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 
one drop of blood
permission to cross the field
the place where souls rest
black pods on tall stalks
Leonard Cohen is there
got no place to go
tourists point
at him
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manifestations of continuing
Mick and the boys
flesh replaced with cork
nursing home rock
how many times
can one sing
the same tune ?
(+) Mick promises to die on stage
The Rolling Stones: a patchwork of leftover
and misunderstood bits
at home they hope for breakfast
they hope for supper
sometimes
a healthy
dump
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a special room in the back
for male emotions towards women
who threaten their supremacy
incompetent renters
snatching up standing space
irritating giraffe-like erections
self-educated & accident-prone
domestic masturbation
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my city cousin sold me a color photo
of a nude woman
complete with pubic hair
cost me $3
which was big money
I still have the photo
when June died
I let Johnny borrow it
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male prurience and censorship
right ? right
stones from way down deep
inched their way up
the maker, he’s outside
soon a knock
a new chapter
something not yet experienced
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prurience isn’t all
it’s cracked up to be
the predator in me
is the predator in you
that little boy out to see
what he might see
what else is he to do
in a world of harm
with only a smile to disarm?
the waste comes next
that first taste
is always for free
the predator in you
is the predator in me
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a fellow ran up to me
and bellowed,
“King David is dead”
my hands were covered in blood
my mouth was bright red
“Yes, King David is dead”
an early Holy Day
the predator in me
wings and all
exhales flames
my predator is on fire
fresh from the side of the Lord
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the Reader’s Digest Bible
fails to donate much space
on the atomic reality of God
He lives in flames
his heart on fire
the predator in me
immediate fresh Lord
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Dream chasing
Unbridled passion
Riding the dragon
Upon my Iron Throne
The heat and the flame
Daenerys Targaryen
Blood from a stone
Only for the game
Worlds of imagination
Lost upon awakening
The Night King
With winter coming
Will rise once again
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reader’s sympathies float down the river
for a minute or two
strangeness even beauty
cosmic beings seem confused
insignificant humans
shifty creatures
on two legs
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Placebo Town rats
self-marketing
plums and apples
small fingers
tucking away
with winter
coming
silent skeletons
under
the Christian Tent
the choir on the floor
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The Big Cheese
of processed disease
Placebo Town
where the rats
are scuzzballs
rodents covered in sin
and visceral fats
genetically upsized
Uber eats dining in
No sense in getting thin
when diabetes is the prize
with a coke, a stroke, and
some gravy loaded french fries
The manifestation
of life without hope
with a side serve
of corruption
preaching to the choir
of spiritual malnutrition
drip feeding
the predator within
In Placebo Town
you can always get
all you deserve
thanks to the Corporation
of Copious Consumption
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if one lives with ghosts and goblins
there are no calories
cemetery water
nothing more
highly superstitious
salt more dangerous
than a gun
trifling with
Jewish foreplay
grief-stricken orgasms
(+) catching a glimpse of where the spunk grows
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amongst the heroin chic
of Placebo Town’s
red light drive-by
conveniently situated
in the financial district
there’s a dangerous view
of the all seeing eye
you just can’t beat
a sight to die for
as many are moved to
with that very first peek
on that well seeded street
a descent that’s smooth
to lower your weight
tailor made to fit
with a bitter sweet taste
that treat of a hit
guaranteed to remove
all that unwanted fat
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releasing oneself in full view of an audience
no spot to be soft, weak, infirm
upside down, sideways
no stunt double
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For bringing
onto the movie set
a loaded weapon
congratulations from
the Stuntmen’s Association
of Motion Pictures 🎥
A multiple standing ovation
will be forthcoming
after a short investigation 🔍😎
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$875 thousand dollars
for manpower
and high tech testing
investigators have determined
that all physical damage
was the result of a gunshot
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at no time has anyone stated
that Mister Baldwin
pulled the trigger
he was holding
the gun when
it discharged
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According to Kim Basinger
Mister Baldwin knows exactly
how to pull the trigger
but a misfire is not uncommon
when you’re no longer
all that young and handsome
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was it meanness and insufficiency
that nourished that hungry gun ?
