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 
absorbing life by hearsay
non-readers
being picked off short trees
surviving literary confrontations
conscientious readers reside near the top
partial reading
written texts never read
periods of amnesia extended
LikeLike
your belt had so much to confess
that others in line gave up
a large number of them
went to the nudist area
to play volleyball
LikeLike
a gallant few were moved
to make the perilous journey
to Mount Doom
in the land of Mordor
with that treacherous “precious”
accursed ring of power
I was happy to see
that fellowship of freaks go
I must confess
as it’s always us Elves
left to clean up the mess
caused by bad hobbits
with bad habits
like Bilbo and Frodo
LikeLike
is it true Biden sent you a get well card ?
a rotten moment to be weirdly logical
you’ve closed all the doors
lonely boy ointment
both ears chafed
exit grammar
rubbed you
wrong
LikeLike
circumlocution
is the name of the game
on the catwalk
of programmed expression
sideshow vernacular
drifting through space
in a circular motion
like a travelling circus
with no destination
a slap to the face
will get some attention
in Placebo Town
a short attention span
and a glittering display
of shallow emotions
manipulated by clowns
all dressed up
on the red carpet of fame
is always in fashion
circumlocution
is the name of the game
on the catwalk
of programmed expression
LikeLike
circumlocution:
she gets wired up and talks constantly
right through supper, 4 hours of television
she talks while brushing her teeth
but Buddy Boy
when the ding dong
pushes the doorbell
well, all that chatter
it shits the bed
LikeLike
“gigantic shadows”
no screens on the windows
the demons assume you and me
mentally loafing
constantly slowing
your personal identity
doubting itself
going brown
Banana Boy
LikeLike
of no real consequence to anyone
a banner before the headwaters
BIG ORNATE LETTERS
of no real consequence to anyone
coloring outside the lines
chastised for dreaming
one thing inside
another outside
bohemian
backward
LikeLike
inexpensive language
Dollar Store words from Tennessee
radioactive candy bars and bulk bird seed
organized in a systematic way
the things you say
on your honeymoon night:
“we will refrain from exchanging information”
“no intuitive touch except my own, I am clean”
LikeLike
(1.) Refrain from exchanging information on your honeymoon:
don’t tell her that your older brother was sadistic and homosexual
don’t tell her that you shared a bedroom with your older brother for 10 years
don’t tell her about doing voiceovers for his videos of animal torture
LikeLike
LikeLike
LikeLike
poetry often starts with an agent knocking on the door
all hours of the night, neighbors outside listening
children doing sketches for the police
flashing lights suggest a holiday
the tree apes piss perfume
yes, poetry often starts
with a naked kid
begging money
in Kentucky
LikeLike
the front yard full of metal waiting to be cashed in
kids playing with a snake on the edge of the road
snot hanging from the nose of the youngest
totally nude with his hand out
“can you spare some coins ?”
LikeLike
frozen tears
and crystallised fears
the hungry years
of self published poverty
where the vanquished
of Placebo Town
float face down
exsanguinate by jealousy
all is extinguished
in the jacuzzi of luxury
LikeLike
self published poverty
too much respect to read another’s poetry
everything is indifferent, the library full of errors
countless books are the wrong size, content (?)
ignorance plays a large part of the whole
LikeLike
(told to back off sex)
so I started with the topic of sexual drudgery
the torture of the repetitious wrestle
prolonged hardcore pounding
you step outside yourself
and watch yourself
as if you were a
porn star
————
————
psychic wholeness
wars against oneself
LikeLike
LikeLike
often poetry begins beside
the roadway in rural Kentucky
seems poetry loves to suckle poverty
a new hungry mouth every 10 months
navigating away from chiggers and ticks
the roadway with opportunities to panhandle
skeletons adjusting to the dynamics of bicycles
youngest without clothes, jelly smeared on mouth
a tiny arm with open fist desperate for monetary gifts
LikeLike
a dark horse
on a broken course
forever shifting
the sands under the line
beyond which
one will not trespass
not even for the cold hard cash
of indiscretionary spending
at the hands of the overfed
in the saddle of power
where greed is the creed
and hatred the blood offering
LikeLike
one will not trespass
the childhood of others
the devils under the Christmas Tree
praying that they will unwrap Beatle Boots
knowing full well there will be no space socks
NO BEATLE BOOTS
no masturbating equipment from Japan
only nonsense
LikeLike
legislation to solve
all the world’s problems
Subtract The Abstract
making termination
mandatory
compulsory
and retrospective
up to fifteen years
after conception
A Placebo Town Initiative
For A Cleaner Greener Future
Where Survival Is Superficial
LikeLike
the the the the the SADDLE POWER the the the the the
constant hymns
not static
air
inherently lonely
naked geography
wide saddle
corridor
open
LikeLike
the circle jerk
at poetry workshop
came down to a game
of cultural appropriation
the saddle of power
baptised in a shower
of supernatural jism
and the superstition
of some new age religion
give me that good old oblivion
of Mother Nature’s opium
refined in Hell’s Kitchen
any sweet time
rather than
the self-saucing palaver
of a walking cadaver
knee deep in unforgiven crime
as Satan came a-courtin’
asking the age old question
“Your place, or mine?”
