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 
young people rap and jabber religion
words
themselves do not convey meaning
Jesus pulls us back
Satan pushes us forward
take the confusion out of speech
and nothing is spoken
too tired and wretched
to bust loose
your worn out eyes
they are self-explanatory
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young people rap and jabber religion
that urge to share something
deeper in significance
lucky to be stuck in an ordinary life
a windshield bug in history
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your aunts and uncles———–their shanty romances
teeth in a cup, lights out in separate rooms
expressions of affection
scars around the privates
youth
untrodden sex
—————–jism on the ceiling
—————–stalactites of sperm
fancying what never returns
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Hey Noah
where you goin’
with that raven in your hand?
I’m goin’ down
to Placebo Town
and look for some mother lovin’
dry land
Hey Noah
I heard you found dry land
A rock solid place
where a man
can go find some peace
that was the plan
Where a monotheist
can go make a stand
But all I found
was sinking sand
overrun with pagan priests
That Placebo Town
is on shaky ground
built in the shadow
of a dark side rainbow
I see an almighty curse
soon rainin’ down
Hey Noah
where you gonna sail to now?
What other strange lands
will you be a-finding?
I really don’t know
where or how I’ll be goin’
but Edgar Allan Poe
had better
keep his hands offa my raven
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sometimes I live in the rearview mirror
my skin color
afraid
of the lower plateau of Salems
(+) agonizing after school, Kools or Salems
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The familiar in the rear view mirror
Headlights searching the night for
something strange and peculiar
Euphoria is ever out of range …
somewhere just over the border
Lives of quiet desperation
ever asking the final question
of a terminal situation
Never silent is the waiting answer
… for those who bother to listen
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dreams about twins
who perform magic acts
cutting each other in half
(+) reality check: sodomy with the egg timer crying
a single voice in the dark
“at one time I was a whole person”
expressive clothes and Freudian socks/shoes
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just think if you had a giant hand
Jagger could ride your thumb
you could toss rocks
over the moon
someone asks you about talking suitcases
your one weakness (yeah right)
every year at Christmas
a new talking suitcase
not a factory second
or a Dollar Store special
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In Placebo Town
where they like
to play rough
one often hears
those talking suitcases
gossiping on the rooftops
about school uniforms
handcuffs
leather accoutrements
and the suchlike
Fortunately for me
my talking suitcase
knows the importance
of keeping secrets
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the nature of the developing glob of goo
some bark at the moon
others ride rockets
self-fulfillment
corrosion
Adam and Eve had roots in Eden
they were fixed to God
new knowledge
seeded them
enemies
(+) the urgency of that first shit
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people ask me if I have stainless-steel teeth
crustacean sounds with mechanical legs
cellmates want to think about
jacking off
egotistical at 90mph
white on white
with little flesh color showing
more than white, I am colorless
a cut-out with conversational balloons
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Nose rings
are all the rage
in a place where ordinary
is the never ending average
A tattoo will give you an edge
and a piercing
can be a real advantage
when being led around
Being normal is mandatory
in Placebo Town
so remember your heritage
and release your inner savage
all dressed up
as a circus clown
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perhaps, I am not the first poet
to state that
Satan squats in France
Gore Vidal
fanning the fumes
loving the response
never too late for tourists
white people after a bleach bath
dark spectacles, a baseball cap
landscapes become a mental map
standing there
around watering holes and shallow caves
thinking how others are unprepared
for something so claustrophobic
as death
(+) post-Auschwitz jazz
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I kissed the girl with the price tag
the guys at the pool hall
nervously asked
“do you know
who you kiss,
Michael ?”
I’ve kissed the behinds
of a thousand
shanty town
whores
yes,
every white sailor
around the world
knows my name,
Mister Lips
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“That Mister Lips sinks loose ships.”
~ Ishmael, the Great White Whale 🐋
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(+) cut up your poop
before you flush
sexual maturity cut up
mixed in with the flush
(+) a life of nonstick underpants
derogatory remarks
about my lukewarm wife
who complains
about my penis at night
a whippoorwill
that seldom sleeps
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INCEST
your father pounding on the window
your mother on the other side of the car
horrific masks of fear
“why were you kissing your sister
like she was a platypus ?”