reluctant to yield
years and years
the spokes
of the wheel
made the circle
round and round
latent mental health
which foot to start
they called Adele
late at night
she removed both
L. Cain, R. Cain
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all along the watchtower
trials and tribulations
rock salt and fire-water
circling the Led Zeppelin
slaves seeking celestial favour
fear giving birth
to superstitious behaviour
as Mick Jagger
abandons Brown Sugar
at the express behest
of ghosts and goblins
buying a stairway to heaven
with an overdose
of guilt ridden political correctness
excuse me
while I vomit like Jimi Hendrix
all along the watchtower
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birth is a process
known to kill and maim
propelled into this world
dragging a ball and chain
thank God there’s the chance
given a free choice
to be born again
to find true peace
to be found in Christ
and discover who’s really to blame
for this cosmic game of thrones
for all the sticks and stones
the broken bones
of a life down the drain
only divine deliverance
takes you out of the frame
only true repentance
can remove the stain
that persistent Mark of Cain
the love of God is very good
for even the wildest
mother lovin’ heart and brain
with everything to eventually gain
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the poet having his Cains removed
had no further interest in cooperating
in exploratory flight
a short shelf in the library
Human Cannonballs
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(+) the poet is employed without pay
Adele vocalizes
her personal landscape
her top half so on display
the rest bankrupt
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the rich soil
of a fertile plain
as poets toil
to feed the flame
through ice and snow
ecstasy and pain
as tears fall down
like winter’s rain
the toll
of a traumatised soul
with a brain slightly addled
you might say insane
all that grasping
for a mountain top
no man can tame
would Adele ever dare
or even care
with all her fortune and fame?
the Harvest Queen
of passion extreme
is doing her sweet best
to find love once again
an audience blessed
their hankies well soaked
as tears fall down
like heaven’s rain
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a warehouse of self-indulgent Adele
a subtle poison and a new album
misery behind those words
misery behind buffoonery
a white creature in a dirty zoo
Africa waves and passes on
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an amusement park
deep in the jungle
the heart of darkness
that snake upon the anvil
sparks a celestial struggle
the angel of peace and rest
protects me
from all worldly trouble
and strengthens me
to pay back double
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they yank small students from class
hold them up
the snake on the anvil
grades them
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Adele with her marriage cord
tightly stretched
one does not see the husband
the father
tender caresses
or Dollar Store pledges of love
eight hours of makeup
excess skin under wraps
20 pounds in each sock
the hair person
has two assistants
(+) any hint of voluptuous anxiety long gone
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hello 19
rolling deep
in the Harvest Queen
Adele’s swollen swell
very rarely seen
hello 25
the full throttle of Adele
I may not survive
the enraptured audience imagining
… is there much more to come?
are her best years behind?
keep on mentioning
the voluptuousness
of that coiffured temptress
in a plus size dress
I might just lose my mind
in case of a cardiac arrest
please check my pulse
all I ask . . . hopefully
is that sweet Adeline
will take it easy on me
even a rubenesque diva
can sometimes be unkind
when performing a sublime
musical bump and grind
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strangers on the telephone
strangers knocking on the door
no opportunity for CLOCKWORK ORANGE
I pay a law firm to entertain my social intercourse
splinters of myself:
reality-tested lust
illicit encounters
essential mania
the night porter
transcendental
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Michael connotations
obsession durability
one-way sex
never passing
another up to bat
the essential gestures
a firm grasp of the innermost
THE FOLKLORE OF MICHAEL
affectionate curiosity
playfulness
(+) the night porter with crazy glue for identity crisis
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The Placebo Town Library
where books are not read
but used as eye candy
where the head librarian
takes each and every word
and painstakingly adds
her own private connotation
with no particular meaning
just for her own gratification
Should I protest
or simply go with her flow?
Is it all a test
beyond human understanding?
I guess … I just don’t know
Yes I guess … I just don’t know
which is surprising
for an interstellar alien
under the strict discipline
of the head librarian
A life form held hostage
in the undergound velvet
of Lou Reed’s heroin
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word for word
Leonard Cohen
sings from my diary
a twisting road dirty
no footprints only ghosts
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I remember him well
at the Honeymoon Hotel
But sadly… now that he’s dead
it pays not to listen
to Leonard singing too often
whilst sitting on an unmade bed
making entries in your diary
Once his words get in your head
It’s impossible to evict them
The night manager had
the very same problem
That’s the legacy of Leonard Cohen
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the elect people of God
actors in a Tim Burton film
—————————Lennon without a first name
singing, “mother you had me but I never had you”
prose continues to pressure the writer
like a poop that won’t flower
enrolled in number 2
prominent only in
absence
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the celebrities of Placebo Town
actors in a Quentin Tarantino movie
Jojo in need of a fix
’cause he’s going down
like the overweight in a pandemic
hiding out in a poetic library
elected for good looks
having never read books
the genetically selected
just wanna have fun
happiness is a cold Phil Spector
since Mother Superior jumped the gun
across the universe
the words of Lennon
can be heard pleading …
“Get back to where you once belonged.”
