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 
roads in Placebo Town
loneliness runs east
restlessness west
the penis to be baptized again
to become an innocent instrument
free from ferocious masculine associations
(+) Jesus standing there taking a leak, his baby in his hand
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Meaningless
is where you find it
Dead meat in need of some
hormone replacement
whilst mixing up the medicine
with River Phoenix
on the Viper Room pavement
Another scion of Placebo Town
receiving his final benediction
a crown of Gypsy curses
Having died
thanks to a concentration
of natural causes
I was left wandering about
the banks of the River Styx
wondering what was the point
Does this existence
require my participation?
So I thought I’d give
the synthetic a shot
and as promised on the label
it didn’t fail to hit the spot
That mystical third nostril
hiding just below the surface
underneath the kitchen table
Amber, as ever,
was most grateful
Especially when I got my mother,
Jerry Hall, to show her
a friendlier way to get the money
( . . . but sadly, Jerry Hall’s lawyer
has formally informed me
I may no longer call her “Mummy”)
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having had intercourse with Washington DC
for many years, sweating and freezing
swimming naked in the Potomac
men and women
in my priest
pie crust
thank
you
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“How great a being,
Lord, is thine,
which doth all beings keep!
Thy knowledge is the only line
to sound so vast a deep.
Thou art a sea without a shore,
a sun without a sphere;
thy time is now and evermore,
thy place is everywhere.”
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give the password
with dong extended, pointing
men with no hope of going home
no promises of a tomorrow morning
it’s OK, Daddy and Mommy will never know
monstrously dispassionate connections
it feels good, it feels wonderful
hope I can do it again
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Alopecia … hold me tighter
I think I’m sinking down
and I’m all strung out
on your baby smooth skin
on the outskirts of Placebo Town
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The Man God
at home with the violation of bodily limits
faced with fascination for revenge
never looking back at the path
of waste, putrefaction, decay
the shelves of Robert Frost
chubby lesbian chafe
The Child Boy
caught removing
butterfly wings
ignoring
the darkness of infancy
the painful nature of women
the stringent
painful conditions of wedlock
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Choas is the conundrum
Human the limitation
Perfection unobtainable
Fallen the imperfection
Choice is the freedom
Spiritual the irresistible
Willing yet unable
Perfection the manifestation
The stairway to heaven
Elevating the untouchable
With a seat at the table
Love the destination
Choice is an ultimatum
With an open invitation
To forever be chosen
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Meanwhile
Back in the U.S.
where Babylon meets
1950’s morality
only now armed to the teeth
with disposable human rights
The agony and the ecstasy
of rambunctious town hall politics
village folk revolting
out in the streets protesting
God help the unarmed foetus
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the MultipleMichael movie
of course
the main character
goes by another name
and locations have been changed
(church becomes)
fierce lovemaking among friends
(the brotherhood)
genitalia sprayed with new car scent
———-
———-
priests circulating flesh
generating jealousy
ownership rights
———-
———-
rebellion
against the adult world
adolescents consuming their parents
knives and forks and human on the plate
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Placebo’s Inferno
where the guests
are slow cooked
tasting like pulled pork
and served with a pitchfork
by priests of the beast
So hard to resist
fine dining at it’s best
What could be better than this?
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HOW TO DIMINISH PAUPERISM
poverty
normally so humiliating
climbing the flagpole naked
“how far can one go ?”
rock samples for brains
——————
those damn rich people
with their unborn babies
now they are going to pay
commitment with diapers
breast milk from an animal
good and evil inverted
moral ambiguity
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RECIPROCAL ALTRUISM
Slavery
and Consumerism
big business
guns and ammunition
cull the criminal classes
Big Brother in balance
copyrighting © procreation
adjusting the apparatus
a workforce broodstock
in abundance
forced to breed to excess
in stirrups and a harness
the algorithm supreme
Fortune Fornication™
riding shotgun
survival of the fittest
guns and ammunition
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one small boy
alone in a shoe box
a world with limited color
shades of “Stairway to Heaven”
on a $39 stolen stereo
missing a speaker
(+) dazzle and disturb
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Perhaps it was too much
for the Sindicate to accept
such a substantial loss
Understandably upset
they put out a 24 hour contract
Goons with prison haircuts
packing serious heat
under ponchos and anoraks
were scouring the streets
Gary bought it on the way
to the airport as everyone
from the police down
were on the look out
In a city where corruption is
a team sport it’s hard to escape
the Sindicate’s deadly reach, yet
in Gary’s blood soaked briefcase
they found only half the cash
and not a gram of the stolen coke
Was he working with someone else?