(+) the front door of romance trying to distance itself
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my big sister
would kiss with her fists
but sadly for me
her friends were all
particularly horny
and found that a piece
of innocent spring lamb
too hard to resist
as they one at a time
whispered . . .
“Please don’t tell anyone.
Being so young,
this kinda thing
is considered a crime.”
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Satan scrawling messages on rectal blisters
gone to Paris to squat
to drop turds
from the Eiffel Tower
material to ignite poetry
(+) poop like you did in the electric chair
(+) poop like you did in the cyanide chamber
make mention of the warden’s dirty ankles
your nude body in death
a work of art
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just short of the battlefield
poets sewing up details
paupers
thrown in the flames
(+) seize and subdue
emotional bondage
burrs and brambles
in the underpants
library after library laid bare
The United Front of Sisters
————fists to kiss————
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Poets hiding
in the panic room
talking sweet liberty
the prime delusion
of the artistic elite
From the basement
of the Placebo Town Library
seeps an all pervading gloom
where a graffitied statement
is endlessly repeated
“Be prepared to meet your doom.”
As John Lennon
is gunned down
for daring to say . . .
“… you think you’re so clever
and classless and free
but you’re still fucking peasants
as far as I can see.”
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famous for her conveyor conversation
her conveyor tongue
sailors thought it
humorous
school boys with their self-questioning
interlocked fingers, rapid dong stranglers
Noah brave enough to show his hands to God
cinematic masturbation, each and every glorious time
Noah proud of his pump, the dynamic thrust of his seed
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a hotel apartment next door to Leonard Cohen
he told me that his mother
rode his father like a donkey
over the years he developed a bray
(+) something glandular about Leonard’s voice
white man in a world of circles
white man, the center of a mystery
collecting all the words ever spoken
abbreviated and forgotten, improbable
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The King is gone, but he was
no Johnny Rotten. But then, is
that the story of Leonard Cohen?
My minstrel was sentenced to
death for being out of breath,
by the beat poets with nothing
left. He did a solo imitation of
a white man imitating a black
man singing “I Did It My Way”
He should never have shot the
sheriff after quitting the band.
Things happen in Placebo Town,
Kings with broken crowns,
that I’ll just never understand.
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ONE THING CAN BE SAID ABOUT PLACEBO TOWN:
—————FAT VULTURES—————-
poets collecting dictionary driftwood
triangle underwear everywhere
protection that faced
the other way
only recently
big ears, small ears
ears ripped off by brutes
damaged beyond being surgically reattached
scrappy girls that slap around lesbians
chipped teeth and bald spots
androgynous fingers
wet with spit
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Fat vultures
feeding on the carcass
of Mother Nature
The pseudo environmentalists
of Placebo Town
plastic hippy hypocrites
with giant carbon footprints
Do us all a favour
Save The Planet – Slash Your Wrists
(This message was brought to you
by Big Placebo Business ®)
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“Sand in Vaseline”
a song never released by Hank Williams
Hank knew
no animal strong without violence
(+) complacent acceptance of the commonplace
the wife asks specific questions
nothing hides behind a transparent defense
the meaninglessness of romance
the callous attitudes
infantile desires
commode ring
personalities
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death
and then one begins to lose
their separate, individual consciousness
the very thing of any importance
the much labored thing
the private haunt
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a flame in the dark
a glowing spark
in the flowing state
of eternal consciousness
that is something to be
God is Light
in him there is no darkness
His love is infinite
as far as I can see 👁️♾️👁️
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after death your soul becomes your underwear
and you struggle to push others away
countless souls packed
about your privates
and you question
yourself -WHY-
(+) the penis will confess
(+) the vulva lips will confess
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Wash and wear
Rags of light
Soiled in the night
Underwear of despair
Garments of glory
User beware
Members of modesty
Handle with great care
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you know who I am
the small Michael in the back of the room
open wounds where they cut me from the tree
but pay no mind to that which I will leave behind
you know who I am
the small Michael who weeps at night
having loved and lost the ones so necessary
but pay no mind for one day I too will be gone
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as a child I played with the devils
I passed around their wares
what they called music
I hurt myself in love
I hurt others
no matter how small
I was never small enough
short but never really short
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Be completely humble and gentle:
be patient. bearing with one another
in love. Make every effort to keep the
unity of the Spirit through the bond
of peace.