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books never read
starving children
while I drink $45 cups of coffee
with organic tit milk from certified virgins
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Soldiers of Salvation
only human?
motivation always in question
In Afghanistan
the forever poor are selling
their ten year old daughters
to stave off starvation
hunger is a very old man
bargaining for a young virgin
in a culture corrupt and broken
Islam with a loaded gun
girls banned from reading books
kept out of sight
unseen and unspoken
only women?
Victims of Submission
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loyal to God in $700 space grown cotton socks
starving children knocking on the front door
are you a molester of thousands ?
divine inspiration
higher pursuits
(+) I call the night porter, he reminds me that I am a Kennedy
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What luck!
Irish and catholic
Joe Biden is now the man
Who doesn’t love
a walking dead president?
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the vastness and vagueness of Placebo Town
restless geography near the river
hobos and homeless camped
around the Ark skeleton
hell so much closer
than the moon
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friends tell me that they have extra lips
as if I never kiss the same lips twice
harvest time for me
see the blue cloud
that’s everyday
apex Michael
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the jubilation of Johnny Cash
swooning ecstasy
inside June
the discontinuities of loss and death
doctor said that it was metamorphosis
turned into a raisin leaking poop and pee
preacher man found him in flames
singing country western horseless
(+) the last two months Johnny was blind
his memories burning bright
nothing could keep him
he went away
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everything
turns to rust
the universe
is a melting timepiece
in a deep freeze furnace
changes
strange fascinations
faceless strangers
wearing African masks
pretending to exist
in a land covered
in methane and covid
where nothing truly lasts
predators of the apex
seeking Omega vaccinations
and a dose of Alpha grace
the once so voluptuous
Queen of the Harvest
no longer fits
into her plus size dresses
farmers now use her
to scare off the crows
where the rest of her went
nobody knows?
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Johnny walked with God:
and he was no more …
taken to heaven in a whirlwind
from this mortal ring of fire
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mechanistic Placebo Town
with a fat white girl whore
or two
waving at big trucks to pull over
no need to slough off alone
a quick sex snack
a snort
(+) you pull over, leave a message: “be home late”, slip into oblivion
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at the Placebo Dome
built from the bones
of slavery and cotton
the citizens are seated
in the heavenly comfort
of air-conditioned judgement
at the Placebo Dome
gutter crawling the internet
is the main event
when them bottom feeders
come to the surface
for a breath of oxycodone
and a dose of oxygen
all of Wall Street starts snorting
at the Placebo Dome
playing both sides
whilst sitting on the fence
is your best defence
there’s always more room
under Oprah’s couch
along with her footwear
… a future made in China
an ivory tower of slave labour
a the Placebo Dome
Melania Trump is the patron saint
that high priced Dior
with the sour face
(a side effect of Donald’s after-taste)
dispensing all her
store-bought blessings
at the Placebo Dome
he who’s covered in sin
no matter how rich or corrupt
may pitch the first stone
but best not to mention
the slavery and cotton
nicely dressed up in Louis Vuitton
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that new Adele album
3 cans of cat food
and all Christmas
gifts purchased
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Clockwork Rust
the trigger finger
with a death wish
pointing to Alec Baldwin
quick on the draw
singing in the rain
Stanley Kubrick gift wrapped
crossed off his shopping list
by the ghost of Christmas past
LikeLike
mutts living varied lives inside generalization
every penis with a maraschino cherry colored tip
pubic hair in a potpourri of styles, possibly shaved
astronauts ordered to masturbate daily
specimens collected and noted
what once I was
what I am now
LikeLike
wed to labor
no secret
angels mistreated
I’m not the first to report
the walls of heaven
a prison be
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I recall that nude police photos of Michael Jackson
brought a steep price on the black market
the maraschino cherry colored tip
some say that it glowed
the lady at the library
unable to locate
comparative
mythology
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The black market in Placebo Town
where young boys are injected
with vitiligo from the porocol harum
has turned a whiter shade of pale
like Michael Jackson on propofol
left to overdose at home all alone
Does Macaulay Culkin have a tale tell?
