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 
the only flesh-and-blood intellectualist in Placebo Town
set his alarm and walked away in the darkness of night
Adam in Eden and sailors at sea could hear the drums
the natives were nervous, wisdom would soon be gone
the moral compass would no longer be trustworthy
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On the distant hilltops
warning beacons are being lit
but that Placebo Town
pseudo day glow
is brighter than the midday sun
The jungle telegraph
keeps on repeating
“Prepare to fight …
or get ready to run.”
From deep down below
a smoking volcano
you can hear a rumbling laugh
Unless of course
you’ve been blessed
by the 3 Angels of Cyber Space
. . . Dumb, Blind, and Deaf
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for reasons unknown
Madame Blavatsky
wrote her name
on the bottom
of every leaf
she was the boss-tooth
in a mouth full of teeth
she flirted with predators
claiming her buns were sweet eating
the predators neither believed or disbelieved
lying like the truth was commonplace in Placebo Town
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Striking a blow
in the Twilight Zone
somewhere
below Ground Zero
Giving the nameless dog
a bite of the bone
is the game we all know
To poke
the all seeing eye
of Freemasonry
To Podcast
the first stone
A bespoke reality
within an existence
of your very own creation
All is vanity …
the good, the bad,
and the damn fugly
Truth is more dangerous
with a dash of imagination
and stranger
when given some friction
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people on one side of the room
deprived of affection
as a child
boys enjoyed the genital reprimands
few spoke of the volunteer finger
told never to answer questions
(prisoners and then there were the privileged prisoners)
in the game well known
poke the hole
FREEMASONRY
there was a call for someone to toss the first word
cinematic conversation with library words
praise and blame with equal passion
fashionable boots and hat
untainted lovers
new to town
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skulls, teeth, bones
trophies
invested with supernatural qualities
symbols to bind others together
the meth circle
“hurt you if you let me”
words before the marriage
deeds later on
degrees of complexity
“hurt you if you let me”
loved ones with their scaffolding
the blend of family and friends
large loving eyes
turned blank
turned away
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A spirit vegan
Losing all hope
Lost in an endless season
Of carnivorous treason
An Earthbound misfit
Caught with guilty pork on his fork
At the Ashram of Ramadan
After winning a pig in a poke
The Kamikaze Ashkenazi
Crucified at the Valhalla penitentiary
Now born again with Nirvana intensity
That taste of pork
Just made him choke
As the camel’s back
Finally broke in a puff of smoke
Face down towards Mecca
With the weight of karma
The moving hand
Writing in the sand . . .
“Us and Them.
Words spawned
beyond all reason,
drawn to a non-event horizon.
Words that are a portal to heaven.
The desire of ordinary men
for some form of self expression.
Predators howling in Primal Park.
Experience void of context.
Imaginings from edges dark
within an existence
full of pride and pretence.
That hole in the soul
ever seeking euphoria.
The substance of abuse,
romance, and innocence lost.
A living question mark
dying for an answer.
The flesh struggles to resist.
Human poetry is grand nausea …
chaotic, and lacking that certain
unfathomable spirit dimension.
For true poetic inspiration
look upwards towards forever.
An eternity of poetry truly exists.”