I do hope they never find out
what I have hidden under my bed
as the Sindicate never forgives
and will never forget
Not at least until they’re all dead
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artistically frustrated
big city words pile up
prodigies exist outside
the boy from the shoe box
he thinks of himself as a problem
an offspring of channel surfers
people who would cannibalize
not only family members
but also themselves
LikeLiked by 1 person
Truth is often stranger than fiction
Gary was once a living human being
A brother johnny-come-lately
from the land of New Zealand
who got snared on heroin
surviving solely
by his wits and a gun
I was perhaps the last person
to speak with him
before he faded from the screen
Knowing what he was up against
he was understandably nervous
Jumpy as a guilty cat
on a hot tin roof
He never made it to the plane
that was going to save him
from a quick death in the fast lane
Sadly Gary wasn’t bullet proof
as truth is often deadlier than fiction
My guilt I’ve been left to deal with
but life is for living
So despite much terminal friction
with the assistance
of a long suffering guardian angel
I quit that infernal scene
A dead end path of least resistance
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the boy from the box
had an uncle who would tell tales
speak of a white ghost god and cannibals
a classmate who ate parts of himself
sandwiches at lunch with the crew
empty chair clouded in silence
only so much one can cut off
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Poetry Workshop;
The juxtaposition
of the boy
in the shoe box
with a nebulous aura
and an alien mutation
from a lost FedEx carton
Feet an optional extra
singular or multiple
when truth is stranger
than a dump truck
stuck on the train tracks
venting toxic gas
all over the docks
just north of the border
with a bad case
of Alpha Monkey Pox
Poetry Workshop;
Where Michael gets
his multiples out
in deference
to Mick Jagger’s
space cotton socks
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pOETRY wORKSHOP
where small boys are taught to fill themselves with history
human skin stuffed with the humus of the earth bound
told to do their duty, work through mind and spirit
circle deformity of personality, physically forge on
never lovingly endorse corruption and betrayal
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Socialised beasts
in synthetic puffer jackets
groomed and consumed
by paedophile priests
synchronised to traumatise
any remnants of innocence
like an infant placed on the lap
of that king of pop music
who forgot that life itself
is a non-stop recording session
It’s a demonic success
when the Kingdom of Heaven
is blamed and discredited
for their acts of perversion
(followed up with
a quick confession)
committed under the cloak
of whatever religion
The cost …
a paradise forever lost
Yet there is ever a hope
a safe haven
for all the broken
and abused children
in Christ Jesus …
the one true King
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Puffer Jackets (synthetic or organic)
are often donated to the Red Cross
once citizens retire to Florida
(+) life is a non-stop recording session
the King of Pop
exactly who threw the first stone ?
billions of criminals point fingers
do they toss stones at themselves ?
Heaven does not own the deed to Earth
Jesus and angels exist in heaven
clay humans remain clay
Disney is nonsense
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No need for a puffer jacket
in sunny Miami ☀️ 🏖️
where fertility is ancient history
where incest with insects
is a fading memory
like Snow White and her pimp
Walt Disney
At least that’s what
Jiminy Cricket tells me
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incest with insects is not as easy
as one might think
a Smith Corona
on your knob
bubble bee
tight
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Jiminy had mentioned
that such things
like a puppet without strings
were an improbability
But who would know
where Pinocchio
and his woodworms go?
Just don’t be asking
that villain Walt Disney
why he makes Pinocchio
wear those lederhosen?