LikeLike
full time employment:
manufacture of superficial symbolism
beyond ordinary life, beyond human frailty
mundane chatter in the dark
about personal identity
the police circling the block
neighbors answering with x, y, z
LikeLike
signing on to something
no one in their right mind would sign on to
being told that after a lifetime of wearing the yoke
it would fall off and joyous times would blossom
brother and sister in the tree
the constant encroachment
the automatons
cave clans
poets
LikeLike
circle jerks at birthday parties
everyone stares at the boy who wins every competition
football, baseball, hips, lips, the anesthetizing poppy
applications at the circle jerk for later
incessantly tormented
one way traffic
LikeLike
readers upset
that I am trespassing
in the womb of darkness
the unknown they say
difficult to locate
impossible
to escape
(+) soot babies with their eyes closed
LikeLike
Guns > God > Babies >
French kissin’ in the USA
APOCALYPTIC IDEOLOGY
has got me on the run
for an old fashioned
Sicilian style
New York pizza connection
A Brave New World
of political gloom
shivering the cold turkey
sounding a death rattle
The darkness of poetic doom
on the loose
and doing battle
with the Kingdom to come
Faith weaponized
a supersonic blast
In the womb
there is no past
only the promise
of a bright tomorrow
with celestial love
tied to the mast
In the tomb
of eternal silence
the once so loud and proud
cast no shadow
only a shroud of forgetfulness
with no true hope
left to grasp onto
LikeLike
LikeLike
applications at the circle jerk
misspelled your name
but the simple sketch
of Mister Dong
may win you
the prize
LikeLike
soot babies
empty handed
Patsy Cline in the ground
the world and stars going round
having skimmed through loads of men
Patsy Cline geographically remote
her backside angry monkey blue
Anglo-Saxons shake their heads
the things she allowed to happen
LikeLike
————(soot babies are not infants that have inhaled soot)————
people often tell me
that love is violent
and approximate
I have no idea
what that means
sometimes I show them my compass
Mr. True North and his three lovely sisters
(+) more or less unconscious shame
(+) analyze your birth guilt
LikeLike
(covered with spiders of guilt)
every night at supper she was asked
about the intact quality of her virginity
orgiastic satisfaction was difficult to obtain
her flower-bud unfolded, Placebo Town gray
LikeLike
LikeLike
the concept of getting
blood from a stone
was not mine alone
as menstrual poverty
was exposed
as a deep state plot
by the the covert tradecraft
of poetry workshop
I take no credit
for the rate of futility
going up exponentially
as my membership
is currently in deficit
LikeLike
PRAISE THE MEMBER IN MEMBERSHIP
Placebo Poetry Workshop
recuperation from genital exercise
female pushovers on Easter
paraphrasing amnesia
from the Reader’s Digest Bible
the whale that swallowed Pinocchio
LikeLike
on Easter Island
as it is in Placebo Town
a fully paid up member
is something to be
like King Pinocchio of Nineveh
as the workshop poetry
disgorged from a blender
in Hell’s Kitchen
so even Blind Lemon Jefferson
can surely see
is decidedly agathokakological
LikeLike
perhaps, Easter Island is no more real than the Empire State Building
a misfit like myself with a ring of keys to every lock, every door
I, alone
and outside and inside, Death stands close
we moisturize to no avail
his dry humor
relentless
my obligation to live
to feel everything, to make things happen
he hands me dialogue, endless words
places me on a platform before poets
Death naked by my side
LikeLike
the only thing I remember about Easter Island
was the smell
paid criminals the whole lot
some kind of English was spoken
no name nourishment, just colors
people pooped behind boulders
newspaper for tissue
solidarity
(+) Jacqueline Kennedy imprisoned in the ground
(+) Bob Dylan imprisoned in Woody Guthrie
LikeLike
on the boat ride back
I started feeding the roaches
my vitamins from Switzerland
stories still circulate about them
yes, I pushed the envelope too far
bugs large enough to open and close
windows and doors, too large to hide
couldn’t sing but they sure could hum
LikeLike
the curse of being transhuman
hearing the hum of decay
and the hymns of the dying
creation at times
can be cruel and unforgiving
yet between the cracks of oblivion
eternity keeps on beckoning
like a hand at the door knocking
LikeLike
LikeLike
the sailors spoke of a tribe
that hummed their shadows home each morning
the large roaches with their Beatle wigs and snazzy boots
I asked myself, would I be brave enough to face their shadows ?
