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
Perhaps it’s far better
upon this alien terrain
I finally surrender
the haunted trauma
I’ve tried in vain
to never remember?
For once upon
a most mercurial night
I had an encounter
with an angel
of blinding light
Whether or not
it was Lucifer
or some other
diabolic pretender
I can not rightly answer
He appeared
an uninvited intruder
on some mission of spite
as if the bearer
of some inalienable right
to blight and smite
with more than just a touch
of insidious delight
without any doubt
By the grace
of a mother’s prayer
I was spared
a face to face
in the then and there
with this spectre of despair
Yet for an instant
I beheld the reflection
of a most horrific apparition
as if torn from the grasp
of a tumultuous storm
revealing a mere glimpse
of a ghastly syphilitic form
repulsively seething
through a mist of ashes
dust and sulphurous gasses
Was I see-sawing
over the borderline
of madness?
Like an insult
to time and space
this essence of pure malice
made it’s appearance
within the dank
and fetid air of despair
in a room drained of life
where just me
and old friend Jimmy
were living the top shelf
in our riverside apartment
amongst the fashionably wasted
and the terminally bent
Just two slices of white bread
cut from the same loaf
of decadence and entitlement
I was high off my feet
when I noticed
Jim getting paranoid
whilst sinking into a void
somewhere below his seat
when this flood lit entity
from a mosh pit deep
came rising up from the ground
as the roof disappeared
and the floor began shifting
with a bone scraping sound
Concrete and stone
as in a compulsion
of revulsion
started convulsing
with the vibration
of a bullet train
from a stray dimension
fast approaching
I could feel
a really bad deal
and a cold wind of steel
rising up from behind
A dark shadow
like the wings unfurling
of an all consuming
out of control black hole
The buzz was deafening
of charged particles
frantically colliding
Drenched in an unholy light
the walls before me
began to blister
as in the presence
of something most sinister
The portrait hanging there
of a gracefully ageing rock star
that only moments earlier
had appeared ruggedly handsome
now became a horrible distortion
with a countenance most gruesome
Eyes of incandescent red
and a turgid green complexion
with hideous sores weeping
Seeping slime and drool
this repulsively fiendish ghoul
was well beyond
even my fevered imagination
It must surely be
an outside transmission!?
Possibly of some alien origin?
That room had known
both untimely death
and miraculous resurrection
Usually in the one session
But this …
this was something different
A grotesque apparition
of old time superstition
In my seventeen years
I had seen many things
… with eyes half open
But this near brush
with the infernal
high priest of disruption
threatening imminent death
by deceptive stealth
left a lingering question;
~ If all that is seen
is only temporary
then all that is unseen
must belong to eternity?
Could the spirit world
really be a possibility?
That’s not what
Richard Dawkins
and his theory of delusion
had diligently taught me?
Nor what Carl Sagan
kept on saying
over and over again?
I am forever grateful
to have sighted
only a reflection!
Through the pulsating gloom
I could see that Jimmy
had withdrawn to his room
Was it my turn to pay this
non-corporeal pied piper
or was it time for flight
being a lover … not a fighter?
“If you wish to excel, grasshopper,
you must choose one or the other
(but perhaps you should head for that
fire escape and dive down the ladder!).”
~ Guru Da Hoodoo
How to resist this manifestation
that I simply
previously
didn’t believe in?
(thank you Richard Dawkins!)
That by all my worldly doctrine
shouldn’t even exist?
What purpose this dire visitation?
Had this entity come for me?
Could it simply be
a case of mistaken identity?
By chance
a diabolical coincidence
us both at the same address?
Was this maleficent
rabid attack monkey
looking to hop on the back
of pitiful me . . . or Jimmy?
From under the cover
of Hotel California
my treasured vinyl copy
came the disembodied voice
of Aleister Crowley
(English occultist and cheerleader
for the Organ Grinder of Deception
… now deceased) rebuking me;
“Hey … skunk, you skin bag,
you show some respect!