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as a child
adults were living question marks
only one older gentleman in the village
owned books and had actually read a book
human poetry is grand nausea poop pudding
most find it easier to dish out than consume
who knows, look upwards or look inside
a hole in the soul may be a good thing
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Fluid on the brain
Of a lad insane
When I’m out on the beat
I can’t get no satisfaction
I can’t get no soul reaction
From the strangers that I meet
Even my best friend
Paints the whole world black
He’s a walking heart attack
Hanging on till the living end
Mick Jagger tasted the danger
Through a hole in the soul
Where you can always
get what you’re after
Not to burden the beast
But a tumble of the dice
Through a vortex that rocks
Can be brown sugar and spice
In a world of hard knocks
Like the devil’s daughter
Wearing nothing
But those space cotton socks
A wet dream
the shape of water
in a vacuum that sucks
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artificially modified Caucasian females
outside the walls of Placebo Town
deviations from the optimum
mutts that survive
and reproduce
nothing expensive
Dollar Store sneakers
cheap romance
3rd rate intercourse
jelly that refuses to wash off
————
————
magazine with supernormal female
no upper limit to her stimuli size
vulva free of vegetation
and scuff marks
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in a crowd of several hundred people
it is simple to pick me out
just lower the barrel
and fire
“I will hurt you if you permit me”
relatives and friends were thinking of puppy dog tails
and gingerbread smells at the Honeymoon Hotel
two young people rolled up in wedlock bliss
God would smoke us like a dope cigarette
it was God making us sex like animals
He was the vampire draining us dry
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trips to Switzerland to punish my blood
they remove every drop
take it to a toolshed
and beat it
to a bright red
somewhere in the Torah
a leather strap to the life sap
old men stand up in the grave
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the sound made when one removes a rubber glove
that’s the sound when one leaves this world
and enters the spirit world
I’m told that death is an eternal dream
an endless road trip with no pee stop
“Lord have mercy”
everyone at the library looks at my flat chested woman
somehow they are confused and think she is a man
but she has a Thanksgiving turkey vulva
I crawl up inside and fear that I’m Cain
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the librarian told me that sleep deepens us
improves our responses for survival
dreams are the servants of sleep
dreams are quick to deliver
serpent strikes
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George Michael
singing about faith
George Michael
singing about freedom
George Michael
under arrest
George Michael
fast asleep dreaming
George Michael
resting in peace
George Michael
wake up before you go-go
George Michael
The town of Placebo
will surely miss you
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they were asking
how to confine
water
fish with legs
educated fish
that stay up
late at night
with false sunlight
they hide their linchpins
behind ingenious speculation
they make mistakes and move on
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like the devil’s daughter wearing space cotton socks
Adele standing perfectly still while a hole was drilled into her soul
her beauty leaked out, Adele looks like a magazine corpse
worrying about her money, where was it going ?
that snot-bag censors her truth
a constant head pain
calories and cash
weak orgasms
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in a 1000 years Adele will still be Adele
Sin will be the daughter of Hard Knocks
Rihanna sending get well cards to Adele
“sorry you look like a magazine corpse”
leaking wealth faster than she can swallow it
Adele hires a monitor for the precious snot-bag
intuitive flows of language and tears on the stage
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The ascension of man
over 200,000 years
was just so Britney Spears
and her fellow Mouseketeers
could “Oops!”
… and then do it again
In a Lip Sync Battle of ambition
and naked desire
Christina Aguilera
was the clear winner
condemning Justin Timberlake
to the ring of fire
(like making craptacular movies
for the proletariat cinema
resembling a cranial enema)
and according to the Man in Black
it burns … that ring of fire
With another 200,000 years
Mouseketeers might just evolve
into a lifeform much higher?
The love of Walt Disney
is the square root of all evil
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listen Baby Bird
China’s rock-collecting robot
on the moon
it’s thinking about more
than the lunar surface
calibrated
crystal clear footage
of Britney Spears
when she was smooth
between the legs
talking Barbie doll smooth
no flaps or leaks
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A payload heavy
With western envy
That Chinese Space Probe
Searching an ancient lava flow
Has landed at Abbey Road
And is planting a plastic red flag
Everywhere you go
It listens to everything you say
It is watching everyone you know
A cosmic lunatic with a crush
A capsule full of solar wind and dust
About to blow in a meteoric rush
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the savage circles on Britney’s chest
the obscene slit trench down below
how was a lunar landing robot
to accomplish its mission
(@) presence-of-mind
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the angels started the production
reanimating the soil and the air
inflating the Homo sapiens
isolating the errant
preliterate
children
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I am a warrior
of the highlands.
The Chief of my noble clan.
When I was born all the swords
in my ancestral home
jumped out of their sheaths.
The mares in the fields gave birth
as the stallions crashed their fences.
The Druid priests held a great feast
and declared that Invictus Rex,
the Scourge of the Lowlanders,
at long last had returned.
The fears of mere mortal men,
along with the pleading tears
of their forlorn mothers,
I treat with disdain and scorn.