LikeLike
I wasn’t in the woods long
before I was lost
It was so dark
and full of sounds
I sat down
and waited for the sun
When I got home
the house was so occupied
with windows
Suddenly I didn’t feel safe
outside could visit
without permission
LikeLike
even small children
know darkness is not a solution
at best, a difficult obstacle to overcome
dreamers suggest darkness as a stepping stone
layer to layer, entries into the preconscious mind
LikeLike
black soot
a painted face
hot lust
the wild caress
cold chaos
a wilderness
long lost
a frozen mess
nothing left
no time to waste
the taste of darkness
from a vacant place
LikeLike
The Placebo Dock and Ferry
curious people started gathering
to observe traffic coming and going
hikers on foot, bicyclists, delivery trucks
miles and miles of blank verse
God was working the rivers
encouraging the fish
working the sky
birds overhead
no hindrance
no vexation
LikeLike
THE TASTE OF DARKNESS
(low grade metal)
(death is a lick on a dirty chalkboard)
at some point, poets are encouraged to pontification
“the Big Head”
trying to purchase headwear
doll baby size hats
gay ear muffs
name a poet
Robert
Frost
LikeLike
NO ENCOURAGEMENT REQUIRED:
Pontification was hard wired
into Pinocchio’s DNA at Geppetto’s
poetry workshop. Hence the aroma
of scrap metal being organically
excreted at every Placebo Town
poetry throwdown.
LikeLike
driving on the big road
lanes and lanes
kind of nervous
thinking about Picasso
through him love became
lovingly given
———————-sometimes God gets weird
———————-Pinocchio’s DNA
the warm metal would slip out so easily
aroma ?
LikeLike
My collection is almost complete.
I’ve just taken possession of the
100 mil vial of Propofol that killed
the King of Pop, Michael Jackson.
It was delivered still sealed in it’s
LAPD evidence bag as a guarantee
of authenticity, and as expected, it
was completely empty.
It has now taken pride of place on
my mantelpiece, right next to Kurt
Cobain’s shotgun and Johnny Depp’s
severed scrotum.
LikeLike
Johnny Depp looks like a melon left on the vine too long
where was the protector of his scrotum when it needed protection ?
they say that his scrotum hair reaches unto the edges of space
I suppose Cobain was a bright orange in a blue world
he spent the last days of his life
writing “thank you” notes
while looking sheepishly
(+) you might say, “dangerously disembodied”
LikeLike
Prior to delivery, Amber Heard
was nice enough to have Johnny
Depp’s ball sack plucked, scrubbed,
and acid washed, whilst still attached.
Otherwise I’d have had no choice
but to send it back.
My conscience is clear since I had
repeatedly warned Johnny not to
go joining the Heard, Amber being
a pure chroma colour, but he was
totally lost in her colour wheel of
chaos, stuck between Keith Richards
yellow and Kurt Cobain orange.
So sad to see the once proud
Captain Jack Sparrow strung up
on the gallows without a ball sack
and crying like a pussy. Talking of
which, Amber is back on the hunt for
another addition to my collection.
Who said money can’t buy you just
about anything. I took the opportunity
to suggest she look in Machine Gun
Kelly’s direction.
Most encouragingly, she has now
become the leading Placebo Town
spokesperson for all those suffering
the trauma of phallophobia. What a
good hearted trouper!
