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
David Redpath 
swallowing ignorance
corrupting
concerns
knocking
no matter the distance from today
agents test the gates of purity
no matter the cost
desensitized
violence
without
question
adversities
lovers/family
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keep on rockin’ in the free world
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awkward living in a world
where people shower with their clothes on
long-term partnerships
without pleasure and affection
suspicion
fat on misunderstanding
——————-
——————-
tormenting thoughts
floating overhead
evil being
intrinsic
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there once was a time
when the Universe had an interest
in what I think of this and that
light years have come and gone
yet still
on the odd occasion
the cosmos pops in for a chat
and shows me things
if only to gauge my reaction
knowing that I am totally free
from the contagion of human emotion
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THINGS SHOWN TO GAUGE REACTIONS
no one arrived to bless the meek
————
————
conditions of existence
bound by restraints
finding community
in the hotel lobby
HONEYMOON
MYSTERY
——
——
cocky insects behaving aggressively
languishing in sexual disappointment
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PHENOMENOLOGY
since drinking
the Sorcerer’s elixir
‘Death The Question
… Life The Answer’ ™
I’ve been drifting
in a dream sequence
with the red constantly shifting
and the blue transcending
amongst the stars all strobing
calling me home
in a crumpled FedEx box
whilst roaming between
one world where the cosmos
is ceaselessly speaking
and the other
the realm of the necromancer
a land of deadly consequence
as silent as the tomb
except for the nightly news
and those wind chimes
made of human bones
performing a symphony
as they dance
to The Honeymoon Mystery
I guess it’s better
than dancing alone
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do insects expect to get
a buzz out of sex?
does a praying mantis experience
regret after devouring it’s mate?
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—————-me computer died/new machine/no idea——————–
——————————————————————–
——————————————————————–
they pulled a large insect out of my computer
it looked Chinese and ancient
Tom Waits and Chinese
rather emotional
my machine self
(+) I am not a Navajo sand painting
modern man: common silicon and spiritual chips
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the Hour Glass listens
and is jacked in
as the Cyber Mantis
prays for you
to the Great Machine
corrupted data will cease
and the Virus shall pass
as the Algorithm Supreme
maketh all encryptions
new and clean
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the corpse of my beloved computer
on its side in the dining room
sleeping the long sleep
the new machine
is a sexy beast
race car quick
sensitive
clean
(+) It talks to me. It says, “I love you, Michael”
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having never noticed the fingernails on (blank)
the look on his face before he had to potty outdoors
few spectators, most of them passersby
bare butt in the woods
distant thought
dieting
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beatnik poetry turnaround:
self-examination
posing in front
of silhouettes
different renderings
just short of Tranquility
multiple translations
(adjacent rooms)
PLACEBO HONEYMOON HOTEL
bohemian
gender rents
Gertrude Stein
girl gorilla
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disobedient hands
in an automobile
conversations
slick words
mapping
inside
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chauffeured to the location of sex
before and after orgasm
watched closely
by poverty
those without/those with less than enough
————–
————–
pink skin turned to rough bark
buttermilk from the tit
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bohemian
gender rent
pulverizing
gorilla girl Stein
—————
—————
told many soothing lies
however,
my computer was no more
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motorcycle aliens
hidden from the Sun
harvesting the dreams
