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 
Freud standing at the urinal
consumed with body-proud shame
if only his father had been a real man
@never face the facts
feelings of inadequacy and incompleteness
an application for divorce stuffed in a valentine
romantically attached to a motorcycle flying off a cliff
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everyone loves a birthday party
where the fireball of the event
is drugstore Thorazine
the cake went untouched
48 plastic cups misplaced
someone pooped
without flushing
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I take it kinda slow
With a whole lot of soul
Don’t move it too fast
Just make it last.
You scratch just like a monkey
Yeah ya do, real cool
You slide it to the flow
Of that comatose limbo
Yeah, how low can you go
In those space cotton socks
Now come on baby,
Come on baby!
Don’t fall down on me now
Just move it right here
to the Thorazine Shuffle
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of course, there is a movie version of your personal life
the ghost of your inner self drives fast on country roads
abandoned children stand naked praying for a pullover
“prehistoric archeological finds for sale”
just think, the perfect holiday gift
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somewhere in your journey
you passed a billboard on the highway
THE UNDERDEVELOPMENT OF A TRUE SELF
narcissistic beavers were busy nearby
perhaps they were applying makeup
thinking they were circus clowns
bent on entertaining you
@mutual masturbation
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a woman from your past was on the highway
trying to warn others of the danger ahead
years of numb living, a ghost at best
permission to have sex was one thing
to ignite your pubic hair and sing “Dixie”
that would require a head injury and a ring
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I dream a lot,
since the visions
left for the coast.
Last night I was speaking
with a dead man
who in life was a big shot.
I had worked for him
in a previous reincarnation.
He would ride every girl
in the office
Iike a rampaging stallion.
He would give me a lift home
in his mercedes coupe
when my bike wasn’t working.
Peter Murphy,
despite being the big boss
of Yamaha Australia,
was always very nice to me.
He went on to be the head
of Miele, that German company.
I had noticed that all of a sudden
the sales representatives
were all young women,
and extremely pretty.
In fact, he told me that in life
he had once owned a race horse.
I hadn’t known that.
His wife would ring
just about every morning,
trying to find where he was at,
and who’s twat he was up.
That doomed romance
ended in divorce.
No more final warning,
as she took the house
and the children.
He died a while back,
an unexpected heart attack.
Working for him
was my first real taste
of life in the workforce.
Thank you, Peter,
for stopping by for a chat.
Rest in peace.
Your racehorse is now
off the track.
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poets defeat themselves from the start
sex with a conservative function
and often a defensive stand
riding the instincts
like a bicycle
possibilities instead of limitations
a worn-out bathing suit
a mass of snarls
and tangles
talcum
powder
lips
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the librarian and her habit of swallowing angry words
she gained mass and drifted farther from romance
family members suggested that she surrender
to any and all men standing on their own
she would ask herself,
is he loving me or conquering me ?
is he open-minded and willing to improvise ?
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the phone rings late at night
a person from the distant past
a genderless human
who took showers
with their underwear on
the fear of being seen nude
was ever growing more painful
opposite-sex couples pictured on calendars
their eyes hollow no longer looking out or in
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for $100 one can watch a genderless person
urinate out their navel
an androgynous looking Jackie Kennedy
with a yellow stream leaking out her bellybutton
nothing conventional
nothing ordinary
@the machinery gone haywire
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a famous photographer
takes a prize shot of a rhinoceros
taking a massive poop at the Placebo Zoo
thickened callus puffed out around the edges
how many sensitive souls are thrown back to their birth ?
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a detective knocked on the door
questioning the childhood roots
of my self-image
no matter how correct he was
I found it difficult to accept
it isn’t easy to match inner and outer
to drop the label and pick up the continuum
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noncreative writing
I walked around it
found myself looking back
didn’t want the thing trailing me
DESTINY
the short boundaries of embarrassment
the crust of embarrassment
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someone famous once said,
“I refuse to walk on the ground
for it might incriminate me”
different size hats for poetic days
short words sneaking into sentences
Robert Frost
not a single book on the shelf
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My local barista
Roberto Brina
now gives every customer
a choice between
hemp oil and camel’s milk
But under the counter
he’ll make you a martini
that’s as smooth as silk
It’s a soporific libation
with a poetic kick
He calls it
The Sensation Not Shaken
as he only ever stirs it
with a swizzle stick
One more for the road
with Roberto
my Italian friend
since I’ll never return
to Cafe Placebo again
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fear
I see it every day
elders and infants
the herd just runs away
yes, the herd just runs away
something drops from the sky
leaps from behind a bush and roars
@ physical handsomeness on the plate
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I once heard
that herd immunity
is a golden ticket
to eternity
but with a raging infection
I wondered off
in another direction
In the library of Placebo Town
there was no earthly
cure to be found
for that cosmic variant
of an extraterrestrial contagion
No vaccine
no nothing
as that fever kept on
keeping on
Now we are at one
I have become
the space mutation
silently awaiting
the incubation
of Armageddon
I hear the drumming
of humanity marching
It shall not be long
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she lifted her skirt
and the rumor was true
entranceway-guardians
————————-I smiled back
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The Guardians of the Inverse
come in all shapes and sizes
When my Italian friend
Roberto Brina the barista
shouts out . . .
