With more skat
than a stray cat
can poke his eyeballs at
the punk
in the Midnight Choir
starts to twist and shout
Yet …
the All in All
all too beautiful
for even a bird on a wire
to sing about
Like that
concert hall in Vienna
where your lips
were so warm and wet
Getting a feel
of the real deal
… that love thing
Upon a mission
a royal commission
seeking foremost
the rock solid Kingdom
It all starts from within
Seizing the living moment
Best be in it
to win
And Leonard Cohen
he’s moved on
to the Tower of Song
To find truth
without love
or at least a trace
of faith and hope
like trying to climb
the highest peak
of Mount Everest
naked
without oxygen
or even a rope
Not saying it can’t be done
but man …
sounding much like
a clanging gong
in the Temple
of a world gone wrong
Or have I found
that love thing?
From the mire
of the dire basement
that we’re standing in
try as you might
to sight the heavens
across the endless skies
Far better
in the light
seeing the world
through heaven’s eyes
Heart and Soulful
Holy Mindfulness
is the rightful place
where we all belong
And Leonard Cohen
he’s moved on
to the Tower of Song
I too
have tried
in my way
to be free
If it be your will
then let it be
Yet
here on earth
they sentenced me
to forty years of mayhem
for spying
the celebrants
of sin
Tell me
where does
this world end
and the next begin?
Because
I don’t like your
toxic culture mister
And I don’t like
the choir
you’re singing in
I don’t like Big Brother’s
twisted little sister
The King
of everything
He’s coming back
He’s coming to reward them
The King of hearts
and minds
the Prince of Peace
returning
But first
we seek the Kingdom
Then let freedom ring
And Leonard Cohen
he’s moved on
to the Tower of Song
I’ve been buried
and I’ve been dug up
I call it grace amazing
You called it dumb luck
And thank you
for those items
that you sent me
The stone monkey
and the ink
under my skin
I’ve tunnelled
towards the light
and now I’m ready
First
we occupy the Kingdom
then
let the revolution begin
Yes … Jesus was a sailor
when he walked upon the water
Seeking the lost at sea
and the drowning
The stranger
the gambler
and me
And Leonard Cohen
he’s sailing on
to the Tower of Song
Through all
the rise and fall
the pulp fiction
from hell’s kitchen
I really like
to walk
that tightrope, baby
I really like
to hear
those Sirens sing
But to see that nightmare
of deception
prowling through creation
Jesus told us
yes he told us
Kingdom starts with
Remember me?
I use to to live
without rhyme or reason
Remember me?
I plugged your Hi-Fi in
You loved me as a loser
You’d hate
to ever see me win
With Christ Jesus
my ship has finally
come in
No longer tied
to a kitchen chair
With a Glory
and a broken Hallelujah!
But first
we take the Kingdom
Losing it all to win
And Leonard Cohen
he’s moved on
to the Tower of Song
I’m counselled
by a whisper
from the heavens
Once I was blinded
by visions in a spin
Now it’s …
So long Chicken Maryland
That frozen turkey
who nearly did me in
For now I’m guided
by the beauty of creation
and a thirst
for the Kingdom
where I first heard
those angels sing
Jesus told us
yes he told us
Kingdom begins within
And Leonard Cohen
he’s singing along
from the Tower of Song
~ by David B. Redpath © 2017-20
Artwork;
‘La Musica Sacra’
~ by Luigi Mussini
Photography:
David B. Redpath © 2017-20
spy girl swinging like Tarzan
eyes peeling her apples
she was the real deal
the ease to the ache
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school bound youth uneducated
the blend of the genders
physical landscapes
lonely helplessness
the back stairwell
cigarettes
and gin
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In the library
the Christmas decorations
were silent
as the head librarian
explained to me
how every poet
is a sweet spirit
needing to be punished
… more or less
She was hungry for my poetry
Something new
and unpublished
The Christmas decorations
hanging from the ceiling
had all melted onto the floor
by the time we’d finished
Below a No Smoking sign
she handed me a lit cigarette
and whispered,
“You’re no Jack Kerouac.
That may be a good thing, as I’ll
let you off with just a spanking.
Less is more, so be careful
what you wish for.”
As I walked out the library door
into the streets of Placebo Town
I could hear the sound
of books weeping and screaming.
The head librarian
had fallen asleep
and had started to dream.