Behold the manifestly manifold
and prophetically foretold
(by none other than me)
gloriously nefarious Bird of Prey
doing what comes supernaturally.
Deliciously tormenting,
then ever so slowly devouring
whosoever comes his way.
Or … quickly if you prefer?
Your naive friend is
higher than Bob Marley
when he shot up the Sheriff
and smoked the Deputy.
He has swallowed whole
the Lysergic Sacrament
and is now taking part
in the Luciferian initiation
of Le Grande Hallucination
as his own God given imagination
is weaponized against him.
He doesn’t stand a chance
against the mighty Anvil of Chaos!
He who loved me to death
whilst astral couch surfing
at Jimmy Page’s house,
and became my Unholy Boss.
Day and night he must deal
with these walking apes!
Always talking so loud and proud
and thinking themselves
higher than the angels!
So at least have some sympathy!
Sight unseen, it would seem,
you have some fine feathered
angelic companion who is
cramping my Master’s demonic style
and jamming the party plan.
SO GO SCRAM … while you can!”
And yes …
the irony was not lost on me
Wasn’t Aleister himself spawned
from the same gene pool of humanity?
Amid all this devilish locomotion
like a slow motion terror explosion
my Guardian from La Capella
whispered something within my ear
. . . “Don’t turn around!”
Translation;
“Fear not!
Your space in this place,
I have encircled for you.
A strong tower of love power
awaits all those who
hear and heed the call,
and in truth make it through.
Do not be overcome by evil,
but overcome evil with good
… as you know you should.
This unprincipled prince
of least resistance is opening
a multidimensional paranormal
portal of the soul,
with much luciferic turmoil.
For he hates with pure venom
you earthen pots,
seeded from heaven,
in which love may grow.
You mortals with your
frailties, your flaws, and
all that creative self expression.
That about sums you up
… without question.
I can provide only so much
mother loving protection.
Your friend, Jim … well,
he’s four sheets to the wind,
to use a nautical expression.
Time to brush the dust,
raise the storm anchor,
and sail off fast
in some fairer direction.
And in future, I’ll thank you
not to keelhaul me into this
chaotic type of situation.
It really drags me down!
‘Tis only for the prayers
of your sainted mother
that I’m even here.
I should be hanging out
at the Sagrada FamΓlia
as some angelic decoration
and passing prayers up to heaven.
So stop acting the psycho clown!
In hope, never look back, Jack
with a fearful heart full of regret,
or you’ll slide flat on your back
and become a dried out pillar
of salt just waiting to crack.”
[Note; As always …
the language of angels,
with all it’s reverb
and amplification,
open to some interpretation.]
Through the pulsating gloom
I could see that Jimmy
had withdrawn to his room
Was he trying to zone out
this flood of unearthly light?
From directly behind me
in a fiendishly guttural tone
came one word … “Leave!”
Translation;
“Piss Off Quickly!
I find the company
you’re keeping
disturbing to me.
One fine day
You’ll be all alone,
face down and prone,
with no guardian drone
to guide you home
after a rollicking stone.
You may think
you’re some voodoo child
free basing the wild side,
but from me you best flee.
So go run and hide.
Sooner, rather than later,
I’m bound to catch up with thee,
you lowly worm.
Just another fool
riding the storm.
But for now I have
an appointment to torment
your not so good friend,
young Jimmy.
His brain is already
squirming like a toad.
So leave him to me, Jack,
and go hit the road.”
[Note;
This is best guess. Not easy to translate
from the dialect of the fallen angelic.
Plagiarism, guilt tripping, bullying,
proud boasting like roller coasting,
body shaming, falsehoods of all kinds,
hollow flattery, fulsome curses within
empty blessings, erroneous predictions,
and downright unpleasant rudeness …
all ingredients of a demonic discourse.]
Who was I to argue
with this floodlit Uber-Spirit?