Ephesians 4:2-5
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faceless voices, “such a shame, they left him cut from the host”
and what seemed like a thousand years, cruel schools
husbands with lovers, wives with kitchen knives
they called me Mister Rabbi
I had a million books
and most of the time
I was coloring
or touching
myself
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part of the lesson
borrow not
collections
like the angry alarm clock
the voice at the door said,
“where’s your golden boy ?”
I climbed the tallest tree
but there was no escape
cut from the tree
cut from the host
faceless voices said,
“he was such a nice lad”
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father never once said that he was sorry
he was convinced
that I had instant entry
to the promised land
a hundred years or more
I fold paper airplanes
and curse Machine Gun Kelly
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Under yesterday’s shroud
to avoid the midday heat
I slept by a pillar of cloud
where the manna was sweet
Driven by some reckless desire
through the darkness of night
I roamed the wilderness
with just a pillar of fire
as my guiding light
Knee deep in shifting sand
yet with promises to keep
I caught a fleeting glimpse
of that promised land
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hawking poetry on street corners
a motel room with eyebrows
on the bathroom floor
hearing hear
seeing see
next door sex like flip-flops on a horse
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asked to stay inside
that one might spoil the outdoors
religious leaders watching slaves
in search of a loving master
perhaps, each longing
to seek the other out
to sweeten the bitter
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Ken Hensley asked Machine Gun Kelly to leave the room
it wasn’t dark secrets lurking under the surface
more like a Fred Flintstone automobile
prophetic footsteps in cemetery mud
not counting non-physical steps
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life between the grip of knees
no paintbrush or keyboard
horizontal
vertical
sensuous comprehension
it was in a book
a movie
constantly dropping
dilated and leaking
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every time I see this tall woman
she gives me a list of appointments
I fold them in half
and place them
in a special
place
a DEAD stack
the check goes to the bank
I do not have to do anything
people who want to explore my rectum
clinics who wait for my stool samples
they grow old and relocate
lion tamers perform
but not Michael
no stage
punch the correct numbers
reality opens up like a peacock
private colors and sounds
lumberjacks with soft lips
to kiss another man
and not faint
(+) yes, I can
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he said that he tried to carve himself a lover
flickering images in his thoughts
characters with real personalities
rule #1, don’t judge human nature
hang out with Tinker Bell
say “NO” to Machine Gun Kelly
the waste basket is full of John Philip Sousa
underneath that crap, Machine Gun Kelly
pretentiousness, a condom used twice
naysayers lubricated in another man’s jism
(+) better to under-promise and over-deliver
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Question: Why is Machine Gun Kelly on this planet ?
Answer: Because his father employed a twice used condom.