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Bent has never been more bent
Adam had God to toy with
Eve had Yoko to John
over time
satisfaction
doesn’t fit under
the Christmas tree
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The gutters of Placebo Town
are crawling with Johns
The Christmas tree
in the town square glitters
with their frozen jism
as mermaids dive
stagnant ponds for coins
A drunken sailor
on the street corner sings
… “So this is Christmas
and who have you done?”
Death is being torn
from the placenta
of Placebo Town
as life struggles to be born
No satisfaction to be found
by the riders of the storm
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boy scouts collected the jism
for the town square glitter
only in a Robert Frost poem
do leaves collect in rain gutters
the gutters of Placebo Town
overflow with Johns
long-in-the-tooth mermaids
wade the make-a-wish fountains
at the Dollar Store Mall for coins
sailors drink and drink
pissing themselves in the streets
dirty birds dressed in white
sing a little ditty
“Christmas, Christmas, who have you done ?”
Death, the sexless child of Sin and Evil
no baby bottle or breast
Stairway to Heaven
stitched on its heart
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Doris Day lyrics
and orchestral hysterics
reverberating down below.
Placebo Town heretics
manoeuvring the cello
between Lady Liberty’s legs
as she makes her last stand
with nowhere else to go.
Under the table
the ghost of Clark Gable
is blowing candles in the wind.
Marilyn, ever handy,
gave old Clark a stroke.
But frankly,
I don’t give a damn.
All I know
is that Marilyn Monroe
was the ultimate
Placebo Town showgirl
with her mermaid assets
that could only have come
from the Imaginarium
of Doctor Parnasssus.
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the doctors said that it was a protective shield of denial
Americans starving religion out of themselves
people across the way
with their ancestors
tied in the tops
of leafless
trees
they
understand
and display their understanding
that grief should be unearthed and visible
that children should poke it with sticks and laugh
perhaps scrawling with big crayons, sunken eyes, toothless grins
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Nations curled up in the fetal position
entangled in an umbilical cord of
trickle-down lies and
feudal economics
I hid myself amongst the Sisterhood
of the Cashless Happy Anarchist
as the Last Post sounded
for the millions lost in
a global pandemic
Blind reactions amongst the relics
of Placebo Town had come
at such a great cost
Freedom of choice
was now a thing
of the past
The Sisterhood finally decided that
it was time for some satisfaction
so I volunteered for the mission
as Sister Superior called out,
“Who’s next to be blessed?”
I survived the action
. . . but only just
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exterior visuals were of no interest
subjects were asked
to make adjustments
wash-down after wash-down
wrestling with the birth mud
man-man mud
father holding his son
a dress rehearsal for impersonality
reality ascending, reality descending
repetitive activities, words spoken
flying space craft, flying saucer craft
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“The noble-minded are calm
and steady. Little people are
forever fussing and fretting.”
~ Confucius
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Mrs. says
“all things
are required
reward is optional”
a good husband hammer
drives the nail straight and deep
super quiet
Caucasian sex
a regular rhythm
disappearing and reappearing
tighter and tighter the swallowing
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“Your reward
is in heaven 🙏
Meanwhile,
give me a smile
and keep on
hammering the hell
out of everything
down below ⬇️
The children
are always hungry
with no shoes
on their feet 👣
nothing to eat 🍔🍟
and nowhere to go.”
~ Her Indoors
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the Rabbi says, “hobbies are replaced with employment up above”
X X X
perceptual dislocation
nudity promoted as a draw to the club
no matter how many layers are removed
depictions of true nudity come devilishly close
yes, depictions are often cardboard depictions
management is understandably reluctant
to acknowledge or offer refunds
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“All Care Given . . .
No Responsibility Taken
on Earth as it is in Heaven.”
~ The Wascally Wabbi 🥕🐰
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it is easy to understand
the man standing outside
the ancient scuzzy nudie bar
often poets without words
afraid to experience
willing to witness
writers expired
more than
once
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That rascally Rabbi found me
at the Scuzzy Bar drinking gin
He accused me of stealing
from the collection tray … Tell me,
how else was I supposed to get in?
Is being a thief now a crime?