He’d probably blame
poor old Geppetto
despite him having a permit
to work with wooden children
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—————-Joseph Geppetto—————-
Pinocchio with a hand carved anal opening
“Don’t get cute with my backdoor”
country western tune,
“It gets crazy when a man can’t get a puppet off his mind”
Reader Digest: Geppetto equals God, Pinocchio equals Adam
country western tune,
“When we were down to nothing, nothing sure looked good on you”
Pinocchio sitting on the porphyry chair
someone had to verify his gender
splinters from the nut sac
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Nobody knows
why Pinocchio’s
nose grows
when he lies
down in his bed
as Geppetto
tries very hard
to give him
a good head
of solid wood
A feather in the cap
for any puppet
with a wooden heart
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the little wooden boy
innocence without sophistication
carved by a fortified, defensive mentality
Geppetto knew about excessively long eyeteeth
having been tortured by things far worse than a dictionary
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HOOKERS & LAWYERS
Money is no protection
from the legal action
of hungry hookers
and their greedy lawyers
In fact money
is the main attraction
for hungry hookers
and their greedy lawyers
Ephebophile financiers
and randy rappers
vile rock spiders
and horny actors
they’re all fair game
for those hungry hookers
and their greedy lawyers
( How’s that for some
criminal finger pointing 👉?
It’s a thankless task,
but somebody’s gotta do it. )
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small miserable creatures
obsessive-compulsive
cannibalized
by family
criticism
difficult to swallow
lollygaggers with the same last name
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Poetry Workshop;
A poetic oxymoron
like an Islamist kibbutz
led by a hedonistic altruist
and a celibate priest
who just wanna have
some fundamentalist fun
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the boy from the box
holds the sun in his hands
faster than the speed of light
a sister who turns tricks for kicks
footprints on motel ceilings galore
wet spots on the sheets to be proud of
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Pin0cchio
(juvenile delinquency)
the puppet who would be a boy
lip-sucking kisses with splinters
update: his dong could grow on demand
facing plenty of challenges along the way
Placebo Town with its infinite river of words
venturing into the heat of creative undertakings
Pinocchio conditioned with constant stimulation
he knew nothing of the dark hollows of the unknown
that God rarely reaches down with his magic wand
no rescue from spending a lifetime being poisoned
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the boy in the box
brothers and sisters
flocked
to the island of pleasure
complete with donkey ears
———————–home for the holidays
a large plate of cocaine for the young ones
something stronger for everyone else
mom told a tale about fingering
the rectum of Ram Dass
a no-win romance
she moved on
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(how does that make one feel ?)
four fingers up the bum of Ram Dass
systematically depersonalized
brown innocence difficult
to safely remove
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“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a
damn about Ram Dass’s anus.
He kept telling me to be here now,
but now he’s absolutely nowhere?”
~Rhett’s Butler
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the secret door to the exit
recesses of the heart
where rape sleeps
intravenously
agents knocking on doors
asking, “makers of meaning ?”
“bearers of meaning ?”
there were no answers
residents frightened by nostalgia
past narratives on gender
disturbing thoughts
burning rubber
eroticism
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he just shoved it in
and started pounding
as if his time was limited
perhaps
the stagecoach was due
he just shoved it in and got down to it
his eyes were weird as if not focused
water was flowing from his scalp
it sort of felt good
heat from the friction
perfect size to plug the hole
nothing escaped, it was internal
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the king of Sodom was knocking on the door
he was offering gold and virgin vulvas
being a Christian I refused
any attraction to pleasure
happy with my Lord
my vocabulary
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bootleg opium
and the way one feels the next day
driving around Placebo Town
no specific time frame
scholars at pOETRY wORKSHOP
marauding tribes of truck drivers
men willing to “lower” themselves
(+) men who found their seed shallow
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———-country western tune———
when we were down to nothing
nothing sure looked good on you
————————————
multitudes of descendants
cut from the roots
apparent failure
(+) barrenness nevertheless
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countersigns of thought
sneak at night with a flashlight
your name/lifestyle: cinematic
huddled in the darkness
a constant wash
people don’t talk about it
night fires in the head
countersigns of thought
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no real feet to stomp out the flames
day thoughts, night thoughts
countersigns of thought
no one has the right
to question
the uniqueness of God
—————
—————
the plurality of Michael
the greater fruit
the lesser fruit
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hands lifted up to the moon
the great tree of Moreh
full of those asleep
were they the countersigns of thought ?