So, with some reluctance
sorrow and foreboding
I picked up my books of the dead
blew out the candle in the window
and promptly fled
to a cosmos rent and spent
Along the Great Scenic Rim
I was duly sent
through a hole in the floor
down a winding corridor
of fast flowing water
A mere human being transported
on a wild night of flight
to the heights of Mount Macedonia
And there
in the morning light
a bright towering sight
The white marble cross
of the unknown soldier
Jim once talked of going to Vietnam
to fight alongside Comrade Ho Chi Minh
for the glory of the worker’s revolution
This was too cute, since Jimmy
had never worked a day in his life
and came from an affluent family
But it showed that he had a heart
caring so for the poor downtrodden proletariat
I then informed him how Joseph Stalin
had murdered millions
A true rival in evil to Adolf Hitler
Like the outpouring
from a blacksmith’s furnace
worked with human hands
fuelled by hatred and avarice
weapons forged
from the deepest darkness
For all of this world’s chaos
can you always blame the anvil?
Yes, I guess, I do have
some sympathy for the devil
Jim never spoke again
of joining the Viet Cong
But after that blighted night
he gave the impression
of a traumatised war veteran
Self piercing with many pangs
as one unsaddled
into the collapsing wormhole
of a soul gone strangely wrong
And in that swirling storm
of dark sorcery born
. . . swallowed whole
If I had taken that spin
from somewhere within
would I have been capable
to have somehow reached him?
Me … at all of seventeen
being a T.Z.P.
of the highest degree
(Transcendental Zen Padawan)
and a bonafide armchair shaman
Could I have thrown Jim
an astral chord
like some lifeline
of silver string?
Perhaps even given him
a mantra to sing?
But this had been no fair fight
No schoolyard rough & tumble
Yet, it all left me
feeling somewhat culpable
It was Scotty
another old school friend
who informed me
of Jimmy’s passing
In Scotty’s back room
we would listen to ‘L.A.Woman’
and read beat poems
Jimmy would always play
the Grateful Dead β¦ with
Casey Jones driving that train
After canning the heat
with a whole lotta Zeppelin
we’d strum some Dylan
And then … on the road again
Like so many vets
of a war long gone
Jimmy got on with the job
… of just hanging on
Till at the age of 57
he put it all to a final end
I hope he found peace
if not that stairway to heaven
In finality
all I can say
is take a tip
from one who took the trip
. . . ‘Tis best to abide
with the Angels from above
and the God of pure love
who’s well and truly
on your side
~ by David B. Redpath Β© 2018-2023
“Finally, brothers and sisters,
whatever is true, whatever is noble,
whatever is right, whatever is pure,
whatever is lovely, whatever is
admirable, if anything is excellent,
or praiseworthy,
think about such things,
and the God of peace
will be with you.” ~ Paul of Tarsus
Photography ;
Linda & David B. Redpath Β© 2018-2023
Quite the experience you describe. Gave me chills but I love the end. Brilliant as always
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Thanks Stella,
for hanging in there,
till the very end.
I should have a blue ribbon to
present to everyone who does!?
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Youβre welcome
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What a trip! Kind of a Wasteland vibe.
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Thanks J.T.
With a touch of wanderlust,
one goes where one must.
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You’re putting poetry on a whole new level.
Loved the rhythm of this one.
What have u figured out on this journey? Like me….that u don’t really know anything?
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Thanks Bojana.
I’ve been using
a new spirit level.
As Aristotle once said,
“I know nothing!”
Or was that Sergeant Shultz,
from Hogan’s Heroes?
Anyway, I only have
one true superhero,
and he has the key π
to all that’s good, spirituality.
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Fair enough.
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This has a beautiful rhyme and rhythm, David.
Could I have my blue ribbon, please?
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It’s in the mail, Punam.
Thanks for the
cross-country reading.
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You are welcome David. I enjoyed criss-crossing the country with you.
Thanks for the heads up. I will keep a look out.
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How in the world can one man have so many words to write on a subject? I usually let Lola run around 800, because that seems to be my limit, but what of DR, I wonder? This is to bow to your many words, and your fantastic colored photos, and last but not least to thank you for following my girl, Lola. She started out a bit more difficult, and hard to handle, than she is today, but there is always give and take in relationships, isnβt there? We never really know what lurks around the next corner, or what words might just jump out of our imaginations and onto these virtual sheets of paperβ¦β¦.