I have crossed vast oceans
for the insatiable pleasure
of seeing my enemies burn,
as my soldiers pillage and plunder.
Hoards of nubile battle maidens
high on blood lust
and looted treasure
awaiting their turn
to taste the best of Invictus Rex.
I know better than to ever
spurn them.
For who am I to deny
their comely desires?
Just a humble warrior
forged in Hades fire.
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I was over there
now I’m over here
occupying a space to see
Bobby Dylan in short pants
subtracting the virus and Trump
the American people want to see Dylan knees
———
———
The Stephen King Arena
the showcase of America’s rubbish
(@) eager to take a lingering look at Dylan legs
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The Poet Laureate knows
that the Emperor has no clothes
now that he’s been well and truly indisputably deposed
Postal votes from outer space
exposed his lack of grace
His sons and daughters
would-be gods and goddesses
should’ve told him to get dressed
In stormy weather
from a Russian bladder
’tis best
to never lose face
Oops! … He did it again
That loser
of a geriatric beauty contest
is a complete disgrace
With absolutely nothing to gain
but a blank cheque
Presidential Pardon
for the crime of wasting time
in the Rose Garden
Time to quit that Ovary Orifice
like a fat man in short pants
trying to dance along moonbeams
into hyperspace
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the guy at the pharmacy hinted that the pills
would have one reworking stuff already written
extending kinshiplike ties to others
holding hands at the library
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The Poetic
Organic
Living
Growing
Naturopathic
Words
Like a virus
Poems
That will outlive us
Words like effluence
Inciting violence
Madness in a capsule
Words of power
Words that influence
A revolution
In a single sentence
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for a small fee
one could rent binoculars
and watch buxom females
undress in front of bedroom widows
female anatomy is a time honored commodity
dreams about a lobby of virgins waiting to change their status
———
———
musicians in studios recording Christmas music
elementary expressions of holiday tenderness
enmeshed in a different set of neuroses
amateurs who fancy themselves
as professionals
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take away the rental
and the vision is no longer accessible
the memory will come into play
a memory that may add or subtract
so many denials
a buxom female
or not
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At the mannequin factory
I was the breast specialist
renowned throughout
the length and breadth
of haute couture Placebo Town
for my outstanding nipples
My signature creation
was a third teet in-between
right in the middle
How was I to know
that such a little thing
would cause so much trouble?
For the Placebo Town
Warlock & Witch’s Union 🧙♂️ 🧛♀️
soon raised a strong objection
to the United Cleavage Federation
saying a third tit 🔴 🔴 🔴
was exclusively their thing
Those witches then went savage
and severely sabotaged
my beloved mannequins 😱
by casting numerous spells
They even tried poisoning me
with their deadly potions
Hell’s Bells‼️
There was more
than a bit of strife
when several mannequins
come to life and started
devouring young children 🙈
But fortunately
the boss loves me 💝
He settled down the situation
by giving all the witches
a position at the factory 🏭
encased in mannequin plaster 🤫
(the very finest plaster of paris)
He even promoted me
to head designer
designing heads
which I do most lovingly
You live as you learn
With much love ♥️
and little sorcery thrown in
that’s exactly what
my beloved mannequins
give to me in return 💋👤
Nothing could be finer
since they now come complete
with lipstick 👄 and eye-liner 👁️
and a touch of magic
If you’re quick
you might just catch a wink 👀
on your next trip
to the shopping mall 🛒
But best not to be
in the company
of a small minor 👶
as my mannequins
get rather hungry 😎
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desirable results
in the long run
suffering
outstanding nipples
boy scout misinterpretation
(@) mannequins based on the daughters of Eve
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I was afraid that Bob Dylan
might have sold
the rights to my DNA
300 million
the cost of a kiss from Guinevere
and a case of space cotton socks
300 million
to awaken love
to perform all the feats
which are the wang-doodle
of romance
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Universal got a bargain
as the Dylan is getting
all cashed up for Armageddon
With box seats up for grabs
who could really blame him?