The Rabbi then joined me at the bar
and ordered another round
Just two scuzz balls covered in sin
killing time in Placebo Town
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never stay at a hotel
that offers a discount
on rooms without doors
panocha extra
Polaroid optional
(+) meanwhile in the lobby
self-exploration——self-discovery
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The Placebo Hilton
has glass floors
and ceilings
If you turn on
the speaker system
you can hear
yourself thinking
A coin in the slot
and the noise will stop
but the tap
keeps on dripping
Best not fight it
and go with the flow
“Crimson and clover
Over and over . . . ”
For a small tip
the night porter
will take the bars
off the window
then go and greet you
… way down below
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imagine riding a creature from the Bible
headless horses and demons with horns
uncaged humans for Christ
the list was passed to me
and I didn’t sign
I gave my word
spent my life
trying
to
overcome
the downward drift
the laboring for disintegration
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(fruitful collaboration)
baby raised with elders (+) baby at a fast pace
read and write and wrestle with numbers
make automobiles stand up and scream
independent with unlimited funds
friends with open needs
wrongheaded sex
then drugs won
night porter
world
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Being a rich man’s son
is a heavy burden.
Fortunately for me,
in the final distribution
I got none
after becoming
a comfortably numb
refugee among
the Little Sisters
of the Rising Sun.
My deals were the purest
and much cheaper than
the night porter’s.
Naturopathic medicine
should never be trodden upon,
and cheap chemicals
are strictly for street children.
You must always
keep your receipts
at the Placebo Hilton,
as friends with fiscal deficits,
fringe benefits, and
irresistible hormonal needs,
are all tax deductible.
As Mister Jagger once said
. . . Let it bleed.
Now,
things are more than even
. . . as I’m far richer
than my father ever was,
on Earth as it is in Heaven.
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Tommy James and the Shondells
outside singing “Crimson and Clover”
nuggets of wisdom floating down the river
witty remarks and wisecracks tangled up and visible
locals would try to wash away their psychological problems
often finding it a mistake to expose their baggage to the public
other-worldly conversations
space ship comings and goings
tightening exercises for buttocks
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The hysterical bride
in the penny arcade
Screaming she moans,
“I’ve just been made.”
Then sends out for the doctor,
who pulls down the shade
And says, “My advice is
to not let the boys in.”
Now, the medicine man comes
and he shuffles inside
He walks with a swagger
and he says to the bride,
“Stop all this weeping,
swallow your pride
You will not die,
it’s not poison.”
~ Bob Dylan
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born with a bend
the greater the lesser
old man Rabbi speaks of the witness
many words and deeds set to memory
no known structures to the dark testaments
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300 Nigerian schoolgirls kidnapped
. . . but thank goodness Lady Gaga
got her 3 french bulldogs back.
As a repercussion, I was ejected
from the League of Aryan Women.
Those Nazi britches accused me of
collaboration, but I was nowhere
near Lady Gaga’s doghouse at the
time, and I don’t have a gun.
The Rabbi tried to console me by
saying that an eye for an eye is the
best eyewitness when it comes to
blind justice. I saw the light, and
gave up my highly successful life
of crime. The one thing that rascally
Rabbi didn’t tell me . . . when will
sweet vengeance is mine?
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the Rabbi had a weird sense of humor
he would chuckle at
“all Welcome to Eden signs
have been taken down”
———————-
———————-
years later the shadows of angels
continue to be visible
autumnal fire on postcards
proof of the passage of time
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Maxfield Parrish once took us
for a fun outing to the shadow
grounds of Eden. The minefields
had all been cleared so it was
quite safe to run around. Anyway,
I’m certain angels were watching.
It was a sunny Saturday, and the
Rabbi had to stay at the Placebo
Town synagogue, so we took the
opportunity to drink some grog,
and smoke cigarettes.
All of us children then went fishing.
A few of us, having drunk too much,
even fell into the river.
Mister Parrish just smiled, saying,
“No wonder all I can do is paint the
Garden of Eden. There’s no going
back with such bad behaviour.”
I went for a swim, as he got the
girls to do some modelling.
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I was deep in artificial sleep when
they started shaving off the bottoms
of my feet, yes, shaving off the bottoms
I signed a piece of paper stating that I understood
the dangers involved with my procedure
thinking that they would know
WHEN TO STOP
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there’s just
no accounting
for the digital sheep
in an artificial sleep
all caught up in
the running of the bulls
on a superficial Wall Street
dreaming the good life
a ship of fools
sinking deep
in the darkness of night
but to dream
you must still be asleep
Arise, and Christ
will give you light
your soul to keep
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I recall the difficult times
as a child in Sunday School
my friend the Rabbi had taught me
many things, to question everything
to find humor in difficult subject matter
I was knee deep in anything Adam and Eve
in Sunday School they were our parents
minus the Reader’s Digest apple & sin
minus the serpent with his advice
(+) potty trained as adults
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The Rabbi once told me that it is better
to live on the roof than share the house
with a nagging wife. I then asked him
why he was hanging on to the chimney,
to which he replied, “Such is Life!”