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Thank you very much, Wayne.
I really appreciate your feedback.
By the way, just a tip, if Lola
gets out of hand on the next trip,
try giving her a bottle of Cherry Cola, according to that old Kinks song.
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This reminds me of an Iron Maiden song
Singing of a world gone wrong
‘Number of the Beast’
It’s never good when Crowley crawls out from the Deep
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Striking a chord
of ‘Paranoid’
by Black Sabbath.
If Ozzie was dead,
I’m sure he also
would’ve made
an appearance.
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David, what a wild ride this is, a trip of a lifetime, a PLUS-SIZE trip, where the non-corporeal meets and greets the corporeal. Itβs definitely a frightmare whenever Crowley appears, cough to wake yourself up, save yourself from the clutches of the undeserving. All kidding aside, this writing is brilliant and pushed all the right/rite and holy emotional buttons. ~ Mia
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Thank you very much, Mia.
My cautionary tale did seem
to take on a life of it’s own.
I meant not to prevail on any
poor unsuspecting soul to trevail with a writing so long.
But, between you and me, Mia,
I left out far more than I pit in.
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You’re most welcome, David. Energy does that, takes on a life of it’s own. I can only image what was left out and didn’t make the cut, stuff of dreams no doubt. Superb cautionary tale!
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Muchos ApariciΓ³n, Mia.
As this one was launched,
from Davy Jones’ locker,
( the pirate, not the Monkee)
with much fear & trepidation.
And a ratio of corporeal transportatio thrown in.
( that spanish spell check β
keeps clicking in ?)
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Dear David, I hope youβve put those fears behind you, as they say and Iβm paraphrasing, βKeep your eyes on where youβre going and not where youβve been.β Hey, Hey, whatβs up with the Spanish Spell Check, is that a new craft I donβt know about?
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And never count your money π°
while yout sitting at the table.
Don’t know what’s with
my android phone, amigo.
It keeps switching to Spanish
ever since going to Mexico.
I think my smartphone must want to go back.
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Have mercy. Scared me.
Is that a picture of you?
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Sorry about that, Victoria.
Guilty as charged!
Yes, that’s my mug shot.
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Awesome. π
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The best mug
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Like a broken beer jug πΊπ
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A gorgeous one
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π€ππ₯
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Wow! That was original and amazing, a modern-day Paradise Lost. Jimmy’s story is a way-too-sad, way-too-often tragedy we simply must do better with in awareness, action, and hopefully prevention.
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The call of the wild is hard
to resist when you’re a curious
young cat.
In the meantime, our leaders
and legislators, continue to hand
our children over to criminal
enterprises, and/ or the legal
pharmaceutical industry.
Thanks Tektite for dropping in.
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Holy crap you’re so damn good!!
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Thanks for the compliment,
Walt.
I would be good, if I could,
but
I don’t always do as I should!
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Coulda, shudda, woulda… It’s all good.
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Your poem shows the truth of the Greek word for sorcery in Saint John’s Book of Revelation being Pharmakeia (from which we get our English word “pharmacy”) for in the ancient world drug taking and communing with the spirits of the other realm usually amounted to one and the same thing.
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Nothing new under the Sun.
As back then, the pharmacy
industry, legal and otherwise,
are big time financial backers
of all major political parties.
As the marginalised are duly
criminalised, mental health
issues are handed over to
unadulterated criminals,
pushing their adulterated
chemicals.
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Made me think of the Eagles’ “Hotel California”. You always seem to find a way to entwine the temporal and spiritual which are, in fact, entwined.
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Thanks Anne.
I guess it’s a case
of eyes to see,
and ears to hear,
with this life
in the fast lane.
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Your work is mesmerizing. Wow!
How do you do that thang you do?
And do it rhyming…
Rapping actually…
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Thanks for that, Lynda.