With the remainder
of any leftover moneys
he can buy a safe place
next to Walt Disney
in that cryogenic chamber
Heaven’s refrigerator
forever and ever after … Amen
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drugs and a sustained interpretive effort
Adam and Christ
created directly by God
centers of the same circle
average people find it difficult
to color inside the outlines
of their daily lives
(@) confession without moral rebirth
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I see them returning
from the outer realms.
Sometimes in flames,
sometimes frozen.
They meander here and there
in a winding motion,
like spirals of light
searching an endless ocean.
I am eternally grateful
my tribal Shaman
bequeathed to me
that first loving spoonful
in the sacred Cave of Initiation.
There the Spirit Mountain
opened the eyes of vision,
hidden deep within,
with a flood of living water.
After a time beyond measure,
the Shaman knelt over me
and praised the Great Spirit
for bestowing such a priceless treasure, a gift unmerited.
He then began to chant an ancient
prayer in some foreign tongue . . .
“May you gain wisdom
as you pass from death to rebirth.
Within the Great Spirit’s embrace
may you find your rightful place
and discover your true worth.
May you have the discretion
to never wear out your welcome
here in Spirit Mountain,
for man is but a creation
moulded from the living earth.”
I could not resist the temptation
of going back again, but heeding
my teacher’s words, not too often.
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I was afraid that Bob Dylan
might remove the man
from woman
and then
what
subvert God’s plan, Oh No
Adam named woman as he had named all the animals
no one questioned his bathroom hose wanting to violate her
“bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh”
recreational sex with God watching
(@) clean concept intercourse
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In the beginning
it was all good
But now
don’t you know
we’re on the eve
of destruction
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal that liked to growl,
Big furry paws and he liked to howl,
Great big furry back and furry hair.
“Ah, think I’ll call it a bear.”
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal up on a hill
Chewing up so much grass
until she was filled.
He saw milk comin’ out
but he didn’t know how.
“Ah, think I’ll call it a cow.”
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal that liked to snort,
Horns on his head
and they weren’t too short.
It looked like there wasn’t nothin’
that he couldn’t pull.
“Ah, think I’ll call it a bull.”
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal leavin’ a muddy trail,
Real dirty face and a curly tail.
He wasn’t too small
and he wasn’t too big.
“Ah, think I’ll call it a pig.”
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
Next animal that he did meet
Had wool on his back
and hooves on his feet,
Eating grass on a mountainside
so steep.
“Ah, think I’ll call it a sheep.”
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal as smooth as glass
Slithering his way through the grass.
Saw him disappear by a tree
near a lake . . .
~ Bob Dylan
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everyone became silent when I walked up
the angels were discussing
“compromise with the material world”
I knew that they were angels
they reeked of baptism
residue on their lips
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On the way to the ‘Grecian
Disneyland’, conveniently located
inside the Parthenon in Athens,
I got left behind by my tour group
after disembarking our train.
At the station a man had
approached me asking if I was
interested in chasing a dragon.
In the time it took to explain
that being a Brownstone Dungeon
Master I’d already hunted those
scaly dragons to near extinction,
my tour group had long gone.
So I decided to go visit the Hospice
of Saint Michael, where my guardian
angel was recuperating, to thank him
after he took one for Team Heaven.
All along the hallway to his cubicle
nuns were praying for the angel’s
survival. He wasn’t exactly ecstatic
to see me, being all bruised, and his
wings singed severely. I handed over
to the attending nurse the bag of
grapes and the bouquet of flowers
I had brought. As I did so she leant,
over and whispered in my ear,
“Do not fear. He isn’t going to die.
He’s an immortal angel, but you
gave it a damnable good try ”.
After a moment of awkwardness,
fully expecting to be told to go away,
my heroic guardian angelic struggled
up from his sick bed and begrudgingly
said that eventually he might just
reluctantly forgive me.
Later on, my entire tour group
were as high as kites, claiming
that ‘Grecian Disneyland’ was
one epic trip, and the most fun
to be found on the Mediterranean.
But then none of them have ever
been to the Casbah in Morocco and
puffed a hookah pipe of golden brown,
or danced with Snuff the magic dragon.
Also . . .
they’re all from Placebo Town.