The rascally Rabbi is a master of comedy.
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Maxfield Parrish left Placebo Town in 1966
he was a whimsical sort of fellow
noted for mythological scenes
hippies loved his paintings
Judeo-Christian perfect
a snapshot of Heaven
the day-glow colors
were a violation
of Robert Frost
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Fleeing a town
called Placebo
I blew into the Windy City
on my Harley
having taken route 66
all the way
from New Mexico
It was just after 3:30
in the morning
and that Motown sound
was thick in the air
People dancing in the street
to Martha and the Vandellas
The Temptations
and The Supremes
all Marvin Gaye
with slick down afro hair
(Why those two English white boys,
Mick Jagger and David Bowie, did that
cover version is beyond despair.
It just didn’t have that Motown feeling.
What’s more, it was embarrassing!
Placebotown Records has much to
answer for.)
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David Bowie doesn’t respond to external sources
Mick Jagger’s discovery of reality
has introduced a spell of regret
he thought that he was a part
of the natural world
he was wrong
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the non-physical aspects of physical objects
event night at the library
thoughts and feelings float
through the building
in a regular rhythm
accumulating at the feet
of the librarian
structures of words
closely similar
some the size
of an automobile
event night
is a party of returns
and repetitions
life passing before us
life as litter behind us
people beg to be rounded-off
but judgment is sharp edged
JUDGMENT cuts the excess skin off your penis
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The first cut
is the deepest
with nowhere to hide
Uncircumcised barbarians
and promiscuous librarians
are all good for big business
Yet life is a frantic bris
suspended in the ceremonies
of tribal pride
Inanimate objects kept alive
with hallucinogenics
and formaldehyde
The blockbuster autopsy
to be aired on Netflix
an open and shut case
of foreskin genocide
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event night at the library
told to say something
never said before
speak as if “almost a voice”
listen as if “you’re late and chasing yourself”
post-coital poetry
speak or listen ?
separate lives sharing sweat
no time for discovery
the scars on his dong
the colors of her flaps
the circus comes and goes
event night
the significant acts
lined up ready to pop
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foreplay poetry
with the total of my sum
is all the Head Librarian
ever asks of me
as it stirs her into action
in the getting of satisfaction
demanding that miracle to come
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at the event
men who dabbled in poetry
were high suspect
with a hand on the Bible
they were marked by hesitation
expressive difficulties
always the backward glance
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Ayatollah Abbas Tabrizian
(well known as an enthusiastic flu
jabber of the Arabian night scene)
says that the Covid-19 vaccine will
make you gay.
The rascally Rabbi says that’s right,
as catching Corona is no fun, so be
a chum and get some gay time
vaccination done.
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language at the event was metaphorical
the exact nature of reality
was lost in a heavy fog
beyond sensitive humans
seeking friendship
or trying to describe
human predicaments
(+) the differences of gender overpowered
by the differences between book readers
and television viewers
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the librarian said,
“one can’t make hamburger without grinding
up a little meat”
the whole time she was giving my crotch the big eye
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I once returned a borrowed book
to the Placebo Town Library
(The Dharma Bums,
by Jack Kerouac, to be exact.)
with the pages all folded back
and the spine badly broken
The Head Librarian just glared at me
saying that the last person to fold
back her pages was Bob Dylan
Since at the time
he didn’t have a single dime
to pay her fine
Bob bravely accepted his punishment
as she worked on his spine
He was lucky to have survived
her equipment secreted down in
the Placebo Town Library basement
Yet he never complained . . . much
to her profound disappointment
The Head Librarian then enquired
was I prepared to take my medicine
like a man
as it would require
much literary discipline
I politely requested that
I’d be allowed take it
like a freewheelin’ Bob Dylan
as the grinder in her basement
miraculously switched itself on
“Well, I got a woman,
five feet short,
she yells, and hollers,
and screams, and snorts.
She tickles my nose,
pats me on the head,
rolls me over,
and kicks me out of bed
She’s a man-eater,
meat-grinder, bad loser.”
~ Bob Dylan
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it seems that most engines in Placebo Town
are driven by pharmaceutical fuel
groups of young people
with ladders reaching
music becomes
a salary
young people with taller ladders even more urgent
constant threats from above and below
it is not enough that one succeeds
others must fail, fall to Placebo
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