I do my best
to let it flow.
Where it goes,
I really don’t know?
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That’s quite good.
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Thanks, J.M.
Even a shrouded cloud
can have a silver lining.
Especially when
the Sun is shining.
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Absolutely!
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Nice one.
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Thanks Racheal.
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Wonderful expression by undisciplined prince.nice,dear!!
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A little bit of discipline
can go a very long way!
Thanks Aruna.
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Yeah.you are absolutely right.most welcome,dear!!
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π
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π§ππ€ππ
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Your words took my mind on a trip, and I really enjoy itπ¦
Thank youπ¦
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You are most welcome, OrkidΓ¨datter π
Happy landings π§
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You always kindly welcomeπ¦
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This is very interesting, (and so very poignant with your friend), as I was delving into Satanism before I met my husband. I had some, shall we say, intriguing experiences I would never wish on anyone.
(That Bible verse is also one of my favourites, and important to me).
Another masterful piece!!
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Thanks for that, Vanessa π
I got to spend some time with Witch Doctors in New Guinea. A real eye opener I can tell ya! π
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Oh my goodness, I can imagine. My parents met in New Guinea as missionary teachers.
We have friends who have taught in parts of Africa too, some of their students had to be careful while walking to one particular class, as they passed through the territory of a cannibalistic tribe. So many stories!
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So, you are in a sense,
a spiritual daughter of Papua π
I had quite an experience.
From swimming with sharks π¦
to NOT suffering the slings and arrows
of outraged witch doctors βοΈ
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I guess you could say that…my parents were there in the 60s and my older sister was born there. They loved it. They said it was the happiest time of their lives.
haha wow…I hope you are writing these adventures down somewhere?
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I’m still stuffing them in. Perhaps,
when it’s time for a walking frame,
and a mobility scooter, I’ll have the
time to sit at the typewriter π
I’d like to go back to New Guinea.
One day when West Papua is free, and
try chewing the Betel Nut ( I didn’t get
around to it last time. I was on my best
behaviour ) π
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When West Papua is free…sigh.
Now that would be an interesting post. π
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PS how recently was that David?
Were you there for long?
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“Twas in another lifetime,
one of toil and bloodΒ
When blackness was a virtue
the road was full of mud.” ~ Bob Dylan
Yes, about thirty years ago ( long before
Manus Island was turned into a detention
centre ). And the roads were mostly mud.
And like the Blues Brothers, on a mission
from God π
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Great quote!
I am sure you have some amazing stories!
oh my gosh…thanks for the reminder of that movie, I think I had a badge of them on my uni satchel that I hauled around for all of the three months I went, almost thirty years ago…yikes!
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It’s better out than in
is temptation’s sin
said the ANGEL of Light
who’d had the Devil to fight
to THE DEATH.
I suspect you’d witnessed THE BLIGHT
A Warrior’s HEAVENLY INSIGHT.
Your Poem is WONDERFUL David
And Jimmy is in Heaven
so there’s nothing for you to Fear.
Sibyl X
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Thank you very much, Sibyl ππ
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XXX
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Your heart and mind are bigger than the Universe I think! Wow again. Epic fast zooming train that just trailblazed right through me. Thank You, David. Wow. β£οΈ
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Thank you exceedingly, Katyππ
I was concerned about this piece
needing a trigger warning,
or something , for being so heavy ππ
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My pleasure….and You’re fine. Heavy yes, but You carry us in it. Your poems are truly like a train….they are physical to me….so even when You slam something hard or get heavy….the flow keeps it moving and there is an uber awareness that the destination will be reached. Bang pow. π
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Thank you, Katy. I really do appreciate that.
And thanks for coming along for the rideβοΈπ
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My pleasure!!! πππΌπ
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That Sagrada Familia
Still incomplete
Angels well have to put up
With the construction noise
If they have the ears to hear
Methinks:
A little bit of directed deafness
May not be that bad a thing
For the angelic choirs of Barcelona
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Yes … tall cranes were placing fruit salad
sculptures atop of the Sagrada Familia
when l visited Barcelona last year.