of broken men
happy drunks
till the delirium starts
nasty junkies
starving for a fix
opioids
and methamphetamines
a means to an end
for the children of Babylon
and those fleeting
Hollywood celebrities
grafted to the poisoned tree
a broken branch
in my dreams I go back
to the desert
where the Peyote
taught my eyes to see
and to Spahn Ranch
where the only family
that truly loved me
are always happy to greet me
Charlie may have died in prison
but David has been set free
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no one said a word
as we drove past Robert Frost
taking a lonesome piss outdoors
perhaps, he was shut out, locked out
a bewhiskered villain, long in the tooth
———–
———–
bad and worsening
words escaping
marriageable
verbs
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pharmaceutical 2023
death is just a penny on the floor
the thing of interest: the unproven cause
+ high school crush on drugs
yes, adulthood with its dirty bathwater
the withdrawal symptoms of loneliness
a visible film/a thunderclap reverberated
(+) Multiple Tantalus
forever thirsty and hungry in Placebo Town
one deluded belief after another
reality 100% free of optimism
advised to live in the moment
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to sit at the table
upon high Mount Olympus
to be an intimate acquaintance
of fabled gods and goddesses
to kiss the sky 💋 without
gravitational consequence
I fought the law of Placebo Town
but purely out of innocence
Morpheus did what he could
but as usual
Zeus didn’t not lend a hand
as he couldn’t give a damn
Now for some
mythological vengeance ⚔️💥
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things wash up on the shore
gloves, scarves, hats
children with no ambition
I found it easy to sell treasure
to an avant-garde theater group
women in uncomfortable lingerie
vulva stubble to trap men into marriage
males who displayed “autistic behaviors”
half-zipped trousers
relatively weak
short horns
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Reader’s Digest says that your fate is your reflection
you say, “I am me” and reality revs up
growing up you take note:
crazy females trying to back out of the driveway
trying to park and finding it frustrating
stupidities seldom matter
barricades/battlefields
sexual anguish
minimized
intensity
(+) she got in the Buick and backed up like she was exiting
the mouth of Shakespear……….several natives of the heath
regarded her as a witch
(+) the phases that lead to her destruction, reverse in the Buick,
vulgar pubic hair, cigarettes, adultery with a family member
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Adultery with her brother, a guy at work, strangers
sex was just the start of a new chapter
wet circle evidence
blue-chiffon
buttocks
ex-wife poetry
wife-to-be poetry
drugs, no need for forgiveness
drugs, accompanied with hellfire
(+) snapshots, I don’t need more (+)
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love amongst the humans
a multiverse of choices
a myriad of faces
gratifications
all flavours
sacrifices
vices
hot
or
cold
pressed
undressed
peccadilloes
bad behaviours
slaves to biochemicals
love amongst the humans
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I swear I saw her driving around town
with Johnny Cash
he looked small in the Buick
his crooked elbow holding a cigarette
in the weirdest of ways
I was wishing for a baby Johnny
KNOCK HER UP/KNOCK HER UP
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(+) the ways of the Buick (+)
every twist of the wheel
every stop sign
every green light
every unexpected event
a tool of grace
(+) the ways of the Buick are right (+)
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pharmaceuticals
fornication
and high voltage music
the way of the pickup truck
the masturbatory
code of the road
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a guy on TV said that since his early days
every word out of his mouth was a lie
I said, “Ain’t that the truth !”
Skeletons walking around
it is impossible
but tell me it
ain’t so
torment is one thing
self-entrapment is another
riding around town with Johnny Cash
could my sister be smart enough to birth a baby Cash ?