LikeLike
the usual suspects
hanging out at a police line up
where size is the subject
as hookers and lawyers object
to Conan the Barbarian’s arrest
librarian teeth marks
being the only evidence
the circumcision
of a circumstantial case
a travesty of unnatural justice
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functions of the body
behind doors
Male/Female
typewriter commodes
poets sit for hours
desperate for a new word
an attractive one
free of smell
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petty thug youth stagnating
boyish prettiness minus the pecker
irritating overworked crotch rub
like every woman does
you wake up
the bed is shaking
hectic vulva earthquake
the first time was exciting
LikeLike
CRYPTICALLY CODED
fidelity above all else
romance becomes a military exercise
prioritized sex
with extra wrinkles
squabbles
(+) squabbles (+)
Sunday School instructions:
repetition over adventure
no more toying with others
lukewan y
COMPUTER ERROR ienic
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SOMETHING WENT HAYWIRE WITH THE COMPUTER
lukewarm what was molten
3 day old salad
tomorrow, 4 day old
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after June died
they asked me if I would pull off
Johnny’s socks and put his feet to sleep
(+) I could give Death a helping hand
he tried to autograph me
make me a Cash
but I refused
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the loss of June Carter
the world of sound gone
and yet there was another voice
Johnny was severely pruned
the village doctor went overboard
amplification outside the shadows
(+) they called me late at night
“Johnny has gone yellow, he needs fresh hosiery”
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Sunday School instructions:
repetition
no more adventures
marriage
a growing tree with a limited hole
no matter how hard one tries
around every turn
over every elevation
the perfect hole
correct size
correct location
sex casts the Shadow
the warbling of intercourse
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you stick it in that new hole
the little devils pull your skin off
you suddenly lack primary voice
you’ve stepped back from the light
spit and hiss
biting ants
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After sticking my hand
in the pocket of chance
I can see there’s a plan
covering the madness
of every circumstance
the hectic and the poetic
the tranquil and the manic
so I’m busy with the task
of walking on sunshine
tripping over carbon
and drowning in plastic
as I’m now pandemically positive
that true love is the vaccine
and like a needle in a haystack
… I need a hit
the big fix of a whole in one ⛳
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PLACEBO TOWN
dreaming about the glass-covered passageway above the Mainframe Level
where muscular hung gays go to masturbate and watch others do likewise
old-timers bring folding chairs and refreshments
poets wear shiny blue pants and Beatle boots
lesbians chitchat but rarely touch themselves
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CARNAGE IN THE MOSH PIT
Travis Scott wets his pants
as the young devour themselves
teenage rampage
a Placebo Town right of passage
methamphetamine is the place
where the carnivorous
come to dance
survival of the fittest
a story of cannibal romance
That corona virus
hiding in the corner
doesn’t stand a chance
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in bed with a complex, fascinating partner
then the alarm goes off
just another stray
hungry
a hole to accommodate
most dilemmas
small town Vaseline
an adolescent smell
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“and get up in the morning
go out at night
and I won’t have to go home”
———–John Prine
leave home
and no one knows what to say
the puzzle changes
your face
takes you away
never to return
knocking on the door
you ask
but you’re long gone
that silly shit
he moved away
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you leave home
the language doesn’t change
same old forms of cash
rude people
city water
young people being potty trained
old folks in diapers
rattlesnakes too lazy to bite
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skirmishes, betrayals, atrocious farts
humming monotonous hymns during sex
leaving home, never to return
taking cash money
the bank cards
(+) tired of passive intercourse
dried up jelly
cut up sheets
to escape
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the motel charged the card $176
for cut up sheets
and disposal of a giant headless reptile
sometime during the night she got up
not knowing the lizard was a pet
and removed its head
rather sad
but comical also
a large blade to conceal
the mystery of her step revealed
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only in poetry workshop
do people praise the sell of their body
for freedom of their soul
a thousand cancellations
no matter what
THE BODY LIVES AGAIN
flesh demands nourishment
it is as cruel to its self as to others
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sinners fail to recognize themselves
their surroundings
the buzz of monotony
both ears
unrelieved crotch
invalidism
a difficult thing
rigid intercourse
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she peeled back the skin
the head was slick
blood everywhere
genital interrogation
centered on sexual involvement
a much-misunderstood honeymoon
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“imminent in oneself”
protuberant buttocks on display
religious Kentucky loaded like a shotgun
creative sexual shame with snakes and foreskins
my aunt and uncle eat broken glass (intuitive Jesus)
the weather girl on Channel 5 with an excremental complex
(+) the big stud devil on his motorcycle
wrestled the boys squeezing their nuts
spun into a fertilizing climax
knocking up senior citizens
and the breeding stock
slender girls frigid
fat girls on fire
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I take the tablets of light
those sweet pills
filled with spiritual delight
to keep away the parasites
of torment and regret
that feed on perpetual fright
It’s my habit in a habitat
of constant flight or fight
where holes and lumps
go bump in the night
Under the bed covers
where the night manager
leaves hand written notes
“So that you never forget
I will always remember.”
my soul recites … 🙏
“Deo volente, tabula rasa.”
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living in a Blue Boy magazine
outside under the night sun
the lesbian moon
gay boys daydreaming
all directions opposite Placebo Town
big stud devil on his motorcycle
half-hearted and evasive
no longer a God doll
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