Words spawned
from the mouth
of a hungry zeitgeist
and delivered
to the fallen and forlorn
Clothed and fed
by the living dead
in a reality torn
by the infernal zealot
A creature most anthropomorphic
Give us this day our daily tablet
and bleach us like white bread
with words amplified, rarified,
and delectably catalytic
floating upon the cosmic
with yesterdays plastic
whilst stinging like a hornet
I am the white anglo-saxon poet
Deep and easy
the shallow spoken
with words undone
like shadows formed
only to be broken
by the rising sun
Poets all . . .
reaching for
that Seventh Heaven
Poets embedded
in the trenches
of battleground Armageddon
Poets lined up at Club 27
Poets in it for the long run
Bards of the boudoir
Purveyors of despair
and merchants of glum
Poets who just want to have fun
Poets in the back alley
lighting torches in the night
Scribes of propaganda
as if many words
maketh right
Wordsmiths of entitlement
Artists of enlightenment
Poets with words heaven sent
offering a holy sacrement
Weavers and deceivers
of words hell rent and bent
Poets of the surreal
Poets scratching for a meal
with sonnets of seduction
Stories of gracious mercy
and rehabilitation
Tales of injustice and tragedy
Writers hungry for a deal
“Publish, or face damnation!”
Programmers
of the Great Disruption
No, you won’t fool
the children
of the IT Revolution
At the Last Chance Saloon
where rock spiders
wear robes of silk
and tiger mums
purchase cockroach milk
from the darker side
of a Pink Floyd Moon
I await the Picasso deconstruction
with all the poetic Portnoys
of the complaints industry
… Heaven help me!
Wholley driven to distraction
by a passion that never rests
Lost in a terminal burst
whilst learning to fly
the sweet by and by
Blessed by the tempest
Cursed by the Temptress
upon a kiss of eternal bliss
as I blew the smoke
till my lungs were broke
Death
within a frozen breath
came seeking a shirt
so I gave him my coat
But he wore it out
with more than enough rope
while I ran this race
like a walk in space
But with a gleeful shout
I now have a new jacket
Lined with love
and pockets full of hope
Politically corrected
and poetically redacted
I am
now and again
the white anglo-saxon poet
~ david redpath © 2018
PhotoArt: david redpath
Photography:
D. & L. Redpath © 2018
Your writing is so unique. Engrossing. Love it
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Thank you very much, Fiery.
I really appreciate that.
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Of course 😉
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Right on.
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Power to the Poet.
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I don’t know what you do, who you are or what your inspiration is, whatever it is, it is damn fine.
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Thanks muchly.
I guess that’s the beauty
of cyber bloggery.
For example,
I know you only
as Bottomles Scof Fee?
Is that a French name?
Sounds very strange to me!
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I am whoever you picture I am. I am of no importance or consequence. All that matters is how you decipher what I write. It only means to you, what you want it to mean.
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I do appreciate your
insightful perspective on the many issues you’ve been covering. Being an alien 👽
I’m usually reluctant to
comment on affairs foreign.
But we do hold many values
in common.
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Isn’t it funny that once all the bullshit is removed, we find we have more in common than different?
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It’s like D.N.A.
If your go back a score
or more generations,
turns out we are all related.
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Damn straight
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Love this David, artwork too !
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Thanks 4 the love, Holly.
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So welcome!
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Wow! You certainly are! I loved the rhyming scheme in this! ☺
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That dirty rhythm moves me
… so blame it on the boogie.
Thanks Tennessee Walt.
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When you got that boogie, you got that beat. My pleasure David.
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David, your writing tumbles with a tantalizing and unyielding rhythm! Gorgeous writing!!!!
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Thank you very much, Susan.
So glad to hear from you,
with much ink overflowing.
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And a very good poet, as I believe I said before.
Publish or face damnation, indeed!
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Takes one to know one.
ΕΥΧΑΡΙΣΤΏ, Basilike …
Here’s hoping that the
editor’s name isn’t Erdogan!
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EYXAΡΙΣΤΩ ΚΙ ΕΓΩ, David.
If Erdogan or other like him ever edit anything, it will be a disaster. Their views on editing are a little different to ours, I think.