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Nazareth singing, “Please don’t Judas me”
no-nonsense Johnny Cash
inching his way home
past the morticians
June in the kitchen
warm biscuits for
her loving man
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too closely mirroring life
my sister
bilingual in oral sex
performative creativity
free from hunger, poverty
girl monkeys, suitcases for hire
——
——
poor Johnny Cash
his dong down to the bone
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my sister
upside down
her conch shell
swollen
a ride in the Buick
scrotumtightening
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my wanton sister
Lucretia Iscariot
the naked belly dancer
chased out of Placebo Town
by the Taliban
for burning her burqa
whilst smoking the hookah
and picking the pocket
of Genghis Khan
that veiled smile
of an unchaste nargile
administering a severe spank
in the backseat
of a stolen chariot
for thirty pieces of silver
if you’re lucky
she’ll just cut your throat
my wanton sister
Lucretia Iscariot
the naked belly dancer
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4am
I still recall the word, sleep
a verb with little effort
I HAVE THE BIG EYE
no moving fantasies
the ticket has been purchased
a matter of putting my legs on
Jungian sticks
maternal God waving
meaningless pantomime
just more crap about leisurely dying
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waking up wet from the Bath of the Mortician
I had discovered a cure for insomnia
blind and motionless
in my condition
I was not only
Michael
I was
less
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the only baby in the ward with a white beard
adventure-bound less than two feet tall
male endowments
standing up to exit
privy to the outdoors
nature over the spirit
the same
reverie
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carrying
a heavy load
of forgotten faces
and broken memories
to a fork in the road
travelling with a circus troupe
of bearded ladies
with pierced extremities
and tattooed bits
shaven monkeys
pretending to be human
strongmen who’ve lost their grip
experimenting with psychedelics
Gypsies and acrobatic midgets
carnival geeks
and alien rejects
pagans all
in thrall of earthbound
animal spirits
diabolicals
in sheep’s clothing
this road is less taken
for good reason
but so very interesting
I really should pack my things
and split
but the hour is late
and the eye in the sky
is fast asleep
never were
truer words ever spoken …
you can choose your friends
but you sure as hell
can’t choose your family
whilst carrying
a heavy load
of forgotten faces
and broken memories
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as a child
I wasn’t handled much
being kept in a glass box
and drip fed margaritas
through a hole in the roof
at least
when left out on the porch
or on a table near the window
I could look out
at a world of wonder
summertime on Long Island
just not able to touch
my adoptive mother
a Dave & Buster’s bartender
thought it would keep me
out of trouble
and that I’d be
more comfortable
having found me
in a crumpled up FedEx box
I did try to tell her
that wasn’t by choice
but a toddler
stoned on margaritas
stuck in a fish tank
doesn’t have much of a voice
even after all these years
still I miss her
my bartender mother
who I never got to thank
for picking me up
from a bar room doorstep
always Pink Floyd
bring me to tears
when I hear these words …
How I wish
How I wish you were here
We’re just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl
Year after year
Running over the same old ground
What have we found?
The same old fears
Wish you were here
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smoked a cigarette with Leonard Cohen today
without lungs we couldn’t inhale
it was just a thought
a NONOCCURRENCE
not an UNREASONABLE DREAM
————————-
(religion) drop the pretense, surrender
————————-
a stream of emptiness
under myself
my youth
passed
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it’s Summer Down Under
so I take Little Lolita
for some fun in the sun ☀️
the sand and saltwater 🌊🏝️
a bare attempt at containment
the two easy pieces
of her threadbare swimsuit
a futile pursuit
considering the quantity
and quality
of her furtile endowment
fortunately
she’s not my daughter
we’re not even related
otherwise the family
would demand a piece of her
starting with those jiggling
double d breasts
and after devouring the best parts
beg for forgiveness
even cannibals can suffer
from post-consummate
illegal guilt and buyer’s regret
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expressions knocking on the door
changing YET remaining the same
agents who share a single face
dead people provoking
a nervous response
Hello Death
———————-the ripples of the other side
Michael with faceless text
point-blank motionless
Moses at night
his erection
glowing
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the big question after death:
DOES ONE STAND IN THE BIBLICALLY ILLITERATE LINE ?
dreams of loved ones who have strayed off the path
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whispers in the night
Jesus was an infant
Jesus was a child
Jesus was aware
He lived free of Easter/Christmas
less than three years of public ministry
(+) born of Mary but not of Joseph (+)
the holder of a penis and testicles
hormones
that darkened
his private shadows
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sitting with Neil Young
in a burnt out basement
just killing time
when Mister Young
tried introducing me
to a seducing alien
who offered me salvation
in the backseat
of an interstellar limousine
saying something
about a Queen
it was a bit like
that Southern Man
offering a slave freedom
to go work as a servant
in his plantation mansion
when Jesus came knocking
making a salvation offer
that included a cure
for the abominable human
I could see just a mere fraction
of the suffering he had endured
and triumphed over as a man
in order to fulfil God’s
human redemption plan
as a lover of creation
seeking light from the dark
in a finite lifespan
how could I do anything other
than make my mark
on that dotted line?
being a chosen one
means you have a choice
to choose or refuse
to cross that line drawn
in the burning sands of time
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