LikeLike
(+) I have no clue where David Redpath is located.
(+) I have no idea who is employed as his ghostwriter.
overhead wads of superstitious dread
agents taking notes
trying to rhyme
high-voltage
poetry
LikeLike
My spiritual home is
the village of Amityville,
having been left on the
doorstep of the nearby
Dave & Buster’s as a baby
wrapped up in a FedEx box.
As there was no possible way
to identify me, and no return
address on the box, I was given
the name Dave Buster FedEx,
naturally enough, by the
the kind barmaid who took
me home to live at her place,
along with a pole dancing
poltergeist (who was later
made famous by some book
Hollywood made into a movie).
Many years later, for copyright
reasons, I was legally obliged
to change my name and leave
the country (by Xpresspost™
this time), but the village of
Amityville, on Long Island, will
always be my spiritual home
(my generous drink waitressing
mother, I still miss, not to mention
that pole dancing ghost).
~ Regards, David B. Redpath
LikeLiked by 1 person
I seriously doubt that you were in a FedEx box
I don’t even think cardboard was available
Immaculate Conception, perhaps
a life the cinematic equivalent of a lesser whorehouse
a voyeur of life, with and without genital rags
blatant scatological evidence
agents knocking on your door
constant demands for samples
Swiss sanatorium semen
adolescent grade erections
those were the days
LikeLike
farmers from Iowa pass by the body of Christ
as they drift toward Hades
a stark departure
Placebo Town
the Golden Rule:
“do it till you drop”
bread and wine: daily transubstantiation
the bread broken, dipped and handed away
LikeLike
Putin:
a nuclear mushroom penis
a nut sac full of Hiroshima
and Nagasaki
Putin:
a dark expanse of water
over his living cemetery
of wives, lovers, children
(+) I think of him shirtless riding Trump like a Grand Canyon mule
LikeLike
apes huddled in fear of thunder
the chaos of sound from the sky
smarter beasts fear conduits to God
peeling off layers of FedEx
stitching words together
thoughts just short of
“Movie of the Week”
LikeLike
apes with large brains
constantly coloring biological needs
Satan employing his skills, adding sensations of pleasure
perverting the norm with associated expressions
a gang of youth chasing the school bus
hoping to suckle the bus driver
selfhood with words
combinations of letters
separate one from another
incestuous desires locked
in the root cellar
LikeLike
hands and feet bound
chasing the thrill
life lost in the chaos
found in the stillness
encountering holiness
having counted the cost
at the foot of the cross
where a reality far higher
has become my true desire
from the crumpled depth
of a misplaced FedEx box
addressed to Timothy Leary
with a note enclosed
saying simply . . .
“Congratulations Daddy!”
LikeLike
she was
tasting like
floor bound booty
can’t bend or shake
all that backstage weight
(+) first rule: only attractive people on the stage
————
————
entire family units
hanging around bus stops
feed them quarters and peanuts
bad mouth Robert Frost and M. G. Kelly
LikeLike
she was
spiking my drink
a cold blooded creature
hunting by day
sleeping at night
to get a chemical reaction
some sacrificial action
she would lie naked
in the morning light
held captive by the sun
Sorcery was her name
as she was
spiking my drink
the taste of Mother Nature
breast feeding
her orphaned lover
left depleted and weak
LikeLike
constant surveillance
uninterrupted recording
the chronicle of Michael
standing to be corrected
—–normalized—–
(+) poetry: effect and object of knowledge
the perversions and hypocrisies of an American
a non-participant who wore fancy Beatle boots
through the peephole, no pants white spunk
classroom after classroom of struggle
life interrupted by signals
just the mere glance
at the crotch
LikeLike
(plain poetry for plain folks)
blow your nose
discover a Big Mac
hairballs from Annie Wilkes
butt crack dust on the sheets
pillow cases soaked with adolescent tears
Barry White somewhere, no one knows where
happy people constantly exchanging fears
backdoor candy bars fresh, sticky
wads of paper towel misplaced
studs salute one another
long thick dongs
Nebuchadnezzar
ball sacs
LikeLike
sociology
biology
love and hate
all blitzed together
in the blender
of poetry workshop
as workers line up
at the fast food drive-thru
resigned to their fate
to live and die
a slave at the feeding trough
of the abattoir state
where truth
gets curiouser and curiouser