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I guess freedom of speech,
and freedom of expression,
is not high on the agenda
when your aim is to be the
next Caliph of Oppression.
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Just a Caliph? What’s wrong with Sultan?
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A Caliphate Donald Trumps
a Sultanate.
Oh my God! Is it too late?
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A Caliph, being a religious
patriarchal leader, is beyond
reproach. But a Sultan, these days, must have the popular support. Better to do without all that messy democratic stuff.
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Our media are already referring to Erdogan as The Sultan.
It has always been too late, I’m afraid.
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Love the art! That is what drew me in! The poetry is great too!
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Thanks Maranda.
I promise, no wasps were
harmed in the process.
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We can’t fly away from what we are…..
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But Wayne . . .
without a good buzz
we’d all go insane!
Just more of all the same.
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opus 🙂
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Gratias, Magnus R.S.✔
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Beautiful description of poets.yeah.they need the picaso.😊
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Perhaps, Aruna, a daily dose
of Salvador Dali, even!?
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Lol.right.you can take a dose of Salvador daili everyday.😊😊😊
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Wonderful wordings like wasp.i think-all writers are rebellious type person and special gift for world given by God.do you agree?dear!!
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Thank you, Aruna.
They say rage is at the
hear of Rock ‘n’ Roll.
Poetry is an expression
of the restless soul.
Words lit by the Spirit searching. Without it, just empty sounds clanging.
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Dear!!here you are absolutely right.poetry is an expression of restless soul n sound of super soul.
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I like how you start with the wasp topic and end up talking about the poets and their difficulties to live in a hostile world. This poem is a magnificent defense of all poets even though you mainly refer to the white anglo-saxon poet. Love these lines for their flow and musicality:
“Deep and easy
the shallow spoken
with words undone
like shadows formed
only to be broken
by the rising sun”
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Thanks for your insight, Marta.
I try to stick to my own
realm of existence, and
experience. I try, but can not truly imagine life marginalized and downtrodden.
So, all I can really do
is count my blessings,
as a guilt ridden … wasp.
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There is something addictive about the rhyme and rhythm of this WASP!
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Thanks Punam.
Glad you got a buzz out of it.
I was told once, by a therapist,
that I have an addictive personality.
When I said thanks, she replied
that it wasn’t compliment!?
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I am sure she needed therapy thereafter David!
You are most welcome.
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Wasp = white anglo-Saxon poet
As opposed to the African-American who flies like a butterfly and stings like a bee…
As Simon and Garfunkel might put it filling in for a laryngitis stricken Howard Cosell, “In the corner stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade. ..”
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Yes Chris, Muhammad Ali’s
immortal words were indeed
floating through my brain
at the time of writing.
When it comes to a throw
down with the Louisville Lip
I fear he would win by a
knockout. For I’m no great
white hope. Only a poetic
dope hanging off the rope.
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Ah… forgot to mention the beauty of your artwork. WASP is a great wordplay in your poem.
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Moltes gràcies, Marta.
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De res.
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I think you’ll enjoy my latest blog post called Brisbane’s Archbishop Coleridge and The Slaughter of The Albatrosses, David.
It features an Australian.
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Just drove past Brisbane,
Australia’s largest country
town.
Apologies for my tardiness,
Chris. Been driving full tilt,
the 3000 miles through the
Tropic of Capricorn, down
to the shores of Antarctica.
In my all terrain car 🚗.
I can blog on the run 🏃,
but I like to take the time
to savour the mayhem of
Van Helsings eclectic writings.
FYI; Some idiot down under
was just found guilty of
poisoning hundreds of eagles!
Here, they are a protected species.
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Your poetry is always cunning, your artwork, stunning…
But, tell me about the white car photo…
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Thanks muchly Victoria
. . . for appreciating.
Yes, the sleek little
De Tomaso Pantera
(Italian for Panther).
It’s was up for sale,
but I gave it a miss
for it’s only a 4 cylinder.
I find my need for speed
requires more power.
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I understand the need for speed.
A gorgeous car
You will go far
Even with small engine parts…
😉😎💕
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Small engine parts,
according to the testimony
of a lady named Stormy,
haven’t held back
Donald the Trump😂?!
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Heh.
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a very skilled word artificer you are…fantastic images, a good read and awesome write.
