We're all on a road to somewhere.
NO EXITS ~ EXIST ON
In the car park
of a stark oblivion
best leave
your engine running
Don’t phone it home
all on your own
If you’ve got the app
of a beating heart
with an overflowing cup
don’t text it to the exit
Within the recreation
of divine sublime trust
Sexit up …
if you really must
Ever since creation
Viva la différenciation
Just don’t let
your love rust
and turn into dust
when life is a bust
`Utopia´ ~ by david redpath
( acrylic on canvas ) © 2018
Six long weeks
roaming the dry crust
of a sun burnt wilderness.
Nothing but rocks and red dust,
The hot desert winds
that flay the skin
… now murmuring,
with words broken
of souls lost and forsaken.
Best I finally surrender
upon this alien terrain
the haunted trauma
of a time I’ve tried in vain
. . . to never remember.
On the banks of the Thames,
beyond the doors of the Tate,
seen through the haze
of a London heatwave,
the Post-Modernist of Fate
painting it all black.
Trying hard to forget
the brushstrokes of regret.
I was staying at
the Surfer’s Paradise
Hawaiian Motel
a Wild Turkey in hand
defrosting
in a monastery cell
when the news broke
… the King of Rock
had just fell
He could Rhythm & Blues
He could Rock and Country
from the Heartbreak Hotel
And Gospel
all the way
to the Edge of Reality
Heaven’s pearly gates
now blown to hell
Mosquitoes and neon buzzing
as the ‘No Vacancy’ sign
flickers on
at the Surfer’s Paradise
Hawaiian motel
As Science grapples
with the question ~
Is Time fundamental,
along comes Elisa.
Come sit down beside her;
I dreamt upon
the flight of night
riding the backseat
of a V8 Ford Pilot
whilst a Corporate Shaman
was stelthily installing
into my right arm
a mechanism
powered by lithium
that would recharge
my iPhone
and disseminate information
I asked
was this for my benefit
. . . or theirs?
but a vowel of silence
prevented him from answering