“Lunga Vita Alla Differenza!”
that’s no science fiction
Being a true caffeine artist
he’s into that sort of thing
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no matter how fast the Earth spins
death stands strong watching
death can be voyeuristic
emotionally incestuous
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at the pool hall
one gentleman was boasting
that his wife was constructed
of expensive buttless planking
all I could think, Honeymoon Splinters
@ between outbreeding and inbreeding
roll over, let us attain an optimum balance
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At the Cathedral of Love
a flying buttress
rising through the cosmos
is a glorious sight
Splendour in stratosphere
They are truly
an architectural wonder
that hold up
the Golden Dome of Passion
Notre Dame
just ain’t any old dame
She’s a hot little construction
singed by a naughty flame
But like the Phoenix
she will be re-erected
and rise again
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several thugs asked the Rabbi
why angels desired sex
with female humans
to discourage sex
in heaven
female angels
harbor vagina dentata
cut, bite, venom and worse
(+) that night when the Rabbi was brushing his teeth
he briefly thought how gullible people are
who was he to say that there
are no females in heaven
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There’s no business
like religious business
The second oldest profession
in the great state of Babylon
and theologically speaking
the more useless
Give me a hookah
doing a belly dance
puffing Persian style
on a nargile anytime
All the mullahs pray for
is to make the very best
of the decadent West a crime
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focused on
bisexuality
scholarly masturbation
naked, uncatalogued
youth stuffed into gloves
each finger battling for expression
tight coat, open neck naughtiness
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all caution gone
in the getting of wisdom
adventurous testosterone
lost in the thrust of lust
passion and estrogen
recreation in the coming
this existence fully blown
in the Garden
of Divine Loving
all was good
up and down
to the very bone
being a citizen of heaven
Placebo Town is not my home
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up and down
to the very bone
Good Lord Boy
heaven is my abode
———————–
———————–
the Rabbi revealed a secret
that one must have a dong
to enter the Heavenly Gate
———————–
———————–
if physical bodies are left behind
do spirits have gender ?
Rabbi say, “stupid,
all spirits are male”
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That wiley Rabbi asked me,
“What’s up, Doc?”
He then proceeded to tell me
a load of Sheol about how heaven
is just a carrot for those gentiles
“It means we can lead them
around by the nose, and if they
start acting crazy, we hit them
hard with a dose of Hades.”
That wiley Rabbi is a sheologian,
and a real loony tune.
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THEY SAY THAT YOU ARE MORE ARTICULATE WITH THE LIGHTS OUT
the vast impersonal background of the showers
how does language render the scene ?
finding it difficult to paraphrase
with the pain
PAIN
the main line of the narrative
all that friction that has gone before
(+) the poet, the reader, ready to pop
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the Beatles sing “Love Me Do”
I call the night porter
explain how I have gone dark
disembodied, no longer Michael
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the night porter
with his creativity and sustenance
his moon glow in a simple colorless gram
quasi-religious, wrapped around holding tight
face to face, the equivalent of a marital relationship
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Chaos in a red dress
the Transporter of Disorder
once did me a favour
as there was no moonstone
left on the ranch
Just tumble weed and hayseed
My best friend
the proud lubian
then finished off the lesson
Nothing sentimental
She just liked to put things
in place
Since the age of penicillin
I don’t go all old testamental
on anyone’s suit case
The law of order
was for tribal protection
somewhere in the ancient past
Yet the wiley Rabbi
keeps rabbiting on
Innocence is precious
Wisdom with a dong
Experience is never a race
I leave that kind of thing
to the Night Porter
He seems to come and go
without leaving a trace
as the Night Manager
keeps on singing along
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no room at the Up Above
for a gender
who refuses to surrender wholeheartedly
the Lord is not made of clay
standing in the Lake of Tears
He does not dissolve
loose ends on two legs running around
themes started and not developed
cemetery city crowded
Placebo Town
MultipleMichael
legless domestic pudding
flavored with the strengths
of the night porter
a beginning writer
who throws stones
at Robert Frost
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human affection rolled in animal lust
military men with their daggers proud
one stab of conjugal bliss
it was dark
no one saw a thing
I liked the motion
I loved the adjustments
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she says that she really gives it to sensitive individuals
each finger has its own narrative context
with a Virginia Woolf voice,
“they shit or no charge”
uncomfortable
don’t count
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self-erasing
it started out as a hobby
then the concrete bunk and bars
an amount of hard anguish
trustworthy people talked
I was no longer myself
just short of a miracle
peculiar groin
luminosity