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the place we go to repair
to heal from what and whom
we are up against
we are not meant to yield
never yield
die if you must
die and die and die again
ENDURE
return to Placebo Town
quiet yourself
reduce your observations
permit yourself to be naked
the circle of Noah has rolled away
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ignorance preserves innocence
IGNORANCE PRESERVES INNOCENCE
ignorance preserves innocence
Adam and Eve had no idea how vulnerable they were
they were naked puppets performing daily for God
when asked, God had a ready-made alibi
he had read all the self-help books
good intentions are not sufficient
to prevent the good
from doing wrong
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“Should a wise man answer with
empty knowledge, and fill himself
with the east wind? Should he reason
with unprofitable talk, or by speeches
with which he can do no good?”
~ Eliphaz the Temanite
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“I knew it was wrong but I couldn’t stop myself”
outwitted and outsmarted in Placebo Town
a constant warfare with the first blink of the day
reality has a will of its own, it is on the attack
moral strength is never strong enough
—————-
—————-
I have a night porter
he protects me from the monotonous
identity of Noah, the lower realms of each day
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the monotonous identity of Noah
a prisoner on the Ark
motionless
outside the rains of love
fell from the heavens
up above
the gliding waters were circular
Noah motionless in his circle
his sexual organ weeping
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A loving spoonful of ignorance
can be delightfully blissful . . .
Now about food sacrificed to idols,
we know that we all have knowledge
[concerning this]. Knowledge [alone]
makes [people self-righteously]
arrogant, but love [that unselfishly
seeks the best for others] builds up
and encourages others to grow
[in wisdom].
Do not participate in the worthless
& unproductive deeds of darkness, but
instead expose them [by exemplifying
personal integrity, moral courage, and
godly character]; for it is disgraceful
even to mention the things that such
people practice in secret.
If I speak with the tongues of men
and of angels, but have not love
[for others growing out of God’s love
for me], then I have become only
a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal
[just an annoying distraction]. And
if I have the gift of prophecy [and
speak a new message from God to the people], and understand all mysteries, and [possess] all knowledge;
and if I have all [sufficient] faith so
that I can remove mountains, but
do not have love [reaching out to others], I am nothing. If I give all my
possessions to feed the poor, and if
I surrender my body to be burned,
but do not have love, it does me no
good at all.
~ Paul of Tarsus (amplified)
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it may be disgraceful
to mention things
people do in secret
I think about couples
who kiss for the first time
on their wedding day
a bad kiss can go a long way
love, love, love and then snail lips
a kiss difficult to wipe off
I am nothing if not a distraction
a back wheel fell off my wagon
living under the overpass
with fumes and honking horns
my words are annoying
seeming to concentrate
on confusion
strangers ask directions
willing to drop a dollar
have yet to witness love
love is love
and perhaps Florida is void
I have myself and my words
Adam and Eve and Noah
in my sleeping bag
Abe Lincoln in my dreams
he holds me and I hold him
we have a thing
God passes by every 10 minutes
he waves and I wave back
I know that I am special
I have my personal night porter
he takes care of me
no pain Michael
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At the Honeymoon Hotel
where human worth
much like the weather
is measured by degrees
the night porter is the keeper
of the medicine cabinet keys
There the dreamers dream
of romantic love scenes
with Hollywood celebrities
in a fiesta of fertility
Elvis Presley and Ann-Margret
in Viva Las Vegas
James Dean and Natalie Wood
In a fantasy land
of fast cars
luxury yachts
and non-stop pool parties
Frank Sinatra had his regrets
Too much Rat Pack
Too much booze and cigarettes
Not to mention the women
But then again …
too few to mention
Quietly
In the morning
the old housekeeper
comes knocking
She steals from the dead
as she makes up their bed
yet still she expects
a tip from the living
It’s best not to sleep
at that Honeymoon Hotel
unless you bring
your own medication
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rumor has it
that the housekeeper
at the Honeymoon Hotel
has genital warts on her fingers
they speak with different tongues
harmonizing nicely on Christmas tunes