Inside, all was serene. The construction
work is all on the exterior. So have no fear.
The Spirit can be heard there, here, or
anywhere π
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PS. Don’t forget David
The Warrior’s coat of armour shields
a Heart of Gold, so Love did Heal
and Saved The SPIRIT of LIGHT thought dead
as well as the SOULS of the SPIRITS HE led.
XXX
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PPS. On the Xmas Eve of The Millennium’s New Year
Purple rain Purple Reign, purple rain Purple Reign
Purple rain Purple Reign
I only want to see you HAPPY in the Purple Reign
Said The Prince of PEACE & LOVE in HIS War-ship . . .
And
. . . I Died for you
You know it’s True
everything I do
I do it for you.
Sang by The Prince of Thieves’ Warrior Brothers ETC. etc. etc.
With one foot in Heaven and the other in Hell
HE’s The Phantom Of The Opera . . .
Lots of Love Sibyl X
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Bryan Adams on the Eve of Destruction.
Just another artist, in a raspberry beret,
formerly known as the Prince of eviction
from the Garden of Eden π
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ADams Dancing in the Dark with his gun for hire and His Conviction out of the Jungle and into the New Light that Dawned on Him. XX
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Oh David, quite an epic, of biblical proportions. The conclusion is powerful and stunning, ……. but now, after reading, time has flown past the sanity hour for my sleep…… I could be turned into a pagan impostor…. and steal the green witches broom…
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My apologies Ivor, for not putting
a trigger warning;
Do Not Consume If You Soon
Hope To Be Peacefully Snoring!
Thanks for the review of my Cecil B. Demille
Universal Studios Sinematic production π
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Yes too big to be screened here in Australia !!
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Ivor, it’s just a matter of mind over V-Max π
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The portrait hanging there
of a gracefully ageing rock star,
that only moments earlier
had appeared ruggedly handsome,
now became a horrible distortion,
with a countenance most gruesome. — I saw such a poster recently on the street. An aging singer coming to town for a concert. Who wants to go, I wondered.
Angels and demons must speak the primordial tongues. I once saw a demon in my computer screen. He asked for my soul but his Greek was bad, so he ended up with my fridge.
In your picture, you look like a prince.
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That pic was taken by my wife, Linda.
She tends to see me through rose coloured
glasses πΆοΈ ππ so I guess it shows.
And yes, placing your unwanted guest in the
fridge, to chill alongside the demon drink,
was certainly for the best π
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We found the stupid demon one night while searching for badly spoken Greek in American movies. He turned “soul” from feminine to neutral, and that’s how he’d get the fridge. Seriously now, I wonder, since there is some money spent to make a movie, can’t they find someone who speaks correctly the foreign language they want to use?
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An understandable mistake,
as the ranks of the fallen πΏ
are neutered & forsaken πΉ
And yes, the arrogance of Hollywood,
all brash trash … and very American π
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And proud to be ignorant.
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“Soon on the Big Screen
a Pearls for Swine presentation … !”
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Lou Reed would be proud. This makes taking a walk on the wild side sound like a day in the park.. Brilliant!
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Thank you very much, Violet.
I did happen to catch Lou Reed in concert,
on his “Sally Can’t Dance” tour, back in ’74.
Believe me, it was a wild ride, with not a
thing left to throw over the side π
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Thank you for the follow I have perused here on occasion intriguing I must say. “I know nothing” if you are not familiar with a TV programme titled “Fawlty Towers” be sure to check it out
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Thanks Chris … And yes, Basil Fawlty is
a prime time role model of mine π
I spent my formative years watching
Monty Python’s Flying Circus, which
may explain a lot π€
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Ah yes The Life of Brian also they don’t make them like that anymore…
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I do ask myself, Chris . . . who hasn’t been
a very naughty boy (or girl) ?
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And the answer is David?
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Positively negatory … Just like BrianβοΈ
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Holy shit, you are brilliant with this! Oh man, you are so clever. I just might want to read this again.
