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
some people question the modern poet’s ability
to alter the sexual abuse of oneself
the shadow of yourself naked
they say it looks like you
that it masturbates
without friction
or callous
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poets promised to a craft
a promise in lines of prose
they swear no attachments
but I can smell geography
meanders down below
the double doors
soiled carpet
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no longer happy with the automobile
I’ve taken to the outside sofa
just face traffic and go
countless married couples
are involved in arguments
they return my waves with indigestion
the sofa is limited
good for a couple of miles
a wonderful ride to the library
no food is served
but kisses can be had
just pucker up
and think of Meryl Streep
the sweet pink flesh of Meryl Streep
the confines of a mature woman
wearing ornaments like a Christmas tree
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God is busy
but sometimes
he reads me as if I were braille
Noah was afraid of God
the number of times he was cut
to release spiritual tumors
Noah was more cinematic
than any movie
his genital upholstery
hand carved
a proud man
often on display
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the downward drift
husbands wielding their Daddy sticks
derogatory remarks may be the only defense
romance complete with voice-overs
interior life on display
noise and commotion
holding too much
for too long
(@) derogatory remarks: size, shape, color
June Carter told Johnny Cash that his dong
was like a whippoorwill out of breath
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aspiring to something better
I put on my Moses skin
looking back
the dry skeleton
a grim reminder
of a life lacking discipline
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leave the printed page
and the immediate reality
a room full of floating heads
totally disembodied
grouped with actual people
strange sandwiches
of conversation
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the Rabbi said that he was exhausted
with synthetic readings of biblical prophecies
contrary to all expectations
scattered fragments
form a whole
Frankenstein
personalities and fates
smuggled into the library
(@) a secret society that sneaks literature into libraries
Daddy Onassis and Mommy Onassis
thought-provoking enough
backdoor intellectuals
nose first
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living a life more cinematic than any movie
the family tree in a nativity scene
blips on a radar screen
graveyard markers
a scoop of dust
Robert Frost
letters of the alphabet
weeping and void of comfort
$700 socks named for characters
in a Stephen King novel
scuffed suede breasts
as welcome as bare feet
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feeling so small in the large automobile
most people on the street
were too short to peek
inside
jewelers in town
would stand on stepladders
and exchange trinkets for cash
bodyguards stood by with evil eyes
bullets would have been too humane
they knew where to stab to make death wait
sometimes Aristotle would ride up front
it made the driver very nervous
afraid of making an error
the tires would turn
ever so slow
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Aristotle was from Smyrna
need say more ?
fury was a real thing
what would it take to rectify a situation ?
superstition baked in a pie
swells in the bedroom like an ocean
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ask people about the upstairs Jesus
and they instantly
park the car
on downstairs Jesus
the Rabbi says that the common man
doesn’t really think of Jesus
he just entertains thoughts
images of Jesus—images of thoughts
one needs an intermediary
a real powerhouse
Aristotle Onassis
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dreams of Jackie Onassis
sitting in front of a large mirror
rubbing a cream from Switzerland
on her scuffed suede breasts
a scientific formula
a dead embryo
or two
the only immediate answer
to the abandonment by God
(shades of the Kennedy curse)
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patterns of humiliation and exaltation
patterns of incarnation and resurrection
each morning the limo would visit self-realization
Aristotle would have the window down
clouds of cigar smoke pouring out
tobacco grown near Golgotha
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Honeymoon Hotel
all the times you had trouble
at the front door of romance
adolescent behavior put away
because of a condition
known as adulthood
adolescent behavior
taken out daily
friends with human faces
needful of companionship
old lovers
still ask
for more
autographed
merchandise
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instructed to shine
the flashlight on yourself
others are startled to see your innocence
no evidence of Robert Frost recitations
no questions without answers
fingers free of chaos
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just think
somehow
you were
removed
from
a
WOMAN
a world of question marks
men with loaded guns
nonphysical solitude
a bicycle with no tires
oiled rust free
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incognito Aristotle
Aristotle-within-an-Aristotle
the smell of ham salad with extra relish
almost never safe from prying eyes
finding it progressively harder
to grasp the dong
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thinking back
when I would tell fellow workers
that I was Moses (the skin of Moses)
few people sat at my table
people that didn’t speak
mainstream English
names I’ve forgotten but faces
that’s an entirely different story
each set of eyes like a signature supreme
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how many other people wear the skin of Moses ?
how many other men are pulled from a woman ?
a life of private eyes and detectives
agents of the government
the private world
what it would take to wipe away the orphanage
the bats and ghouls at night (the creeping)
the sound of children being tortured
what would it take ?
puritans applauding
as demons postpone the future
seemingly unrelated episodes, the poetry
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poetry written on the side of a cliff
daily existence on the cat walk
promised the electric chair
promised the cyanide chamber
every Christmas it’s a toy gallows
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explicit sex acts
seedy characters
dirty ankles and nails
every single thing circumcised
———–(floating)———–
with the Rabbi in an over-crowded lifeboat
he was holding my hand in a SORRY way
I knew he was mathematically correct
I was the Rabbi, inside the Holy skin
———–(floating)———–
mother on the other side
father pounding his fists
horrific creatures
suppression
repression
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the sky dark with mispronunciations
when one lives so close to Placebo Town
one must adjust to the company of sky vultures
previous achievements littering the trees
the poor pedal themselves
the rich pedal others
the Poet of the Week
on drugs 24/7
callousness on display
poetry about Russian roulette
kissing women in a rough manner
poetry about Russian ribbed condoms
alone at night with a butt cheese catalog
a dry rub Swiss with a serious cringe
a level 10 gravitational pull
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