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The old housekeeper
at the Honeymoon Hotel
is a retired hooker
A former lady of the night
and part time belly dancer
Frank Sinatra was no doubt
her favourite customer
He would take her to Malibu
in his summer shorts
and there Ol’ Blue Balls
would do her his way
From the back
to the front
and back again
with all sorts of water sports
thrown in
She now sadly
belongs exclusively
to the night porter
and those many genitals
growing out of his warts
He’s an original Hellraiser
in very short pants
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in the lobby of the Honeymoon Hotel
there are numerous arrows pointing in all directions
if one were to journey on the path labeled “sodomites”
one would find themselves in a room full of odd grooms
the older gents might be reading outdated TV Guides
while the more virile would be touching themselves
and gleefully recalling their first time
an unique exquisite pain-pleasure
a three quart orgasm
and a flaming piss
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The night manager
at the Honeymoon Hotel
speaks softly
but carries a big stick
It’s a Louisville Slugger
he affectionately refers to
as his midnight special
the one way ticket to hell
He has a secret understanding
with the night porter
of which neither will ever tell
Double-cross the night manager
and he’ll cave your head in
Checking out is always a risk
So don’t be caught
with a bath towel
or even a bar of soap
as you’re leaving
But do enjoy your stay
at the Honeymoon Hotel
along with the very many
who’ve abandoned all hope
and will never again
return this way
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I read once that people
pass through Eden
on a regular basis
TEMPTATION
the bait in the rat trap
a rivalry
between what is created
and the Creator
the detour from proper destiny
lost control
a simple fill-up at the Truck Stop
a shower with a friend
a bag of meth
$700 socks
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In Placebo Town
Eden is marketed as
the New and Improved
Little Death Experience
Whilst retreating
into a transcendant trance
Buddha tried to resist
the rivalry between
the entrance and the exit
by insisting it didn’t even exist
Islam tried to find Eden
but got caught up
in a time warp
and stuck a fig leaf
on Eve’s face
Muhammad even flew
to old Jerusalem
on a magic Persian carpet
and looked
under a moving mountain
but he had the wrong address
Now he’s marching
towards Armageddon
with Conan the Bavarian
and a herd of Swiss elephants
all in short pants
To the East of Eden
Confucius came up with a plan
to overcome the West
and conquer Nirvana
Confucius is as inscrutable
as he is cautious
and he’s playing
a cunning game
With the help of James Dean
and Rock Hudson
China will one day
plant a plastic red flag
in the Garden of Eden
Annie Oakley
and Kurt Cobain
go get your guns
When it comes
to saving Doris Day
there is work to be done
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THE LAW OF SIN
the torso weeps
for its limbs
they fear not love
in their nakedness
their separation
they dwell out of sight
but not out of heart
so is the law of sin
you borrow a dollar
you can never pay back
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Now if you see Saint Annie
please, tell her, “Thanks a lot”
I cannot move
my fingers are all in a knot
I don’t have the strength
to get up and take another shot
And my best friend, my doctor,
won’t even say what it is I’ve got
~ Bob Dylan
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“Through hostile cities
and unfriendly towns,
thirty pieces of silver,
no money down.
Maybe someday,
you will understand
That something for nothing
is everybody’s plan.”
~ Bob Dylan
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citizens of Placebo Town
are asked to deny their ancestry
but gravity makes it difficult
cemented to a church
they say that outside the gate
outside the walls
the New Testament
has replaced the landscape
love overpowers hate
nothing red
on the supper plate
(@ think not of Judas when handed bread )
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A declaration of liberation
that Sermon on the Mount.
Yet the Hive of Self Flagellation
has turned it into a millstone
around the neck of humankind.
Blessed are those
who find the way home
by choosing peace and love
over hatred and aggression.
In this world of darkness
seething with grasping greed
and mindless prejudice,
there is none so blind
as the hollow self-righteous.
There is a light
above and beyond
the shadow horizon,
where the shallow religious
preach hateful division.
Always much to overcome
to see clearly
the bright morning sun.
More a decision
than an emotion,
love is simply
a heavenly point of view
perceived through
a mighty swell of inspiration,
like the king tide
of a surging ocean.