LikeLike
dream about a mouse
that was complaining
that the housemates
were watering
the Christmas tree
with human urine
holiday confusion
holiday violence
he said, “I like to run amok”
she said, “berserk is so much better”
weekly, new sheets and pillowcases
gossip that the bed seemed clean
but was constantly recuperating
LikeLike
in my dreams
I’m a student
of anthropology
and theology
studying earnestly
till the distraction
of a rodent disturbance
awakened the unconscientious
hidden in a bent corner of reality
in my dreams
I’m a refugee
fleeing a war of attrition
against destiny
where every thought
and every action
is mistaken
as a covert conspiracy
in my dreams
I never ask questions
of Project Mayhem
disinformation is out in the open
In my dreams
a constant theme
a familiar stranger
urinating on the Tree of Life
with the acquiescence
of all existence
as the warmth cuts like a knife
against the cold of nothingness
In my dreams
I’m the delinquent junkie
in a Hitchcock movie
hanging out with dead friends
in a Placebo Town ghetto
spellbound with vertigo
as visions transcend
born of déjà vu
courtesy of Luis Buñuel
and Salvador Dali
in my dreams
cities are burning
and mountains are drowning
as the polar caps have melted
into a dying ocean
in my dreams
I’m constantly molested
by Mary Elle Fanning
the younger sister
as older Dakota
is now under water
in my dreams
I am Tyler Durden
selling luxury bespoke soap
made from the fat
of overfed humans
but nothing short
of instant salvation
will wash away that guilt
that stinks of oblivion
In my dreams
there’s always a fix
burning a hole in my pocket
but I never talk about it
or that poetry workshop
where the fighters mix it up
in a darkened basement
in my dreams
I’m on the ladder
of a forgotten future
with Jackson Pollock
as the past keeps dripping
through a hole in my soul
onto an unconscious canvas
a cosmic artist
too curious to ever stop
at the mortal edge
of a celestial precipice
LikeLike
the new guy in town
showed everyone his dragon’s tongue
it was huge and seemed possibly reptilian
free drinks and a warm biscuit for the showing
(had to stand on me tiptoes to get it in, to seal the deal)
(+) stump-sodomy: renegades from Kentucky
LikeLike
the teacher had nothing to say
when the smart boy in class
stood up and spoke of his
summer quest to slay
Death
Interpreter Lady
stared out
at a vacant lot
amused that a woman
was conversing with a
Rooster
LikeLike
Placebo Town
with its imperfect reflections
abundant love Dollar Store defective
the simple mind wants right things in the right way
the greatest good, wrong, right, too much, too little
LikeLike
a new stage of life:
after a short course of romance
you give in and go to bed with your date
the next morning he accidently removes his mask
you find yourself in the company of Mr. Jimmie Nicol
(+) a period of modest usefulness
LikeLike
your loved one is dying
and various people make small talk
they can’t hear the cactus
desperate for a swallow
(+) outside the wind makes light
LikeLike
76 miles from a night light
where men rarely come into contact
eyes lowered
amateurish
it feels the same
the climax
a strong teaching
each chapter
a new shape
LikeLike
men at the night light
more results
from serious study
than from the neglect
lounging with manly ease
around the circular gathering
thoughtful observers with wings
watch over the public penetrations
the Holy Cross frightens away the fleas
LikeLike
where is James Brown ?
where is his DNA ?
his people ?
scientists have damaged the futures of real black people
turn on the television
check out the movie award shows
if you’re super strong, listen to the music of today
where is James Brown ?
where is his DNA ?
his people ?
LikeLike
a poem published in a magazine
a journal, “Snotgrass”:
high horse literature
standing up with his underwear on the outside
speaking to a rough-and-tumble crowd
standing up in the saddle
with his dick in his hand
imperfect human drama
celebrating publication
(+) tempted to sin by a comic book
LikeLike
dead pets haunting me, Daddy
I sleep on stage to the crowds
my basic storyline
well, my basic storyline
I saw you and Momma on the curb
holding signs homemade
“REPENT ! JESUS IS COMING !!!”
I waved like Michael would have
It was nice to see you both so happy
LikeLike
there is an endless storyline
within the fullness of time
a universal performance
starring the the Prince of Peace
the main theme being
gracious love and forgiveness
LikeLike