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Multiple thanks, Yassy π
I did stew over this one π€
in the pressure cooker of misadventure,
for a decade or two. So, I guess,
it should’ve ended up … well done π
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You are welcome , David π€
This stew you created
Ten on ten we have rated
In taste and texture
Your misadventure is a clincher
I would call it coup de grace.
Leading Lucifer in a merry chase.
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Dearest Yassy π
your kind words
they do flatter me π€
But enough said
of darkness and dred,
and fools who rush in
where angels fear to tread.
I suppose you’d not believe me
if I said it was all just poetry ?
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Your words immortalized
In verses harmonized
Giving mere mortals happiness and laughter
That’s your poetry , David
Making my day brighter.
I am sure #Lucifer feels lighter π€ππ»π
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πβοΈπ₯°π
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How powerfully writtenβ€οΈ
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Thank you very much, Ilonaπ
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you are super welcome!
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This was verging Allen Ginsberg. Wow, incredible.
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Certainly somewhere … a howl to be heard.
Thank you muchly for the lofty comparison π
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Anytime. You should know, your comments are damn cool. Part of the gun of doing something is to be acknowledged. Thanks for all your appreciation. βΊ
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Respect π
And amen, with a beat, my poetic friend.
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I agree. You’re a little worse than Allen Ginsberg. But you have potential. Very evident potential.
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I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that
… but you must make allowances. After all,
I am an Australian π Thanks for taking
the time to read & comment π
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Yes, I always see great influence of Ginsberg and Kerouac in your poetry, David. You see, I am not the only one saying this.
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We stand on the shoulders of giants.
Very kind of you to say, Marta π
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Always my pleasure, David. β€
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Wow! That’s a long poem.
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Like a royal cathedral train
at a Westminster wedding π
Thanks Resa … for noting.
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Holy Hellhounds! Help Humanity!
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Yes, I would’ve called for the Winchesters,
but they weren’t around back then, Walt.
I tell ya, it’s hard to find good hellhound
hunters when you really need ’em π
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π€
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Wow π What a ride! So powerfully done.
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Thank you very much,
Frances Elaina.
And don’t get me wrong,
for some “fallen angels”
can be a load of fun.
The stranger the better π
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I’m sorry for Jimmy. I live with a VN vet. He struggles with his own demons, even at 76.
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And what makes their plight even worse,
is that the Pentagon Papers prove the US
government knew all along it was a lost
cause … and all in vain.
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Yeah. All war is a lost cause.
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πβοΈβ€οΈββοΈ
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A very terrifying experience you had, David.
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Christopher, that was nothing!
I’ve walked La Rambla in Barcelona,
at the height of a tourist summer.
A massacre just waiting to happen.
An old broken umbrella
my only protection βοΈ!
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Are you referring to the time before the terror attack of August 17, 2017 in La Rambla?
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Sadly, the attack itself, Marta
( … and perhaps a bit of poetic licence).
Linda and I were at a festival in Malaga
when that terror attack happened. The
Costa del Sol instantly switched from
summertime celebrations, to grieving
… and mourning.
I had visited La Rambla shortly before that
awful event. The shock factor seemed to be
magnified, occuring in such an iconic and
idyllic location. It must have been traumatic
for those of you living in Barcelona.
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Sure, it was traumatic although we knew that such a terror attack was bound to happen one day or another as it had happened in other touristic European cities. What is worse is that the Spain’s central government let the two terror attacks (there was a second one in a Catalan town called Cambrils), indirectly happen. There was a link between the main perpetrator of the attacks, that is, the brain of the operation, imam Abdelbaki Es Satty, and the State intelligence services. The Spanish police and the Guardia Civil did nothing to stop him long before when he was a suspicious person. The central government of Spain let the two terror attacks happen in Catalonia in a subtile and indirect way. If you do nothing to stop criminals you are their accomplice. One day all this will be fully investigated and it will come out that those 15 killed people are victims of the Catalan process toward independence.