Be not deceived,
the opposite motivation,
that driving force of destruction,
comes mainly
from you know who
… who is too lowly to mention.
In the big picture,
according to scripture,
there’s a celestial future
of endless possibility.
It all starts with a single decision.
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local citizens were at the outdoor tent
many words were spoken
all ears were hungry
the squaring of the circle
life can be shallow
the bottom visible
life can be complex
with no visible bottom
the moon may be reflected
but the moon spirits remain invisible
(@ Moses with a veil over his face)
things that are seen are written in stone
things that are unseen are written in flesh
the eyes of the hard heart
the eyes of the loving heart
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Ever since the circus came
to Placebo Town
life is what happens
whilst flesh and stone fall apart
All things must die
All things break down
Mistakes and regrets
like tent pegs
hammered deep in the ground
Under the big top
the circus clowns perform
to the sounds of nervous laughter
The lions roar
and the acrobats soar
as the music gets louder
and faster
A voice from the back
screams out
“Please make it stop!”
But this show
has been going on
since forever
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A voice from the back
screams out
“Please make it stop!”
But this show
has been going on
since forever
people question
each time Jagger
prepares to jump out on stage
“how does he do it ?”
little do they know of
the termites that gnaw at
his backside
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Mick Jagger’s
infernal termites
relentlessly gnaw
at the internals,
and the externals,
of this existence.
All users and swingers,
much like those weasels
that rip Frank Zappa’s flesh,
as he screams . . .
“O Captain! My Captain!”.
I must have a heart of beef
as I couldn’t care less.
And Captain Stone Man,
that rock ‘n’ roll shaman,
is resting comfortably
on the geriatric couch
of no satisfaction.
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mistakes and regrets
like tent pegs
hammered deep in the ground
YES, MISTER REDPATH
big toes and little toes
like tent pegs
hammered deep in the ground
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ladders in the closet
from social-climbing
three or four poems
that started with
“inappropriately fond”
poetry in youth
written about rope-swinging
into the lake
later in life
turned into rope-swinging
into bed
high school sweethearts
images in magazines
characters on film
manipulative fingers
calling attention
to the limitations
(shotgun blasts from the past
now, finger snaps at best)
————-
————-
scythes and sickles
the fear of losing
an inch or two
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All things
left far behind.
The coming
and the going
is now blowing
in the winds of time.
Those red stains
upon life’s path
squeezed with glee
from the grapes of wrath.
Sometimes you lose,
sometimes you win.
You’ve just gotta laugh.
That’s the price of
admission to the Carnival
of Grand Funk Survival.
To be holding a losing hand
with a Joker’s grin.
So place your bet,
thank Lady Luck,
and keep on giving
that big wheel a spin.
Just don’t go double-crossing
the Ringmaster,
that head freak
in the snake skin top hat.
For sooner or later
everyone gets to regret
their innocence lost
when it’s time
to settle accounts
with the circus boss.
The best bet,
at the Placebo Town Casino,
is to never deal him in.
All these things
left far behind.
The coming
and the going
is now blowing
my little mind.
Those blood stains
beneath a wooden cross
were left there
on my grateful behalf.
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the dong is gone
just an extension cord
that gets plugged in now and then
love is no longer free
try not to spend
or lend
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When the thrill is gone
in a flood of muddy water
just like old man Dylan
try writing another song
about that endless search
for the devil’s daughter
… or even a merciful angel
Who can ever tell
what tomorrow may bring
It could just ring
your rusty bell
Hope springs eternal
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blessed to have a meal at a shopping-center cafeteria
the menu was like a crossword puzzle
told to ignore it
just eat what comes out
probably pancakes and syrup
pray it isn’t carrots and procreation
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Sitting on a pancake
Waiting for the syrup to come
Cafeteria waitress
Wearing voodoo headdress
Man, she’s been a naughty girl
She’s taking too long
I am the eggplant
She needs a transplant
I am the walnut
Goo goo g’joob
~ Hungry Darth Mall
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you know what they say…….