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incomprehensible drama in the Spunk Quarters of Placebo Town
relationship expression in units of translucent globs
now, 3 drips and extreme prostate violence
red coals glowing in the scrotum
friction burns on the head
no need to fret
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other husbands watch television
educating themselves
with adultery
not me
I color in no other man
————————late at night, I call Robert Frost
————————waking him from his sleep
————————I say, “Robert, I color in no other man”
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(other husbands with their soothing foot powder and butt cream)
fighting with an old conviction that I must behave according
to the traditional role of wife, supreme mother
that I remain subservient to my man
through war, prison, disease
that I stand on the street
begging for coins
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I’ve rendered in all my friends
various shades of off-white
the blood suckers
have spit them
out
a family inheritance
a Waldorf-Astoria residence
famous poets as sexual sources
bleached bones caked with sea salt
licking Santayana, wildly unpredictable
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the young Santayana
dressed like a barber pole
licking his face made others in the room
NERVOUS
when asked about shame
it was a shame he washed his face
so early in the morning
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The Red-Pathfinder
has landed a base station,
along with it’s roving probe,
on the surface of Mars.
It is fully equipt to handle
anything tha Arab probe,
Hope, throws at it … we hope.
But the Chinese probe, we
suspect, has gone all nuclear
ballistic. Fortunately for all
humanity, the Red-Pathfinder
has it’s lasers locked onto it.
It won’t even hit the surface.
The sands of Mars will always
remain free of Chinese plastic
if I have anything to do with it.
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through sheer repetition
China has put the world
in a harsh toxic slumber
people without Adam and Eve
people without Noah or Moses
no attempt to “give utterance”
non-directional to Jesus Christ
————(+)————
The Holy Spirit of Acquisition
China bought Kentucky
Americans thought it a cruel mistake
UNTIL
China removed
all the American horses
brought in their very best
just think, Chinese horses
eating the colors of Kentucky
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Confucius X say …
“Keep your enemies close,
then deep in the midnight hour
fuck ’em in their sleep.
The Opium War turned
China into a junkie whore.
Our revenge is sweet, and sour.”
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mind games with China
and one swears
they juggle you
they cheat you
make you feel you are in control
when you are hopelessly wrong
my witch friend claims that true Chinese
are standing-up pieces of fire
they consume until everything
is gone
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I left my heart inTiananmen Square.
It was the year of the Water Rat
and that China Virus was in the air.
Those pickpockets of cyber space
are on the rampage with dark net
ransom ware, as trade wars
and hostage diplomacy, has now
taken the place of civil society.
Nazi Germany would’ve been uber
impressed, but the rest of us who
long for peace are lost in despair.
Then came the screaming jets.
Hong Kong is now gone.
Taiwan may be next.
Our only hope lies with the West.
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Once greed was punished
Now it is celebrated
Organs harvested from
the unwilling and imprisoned
Foreign currency
from the dying rich is king
A cat that catches the mice
of big money is the thing
No matter the colour
No matter the price
with plenty slave labour
for your privileged
shopping pleasure
The haves always want more
therefore there is always
the marginalised poor
In the wake
of a broken revolution
some animals are far more
equal than others
Truer words
have never been spoken
From the ashes
of a feudal empire
a new world order emerging
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too serious and ominous
Pink Floyd with a headache
the vast waste of our enemy
just mud
America with its outer space war machine
they thought we were wrapped up
in silly social media
skulls and bones
baby
(right at this minute, one can purchase a world globe
and China is missing)
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seems Heaven has turned its back
on drowning sisters and brothers
I still believe in love
and a dozen second-chances
just flag me down and I will offer a lift
I got nothing but extra time and warm feelings
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having survived outside Eden in the corrosive reality
having counted endless numbers of beds
and never once permitted to sleep
I see the world of nature
where hunger eats all
no escape except
when Death
takes root
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hope in the final paragraph
the final question
God suddenly
identifiable
beauty
parades
through ugliness
the hard, cutting edges
germination as He saw fit
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no credentials necessary
just slip into the pocket of Michael Jackson
the scent of Pekinese dog gave me the creeps
I knew the smell was probably vapors from dog jizz
before the party there was a barking rodeo at the ranch
I was told by security that Michael J. had the upper hand
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Child celebrities
little gladiators of mass media
performing high drama
in the Placebo Town Colosseum.
