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 
to be meek
when meekness is a virtue
a tiny flashlight in total darkness
Honest Abe would ask, “why is nothing finished ?”
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UNFINISHED !!!
the average person
covers their darkness
with diluted rainbows
———–
———–
squalid huts
coated with paint
from North Korea
———–
———–
my favorite color:
joy seeing the doors of Heaven open
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words
completely interior preoccupation
never outside myself, me face
the sideshow Thomas’ Doubt
clean in spite of untidiness
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all them women
like bacon in the pan
frying
single-minded
sand from the carpet
the flesh folds of pretense
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literature before bed
with
blurred photographs
sexual conversation
less of a sin
if silent
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mom is asleep
and you’re polishing
the incarnation of reality
YOU hustle while you wait
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around the campfire late at night
boy scouts polishing
naked cheerleaders
doing somersaults
(HUSTLE WHILE YOU WAIT)
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find comfort
when you sit
in the barber’s chair
the imprint of the man before
pleasantly squeezes your business
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(+) every male barber is homosexual
(+) having your hair cut by a male barber is homosexual
(+) after you sit in the chair, you become the object of desire
humans: goods that change and pass away
the barber presses against you
you can smell his hand
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Little Lolita now cuts my hair
with more style and flair
than any jailhouse barber
she’s taken over
that particular chore
from Viking Mother
who would chop away
without forethought or care
(especially when drunk
she’d hairdo me like a punk)
whereas with Little Lolita
the process is a form of foreplay
with that added element of danger ✂️
what more can I say . . .
than she really loves to cut hair
especially when in the mood
for a very bad hair day
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the phone late at night
“me father’s barber is no light foot
he kills wild boars with a paperclip”
time is an odd thing
perhaps he is at stage one
collecting energy in his bulb
next life he may bloom
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HISTORY IS BEING MADE
recorded history
footprints in
wet cement
corrected
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the things that people do
——pinch off a piece of soul and smoke it
——put it in a wine bottle and swig it
swallow Jesus
become a walking self-portrait
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material all autobiographical
a loaded school bus
off a cliff
WHAT A CONCEPT: oneself narrated by oneself
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the local newspaper office
donated issues not sold
to a black preacher
an elderly man
in the winter
he would sit
next to a stove
and feed papers
hungry/freezing
an inch or two
from death
HISTORY was visible coming from the chimney
names and faces and ape-like antics
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climbed down into the cistern
to collect the timepiece
it was 2:02
Lars von Trier
was there chubby
said that I was lazy
rather, I had become so
my new penny shine gone
——0——
——0——
citizens of hell
busy recording
differences
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