that your personality
is formed by your choices
pancakes and circumstances
honeysuckle nectar
Cher-like imitations
blue cigarette smoke
————–
————–
currency solved all problems
the revolving door of romance
at a fast pace, nothing mediocre
lovers before their eyes were sewn shut
(@ the body becomes a torture house, a corpse )
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wicked deeds and wicked thoughts
and the path so much harder to follow
holding grudges and never really forgiving
the librarian begging us to nullify our wants
to love God and welcome Him into our hearts
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yet to undergo death
knee-deep in rank weeds
love seized for countless years
menfolk, womenfolk, all others
naked and farthest from up above
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if poetry is an oath that He has made us swear
who is guiltless ?
we who do as we do
out of economic necessity
we who employ the crimson cord
who paint our doorposts with the future
the red of kindness and loyalty
the first children of Adam
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a phone call from John Ono and Yoko Ono
the lady at the Amsterdam Hilton
said, “please hold”
perhaps during the silence
John’s payload was being thrust
into the dank hole of his true love
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just one small misstep
and Yoko would be returned
pale skin stretched over bones
antiquated looks in a modern world
Yoko, the less said on the subject the better
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That is a Yoko No No
Lennon’s mother issues
And a box of soft tissues
Imagine where the Ringo goes
When John cried …
“Help! I need somebody.”
Yoko tried
But she was not just anybody
There is always
More truth to be told
In every rock ‘n’ roll love story
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the purrs of Yoko
famous for her secret sleeping potions
Paul slept for a month
and missed the release of an album
members of the band tossed out their clocks
and joined the calendar club
Yoko was proud of being a cubbyhole
she had authored manuals:
on the dreary actuality of John
on the dreary actuality of Paul
she was the living lost-and-found
of a famous musician, a wealthy man
perhaps, she was the Worm
that baptized the Beatles
perhaps, she was a yield sign
in the path of their downfall
it is difficult to think of her naked
with honeymoon brochures
in her hand
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“I believe in everything until it’s
disproved. So I believe in fairies,
the myths, dragons. It all exists,
even if it’s in your mind. Who’s to
say that dreams and nightmares
aren’t as real as the here and now?”
~ John Lennon
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reality is little more than an educated limerick
——————————-
——————————-
years and years of schooling
and you only carry away one thing
“a personal indifference to the sufferings of others”
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the nonstop demand for funds
——————-
——————-
lover or mascot ?
a Sunday social
or a late night playbill ?
romantic chatter
expressing
a desperate plea
for a second chance
———-
———-
a visual diary
behind closed eyes
more real
than any stage act
or written words
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The outpouring of libations
upon the ground of Placebo Town
celebrating the triumphant arrival
of yet another all conquering barbarian
The vaccination of liberation
hissing and ready to strike
like a kiss from the devil’s daughter
turns many into pillars of salt
while leaving others completely frozen
An angel unseen
is quietly disturbing
the ancient waters
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Yoko is upset that she can purchase
fantasies of boyhood
but never experience them
her childhood
one of dark emotion
figures in fog
daddy wore a gray exterior
mommy was cruel to the servants
somewhere jism crawled inside
the chapter of the baby was short
a pet left at home
she fumbled through ART
barren of grace and charm
a freethinker in a mindless void
the code of Satan was simple
——————she made the deal
an active endorsement
John fell victim
Paul fell asleep
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some say that Paul was dead
but Yoko claims not
the poor boy
was pioneering sleep
he was given
a gentleman’s chance
(@so be the devil endorsement)
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Yoko’s horns
of jade and gold
outplayed Saint Paul’s
wings of string
and his rubber soul
I try hard not to
but I can still hear him sing
Letting it be
took a heavy toll
Out on Fifth Street
fully equipped
to pussy whip
she was all in … and
I Want To Hold Your Hand
was starting to sound old
Like a bad trip
on a sinking ship
she won the Egg Man
to have and remould
A Walrus lost
looking for a mother
to be his sponsor
The cost to all of us
was immense
Yoko Ono had found
her apple juice donor
sucked fresh
from the Tree of Life
There’s no fool
like a Liverpool
That walking talking
Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test
May he rest in peace
now that he’s changed address
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