Never never maturing
past the age when Peter Pan
first touched them
down deep in the fame game.
It’s hard to quit
when given a head start
by the King of Pop
in a toy covered bed.
A predatory weasel,
a lost boy scoundrel,
when all is done and said.
Macaulay Culkin felt the blast
of Michael Jackson grasp
… and bought it.
His future now full of dread
as his false testimony
shall never be forgotten.
In Hollywood
repentance is well hidden
behind the final curtain.
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each man that steps
from the Bible
carries with
him
the mud
of his father
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surgery removed the dried up heart
with nothing to replace it
the space was left empty
zero sentimentality
each day wrapped
in dark fabric
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The lawmakers
of South West Nirvana
have passed
the Heartbeat Bill
Nobody is to be cremated
until they’re at rest
and perfectly still
Unlike those godless
heathens of the North
who’ll recalibrate your DNA
and bury you at birth
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In the Placebo Town Library,
located in the seaside suburb
of Alexandria, I discovered
the Scroll of Genealogy.
It was hidden behind the books
of Hebrew Poetry. I spent many
hours looking for my family tree,
but in vain. Was I not a proud
descendedant of the tribe of Dan?
When I complained to the Head Librarian, she took me by the
hand, and whispered . . .
“You’ll find what your looking
for in the Babylon section under
The Mark of Cain. It’s the book of
bad boys, and where it all began.
In the meantime, you can look up
my family tree, if you’re feeling
ready, willing, and Abel?”
I left the remnants of my overdue
innocence on that library table,
Egyptian style, and then hurried
back to my rented house boat
upon the Blue Nile.
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strange combinations
outside the confines of Eden
the murderer and the murderee
young and tragically blind behind blond
inundated by the “blow” above and below
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9 out of 10 Hebrew divorce poems:
“the monotony of her crotch”
passionate poverty
the very center
of the mystery
rigid invalidism
little to no throb
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he replaced the strings on his guitar
now he don’t sound the same
he calls himself the Beatles
but he’s just one man
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the boss lady sleeps with the local librarian
she often curses me before making sex
says that I listen but don’t learn
he didn’t replace the strings
he removed them
of course
he doesn’t sound the same
a one-legged table is still a table
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We were taking cover
with a hot and cold fever
at the Heartbreak Hotel
when a sweet
and sour mutation
that stir fry
from hell’s kitchen
was detected
heading for Pearl Harbour
Hug your children
and kiss your mother
Isolation is no solution
against a raging variant
at the Heartbreak Hotel
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(POETRY WORKSHOP)
Aristotle Onassis, an oral ashtray
way past his distant prime
in complete darkness
he feels like a 200
bag of potatoes
(+) somehow, Jackie agrees to remove her clothing
and apply a quart of lube to her privates
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I heard a rumour
that Jackie O
kept her lubricants
in a grecian urn
to be applied only
to shipping magnates
with money to burn
JFK gave Jackie that
Irish Catholic rhythm
Aristotle the Greek
couldn’t beat it in any
unorthodox position
Even a throttle
of the neck
couldn’t get
his old seaman
to stand at attention
and produce
a happy ending
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no amount of clothing
can cover the mud
that I’ve drug
into this
world
sin from my father
sin from his father
supernatural filth that impinges
upon our pathetic smallness
complacency visits daily
I give in to human
attachment
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all the people
with empty baskets
are the ones who don’t want
to somehow redefine yesterday
dead relatives and friends
they are floating
in yesterday
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INTERIOR MONOLOGUE:
no need to undress in the grave
naked lungs fat with soiled fluids
people walk about overhead, the first-floor
they cry, they laugh, sensitive to the changing weather
couples wanting to live happily ever after
romance based on promises and tickets
white buttocks, demonic or angelic
doll baby making noises
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interior monologue: God is in the details
Liberace taking a bleach bath every morning
he was soft but carried a dong that equalized matters
(+) slip the guard at Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum
some cash and you can take a gawk at that famous penis
no need to undress in the grave
men who shower in their trucks
masturbate on moonless nights
sleep in pajamas, top and bottom
make baby doll sounds
before and after
sodomy
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I was once invited
to a party at Liberace’s
Malibu beach house
Despite wearing
my Sunday best
I felt distinctly out of place
No one warned me
that it was fancy dress
But the host did things
on his grand piano
that greatly impressed
Plus the hors d’oeuvres
and cocktails were outrageous
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flea bites
covered with flea bites
loving with detachment
episodes of everyday life
no matter how close
a terrible distance
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