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Nothing would surprise me, Marta, when it
comes to imperial power, greed, corruption,
and the machinations of evil men.
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Exactly, that’s it. Time will tell.
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When tyranny needs an army to suppress
freedom, the oppressor’s days are numbered βοΈ
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Yea! β
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Quite an ordeal, this.
But the way you describe it so well all the while painting a vivid picture is so admirable β€.
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Thanks for your steely endurance, Sulaiman,
in reading this apocryphal piece ππ
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It wasn’t my endurance as much as it were your writing skills which kept me enthralled throughout β€.
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I very much appreciate that.
Thanks Sulaiman π
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I remember when you first posted this poem, David.
I still find it haunting and terrifyingly mesmerizing much like an encounter with the prince of darkness posing as an angel of light himself.
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Thanks for the angelic feedback, Chris π
I was going to tag this one as Rash Friction,
but that would’ve implied that truth isn’t
stranger than fiction π€
I guess you just had to be there π
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My favour example of your writing so far … original, touching and spiritual all at the same time βπΌ
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Thank you very much, Don π
Much gargantuan appreciation π
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Zounds! Psychedelic poesy! Kerouac and Leary combined… compares very favourably with Kesey’s Chief’s words written under the influence in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, too. Excellent!
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Carried, over the nesting grounds
of crazyness, on the shoulders of
literary giants from a nuclear age
of beat poetry counter culture.
Yes … that’s where this one was happening, Peter π Thanks for taking the time to read βοΈ
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βJust two slices of white bread
cut from the same loaf
of decadence and entitlementβ
Great lines. Are you sure you didnβt start AI. ? Thatβs a lot of download well done ππΎ
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My intelligence has often been
questioned as artificial π€πΆοΈ
Thanks for enquiring , Cindy ππ
Happy Halloween π
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It’s a wonder your hand doesn’t cramp up writing this! But love how you do it! π
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Bit by bit . . .
it’s a dirty job, Jonathan,
but someone’s gotta do it.
Thanks for taking the long road
on my Highway of Bloggery ππ
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My pleasure,
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Happy All Hallows’ Eve, Jonathan π
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another magnum opus, David; will have to have another more leisurely read; it reminded me of your memorable encounter with Gary Glitter: you remember that one?
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A magnum full of thanks, John π π₯ πΎ
You had best take a picnic basket π§Ί
full of blueberries π« the next time
in case you get hungry along the way π
Yes, I do remember how not all that
Glitters is gold. Now, awaiting a one-way
ticket to the hearafter, Gary is collecting
his old age pension inside the walls of a
sex offenders’ prison.
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so sad though, David ;
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Yes … and best not to judge π€πΆοΈ
There’s a legal system to do that π
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I’m always in awe of everyone who can express so brilliantly. Comments and your replies are also so good, I read till the end.
βFinally, brothers and sisters,
whatever is true, whatever is noble,
whatever is right, whatever is pure,
whatever is lovely, whatever is
admirable, if anything is excellent,
or praiseworthy,
think about such things,
and the God of peace
will be with you.β ~ Paul of Tarsus
If it’s so simple…
What’s happening is so disturbing…
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Gratifying to hear
that someone
actually reads them π
It’s a mystery, Indira!
As if mankind is under the
cruel whip of a hateful master
who exploits our broken nature
with no solution to the problem
of man’s inhumanity
to his fellow man.
Things are getting so crook
I need to look to The Book π π
for a satisfying answer. ππ
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Wild ride. I loved it!
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A rollicking merci beaucoup, Michelleπ
for riding my merciless roller coaster π
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A wild, imaginative ride, David! Chaotic and vivid! Both catastrophic and sublime! π
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Thanks for your eloquently descriptive
response, Cheryl π
Catastrophe and victory do seem
to be intricately entwined in this
chaotic journey of life π€πΆοΈ
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Nice Post π―π
Blessed and Happy day π
Greetings ππͺπ¦π«
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Muchas gracias π
Best Christmas wishes π
to Ceuta and Melilla ππͺπ¦ π
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