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Thank you very much,
Dorianna. I do strive
to break free of the hive.
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Keep writing my dear friend!
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Until the bitter end,
Efi … my sweet friend.
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Yes, you are.
Ladies and gentlemen, the Bard is born again.
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Verily, most merrily,
thou declaration
findeth no protestation,
in the proximity
of my most
humble company.
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…discipline in war, wisdom in peace
virtue and humility…
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With a war to wage
and peace to be found
words most sage
advice truly sound
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Wow. How the hell did I miss following your work??? This is insanely incredible. Just effing amazing.
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Thank you very much, Wulf.
I’ve been tracking
your manifold writing
since the Carvan Park,
along the Silk Road, whilst
sifting “sand grains trickling”.
Poetry lost and found
in the midst of a glorious oasis.
With Nirvana looming large,
“through the grey folds”
of a desert mirage.
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I just love your comment with all the references and pictures you paint with the words. Manifold writing? This one intrigues me so. Please ‘splain.
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So gloriously diverse,
and multi various,
I couldn’t resist playing
with some of your own
enigmatic words
in my comment reply.
And your Sunday lyrics
are a real treat,
when those Moody
Blues are hard to beat.
Thanks Wulf.
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You are so so so welcome. Just love the comments!!!
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Very powerful…deconstructing Picasso…and other phrases so grabbed me, shook me up, startled me into thinking, stretching my thinking…and the WASP certainly is busy throughout history…I’m concerned about using the word “poet” now…thanks so much for your writing, my dear friend!
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Thank you, Joan.
Your feedback very much
appreciated.
Poetry, through the prism
of free expression, is pure
democracy.
A door for spiritual inspiration,
and the occasional revolution.
Personal, and otherwise.
Yes, tyrants should be wary
… whenever the WASP flies!
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yes!
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Artwork, beautiful
Wordsmithing, captivating
The picture you added of yourself for me, the best part! 😋🤗
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Thank you very much, EC.
A little touch of narcissism
can go a long way.
But fear not, for this Wasp
has no sting in the tail.
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Love this. And Your artwork….I love all Your artwork! And poetry, for that matter. You have such a unique rhythm and vibe to all You do….seriously wonderful and cool. Cheers!!! 🤗💖☀️
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Thank you very much, Katy.
And likewise …
In a monochrome world of fashionably drab, I love your bold use of colour.
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My pleasure, David! And Thank You!!! 🤗
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Being honest, I don’t always understand your work, but I still am drawn to it and must read it through. Is that so strange??
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That makes two of us.
But then solid truth can be
stranger than flash fiction.
The search for meaning
is never ending, but eternal
truth is there for the taking.
I do believe the Spirit True
accompanies us in our journey,
just for the asking. In our
daily walk, even in our writing.
Thank you for persevering
with the reading
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Words written by a grand poet
to the poets of young and old
showing them how to weave
waves of surrealism
and feeling into the bones
with words used in everyday
language.
🙂
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Thank you very much, S M.
As an ambiguous alliterator
of anachronisms and allusion,
I find your exploration of
various poetic techniques
gloriously inspiring.
I fear I have not the literary
discipline to achieve what
you do so well with
your sublime writing.
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Ew
… Cock roach milk? Thats pure nightmare. Haha loved imagining you, sci-fi horror com style on a futuristic movie as I read this
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It is a thing! Some people
will buy anything. Here in Oz
you can buy a caramel shake
made from Camel Milk.
… What the heck?!
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You weaved your words with wonder and painful truth of society now !!
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Thanks for that, Joann.
A spoon full of poetry
helps with whatever reality
is going down, to the sound
of medicinal music 🎶.
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Very interesting analogy!
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And without apology, Dwight,
for the Wasp flys in the light
… and hopefully,
sometimes he is right !?
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Very Good!
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Fantastic composition. Once upon a time I played with the idea of myself as the Handyman Poet, but more recently I was obliquely dubbed El Providor, and I must admit I like that one even better. It’s tough to find one’s colloquial niche as a poet, but it’s quite a rewarding journey.
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Muchas gracias, El Providor.
Niches are made to be broken,
on a journey long and winding.
May the road rise with you,
and the rains fall gently on
your pastures, David.
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