Rumor: Jimmy Cagney put him on the street
a leg brace on his neck
snotty ink art
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when Pink Floyd displays the snake skin
handed down from Adam to Noah
no one realizes that it isn’t
a shed snake skin
it is the foreskin
of God
every night, Noah’s wife ponders why he won’t occupy her space
Noah seems to never sleep but his dong snores
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being physical with Noah
was ceremonial gesture
unspoken words
ceremonial prose
Noah, an irresistible force
so easy to faint
caught up
in the “isness” of self
being face to face with life
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self-fulfillment
a long journey through self-realization
the wounds of ancestors hungry for fresh blood
dangerous corrosions labeled as heart-warming
full-fledged sexual encounters, a heavy knot to untie
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(+) the wounds of ancestors hungry for fresh blood (+)
Noah informed me that gravity is not the same for everyone
the gravity of love can be a fright or a delight
grave locked love remains unspoken
without chains or ropes
Hell holds so tight
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holding hands with Noah
experiencing tidal forces
even the living Jesus
and the virgin lamb
cannot erase
the Flood
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I purchased tickets
Noah and I in an accelerating rocket
the earth the size of a child’s fist
the magnitude of his tears
made my ears ring
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intelligent men
speak of bending light
Noah is my gravitational field
many thanks for my slowing down
my personal displacement
gravitational field Noah
my light energy orgasm
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close contact with Noah
with elemental nature
tortured with moonlight
finding it impossible to sleep
reality less and less real
the world of things and appearances
so far off in the distance
the freshness
the mystery of Noah
rapturous
love with a holy man
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giant magnets with miles of wire wrapped around them
a wife or girlfriend with a vulva capable of fluorescing
daydreaming as a youth
sex: how to achieve perpetual motion
Robert Frost poem about blue glow water
faster-than-light or trapped on Mars
vibrate your electrons, Baby
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headstrong folly without interference
relocated a mountain before breakfast
Father said that the wind would come
to educate the children
late-adolescent loons
rattlesnake narcissism
yes, it was a constant battle
masturbation on its own wing
momentary stays of tight gripping fingers
boys and girls and spirits gone wrong
all this life long
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a coupon on the back of the butter quarters
“access to the darker sources of religious vision”
a wild ass conversationalist at poetry workshops
a manic talker willing to take his trousers down
a simple poem, “My Penis”
head foremost, boundless support
white people mischievousness
cycles of destruction and regeneration
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As a singular particle
travelling through
time and space
I try my best to avoid
the verbose tourist
on train or bus
Aboard the Good Ship Lollipop
I’d make them all walk the plank
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I lost all my privileges
at poetry workshop
for driving a Japanese hybrid
instead of a Cadillac
or even a Dodge
Meeting at The Villages
in their top secret
Masonic Lodge
the poetry seemed to me
to be particularly geriatric
and overtly patriotic
An appeal has been lodged
but in the meantime
I’ve hacked their system
rendering their existence
futile and chaotic
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question your attachment to the ground
the tug of gravity
detectives knocking on the door
trying to understand private thoughts
neighbors taking photos
and logging in dates and times
DOUBT was everywhere
the great number of doubts
like farts in an lazy breeze
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every conscious effort to avoid the end
side-streets, circles outside the wedding ring
till the Honeymoon Hotel has shed all its color
waste accumulates and one becomes more vulnerable
(+) sick-room litter overhead
the actuality of death
neglected play toys
pills not taken
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——————-the last meal——————
Swede turnips cooked soft
to eat in silence
(outside)
my past was contradicted and corrected
the glorious thing about history
it can be rewritten
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embroidered velvet slippers
space grown cotton socks
the sum total of life
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The Grand Vizier
of lost time out of place
a febrile gentile
with God given style
and poetic grace
in the footsteps of Ziggy Stardust
wearing those space cotton socks
transcending the rotten
hidden behind a million masks
with just a smile on his face
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sowed dissension
trivialities
every channel on television
future physical resurrection
why not today………now ?
boy citizens
and girl citizens
the path of appropriate roles
Paul and his distinctions rooted in creation
Paul with his red cape in the bullring
——————–
not the fruit of the tree
rather the meat of the tree
Eve offers the opportunity
to every man born
Eve greets every man with a kiss
Paul warns that she will repeat her mistake
“in quietness and full submission”
females survive in the basement of heaven
circumstances of creation
circumstances of the fall
(+) phased out by redemption (horns and a tail)
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Mick was quoted,
“It is the mingling of tenderness with strength
that permits me to govern the Rolling Stones”
Mick with his new genital veins
his space grown cotton socks
never worn twice
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Nelson Mandela kissing Mick Jagger
really kissing him
like he was beyond horny
all those years behind bars
just thinking about Jagger’s lips
I purchased three copies of the tabloid
“MANDELA SLIPS THE TONGUE TO JAGGER”
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dreams of Jagger
wearing a suit made
from a nickel and chrome alloy
that could withstand the glory of Hades
he knew one day he would be titanium-skinned
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