild is the life in a nearby resort
they forget by dancing and chanting
forging friendships by the lake
deafened by rhythmic drums
their heartbeat adjusts
synchronises
karibu stranger
stay and glare
at the continental drift
tectonic separation
as the water rise
From the chapter LONGING FOR THE SOUTH
WHERE DID ALL THE POETS GO
Brussels International Underground Poetry Festival, September 2014, writ ten on separate sheets of 125gr light blue paper with blue and black biro’s This is free interpretation of “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?”, a folk song originally written by American singer-songwriter Pete Seeger in 1955 and best known in the German version by Marlene Dietrich “Sag’ mir, wo die Blumen sind” from 1962
Where did all the poets go
behind the wall
no teaching to cement
Facebook posts into a story
Cats do well
even during curfew
Police raids
every breath you take
every move you make
they’ll be watching you
Purr on and post that life
Where did all the poets
go behind the wall
no teaching to cement
Facebook posts into a story
Black Pete is deported
not allowed on the boat
thousands take his place
the Darwin men
struggle for life
survival of the fittest
the fattest absorb Series Seven
crisps, beer and plastic surgery
make the world grill again
Where did all the poets go
behind the wall
no teaching to cement
Facebook posts into a story
From the chapter MUSIC MATTERS
IF I
Written in May-June 2005 in Dutch, English and French in Waasmunster on recycled paper containing incorrectly drafted letters and on used mivb-tickets, edited in Word 2000 on a Windows XP Compaq laptop
If I was a cobble
I would lie for you
would be (a) rock for you
would build for you
would support you
But what
if I
was not?
If I was a plant
I would grow for you
would coloury smell for you
would welcome you
would feed you
But what
if I
was not?
If I was a brook
I would purl for you
would stream softly for you
would quench you
would refresh you
But what
if I
was not?
If I was a cloud
I would sprinkle for you
would shade you
would cool you
would follow you
But what
if I
was not?
If I was a flame
I would burn for you
be a beacon for your paths
would enlighten you
would warm you
But what
if I
was not?
If I was a star
I would shine for you
would create signs for you
would sing of you
would lead you
But what
if I
was not?
If I was a dream
I would sleep for you
would gather images for you
would cherish you
would comfort you
But what
if I
was not?
From the chapter CONVERSATIONS ON SMALL THINGS
THE TUAREG OF STEKENE
Dedicated to my very good friend, art ist-photographer-musician Jean-Pierre Van Rumste who passed away on his own request on 30/06/2022 after a long and brave battle with lung cancer.
The Tuareg of Stekene slides
caravan-trekking
in the misty morning dew
over mown fields, past cow-lorn pastures.
In a meadow far, far away a forgotten bovine bellows.
The camel chews, uninterested, green grassed frontiersmen
deliberately placing paws in pre-drawn seed grooves.
Milk strings embrace, clammy, the striding silhouette,
dissolving in Arthurian Grail-thoughts
between budding green willow guards.
A waning sun struggles beams
through the matte veiled cotton clouds.
White golden, a ray of warmth exudes
a dreaming mare awake.
She neighs in a daze and grazes
shrugging the exotic images
away
From the chapter MY OWN LITTLE GREAT SONGBOOK
AND JUST LIKE THAT
Written in Notes on iPhone on December 29th, 2021
and just like that
a year passed
words written
none said
they were there
packed in a box
behind
how we were raised
how we were treated
how violence had its impact
on body
and locked mind
and just like that
unspoken doom
pink skies
scream & belief
a horse, no horseman
distance is a dilemma
writings wrapped
memories packed
emotional door
locked no key
innermost expectations
covered up
and just like that
opportunity knocks
barriers
body and mind
presence
an elephant in the room
squeezed between tea leaves
capsules of time
mutual is a future
an open line
unlocking a new level
writing is waiting
therapy in knitting
removing the violence
defeating the horsemen
and just like that
a new world
emerged
you are the creator
From the chapter LONGING FOR THE SOUTH
WHERE DID ALL THE POETS GO
Brussels International Underground Poetry Festival, September 2014, writ ten on separate sheets of 125gr light blue paper with blue and black biro’s This is free interpretation of “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?”, a folk song originally written by American singer-songwriter Pete Seeger in 1955 and best known in the German version by Marlene Dietrich “Sag’ mir, wo die Blumen sind” from 1962
Where did all the poets go
behind the wall
no teaching to cement
Facebook posts into a story
Cats do well
even during curfew
Police raids
every breath you take
every move you make
they’ll be watching you
Purr on and post that life
Where did all the poets
go behind the wall
no teaching to cement
Facebook posts into a story
Black Pete is deported
not allowed on the boat
thousands take his place
the Darwin men
struggle for life
survival of the fittest
the fattest absorb Series Seven
crisps, beer and plastic surgery
make the world grill again
Where did all the poets go
behind the wall
no teaching to cement
Facebook posts into a story
TO LINK TO PHILIP’S EXTRAODINARY WORLD OF POETRY - CLICK BELOW
https://linktr.ee/spooninmybrain