life was full of holes and rough edges
brothers and sisters married
contrived reproduction
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the rapid increase in population
commonplace wickedness
flowers and seeds itself
——————
——————
the boundary
surrounding Placebo Town
—divine and otherwise—
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eating the apple
in front of the face
of The Son of Man
a commonplace
intravenous dream
for a FedEx orphan
in a bloodstained carton
after yet another
mass shooting
in Placebo Town
being breast fed
by Nigella Lawson
at a high altitude
with a low opening
as she snorts the cream
and blitzes the cocaine
my epicurean dilemma
to cruelly awaken
not stirred
but shaken
just as she began
to whip me one more time
for biting that apple
since René Magritte
claimed it was a crime
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deep in stringent layers
tight lipped orifices
talk of castration
fear of castration
2 responses:
scissors
snips
signifier guidelines
markers of difference
no desire to grow back
I ask Jesus to permit me to pass
he is amazed by the dimensions of my sin
my thoughts attack creation
domesticate moral chaos
I am multi-faced
plural
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is the singular
but a spark in the dark
where memory ends
and the dreaming begins?
is the singular
a predator
like a hungry jaguar
ready to pounce
at the jugular of sin?
give him a dead ounce
and he’ll snort
a pound of flesh
is the singular
just a dog with a bone?
a mere moment in time
on a very short leash?
or a joint heir to the throne
of a Kingdom divine?
the singular is now
no longer alone
having been drafted
and voluntarily grafted
to a never ending vine
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Johnny Cash asks, “what have I become ?”
June floats around in her Sunday panties
Johnny claims that pain is the only thing real
but the characters at Disney disagree
a shoebox of fixed concepts
dark power-urges
love worn out
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grafted to a never ending vine:
(+) located across from the big highway with 24hr traffic
(+) one hand holding hunger, the other hand holding thirst
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the silence can be serene
or deafening
on my side of the highway
not taken
people mistaking freedom
for slavery
near-sighted confusion
and the hardening
of a broken heart
is sadly all part and parcel
of the human condition
if not for a sip of grace
a morsel with a loving taste
of that eternal kingdom
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people carrying bags of bones
pets long gone
ran out of
time
primary carbon
coal burning souls
I had to ask myself
stepping past
trespass
primary carbon
coal burning souls
love only exists in touch
something drunk Jesus said
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bones long gone
busted and dusted
souls in sheol
polished or rusted
ready to bloom
or moan in the gloom
plenty of room
in Abraham’s bosom
just follow
that road not taken
where coal
turns to diamonds
and where water
turns to wine
if I’m not mistaken
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Hi David, Great post!!!! I was wondering if you would be so kind as to answer a few questions I have about WP?? WP updated their platform on April 18, 2022. The very next day my visitor count dropped by over 80%. WP had no acceptable answers for me and basically brushed me offer with go to Google Analytics to check your stats. It is my contention that they did something in the update that messed up traffic to my blog. I just wanted to know if you have been receiving daily updates like you did before or if you were or were not seeing my posts in the Reader. Not sure how you were getting the feed to my blog. How did you, do you access my blog. These answers would be very helpful to me, My Friend!!! 😊✨👍👍
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Chuck 🙏
I’m not really the one to ask about
the foibles of WordPress. Being out
on the road for the best part, I’m
reduced to using my phone to blog
and check in. I have noticed that
followed sites get mysteriously
unfollowed, and the ‘Reader’ app
constantly freezes up to the point
it’s unusable. So I just have to
really on the notifications app
but perhaps that’s a consequence
of using a phone? 📱
The last few months I’ve basically
been losing the will to blog, but I’m
not totally blaming the annoying
idiosyncrasies of WordPress . . .
only partly 😎
For example, I’m travelling almost
three thousand miles this week,
through the Australian outback
where the connectivity isn’t great.
LikeLike
I saw a woman today
she was missing an arm
——————–“the road not taken”
reality so smooth
the mechanical
goes unnoticed
Rule #1: function without interruption
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I saw a woman today
she was missing an arm
I pulled up my pant legs
“me too”
It wasn’t rats
or a black fungus from corn
It was that damn path not taken
(+) Christ’s cry of forsakenness
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eating potato chips and riding a bicycle
missing an arm, she was wounded
clay people misattributing
abstract thought
to Daddy 666
all those famous men
in the Reader’s Digest Bible
were trying to reverse their ways
pushing drunk Jesus outside himself
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TRUTH or FICTION?
My father had
a wooden left leg
and his right one
was next to useless
after a run in
with a speedboat propeller
whilst water skiing
with some or other
footloose barmaid
from a nearby
Dave & Buster’s
Most men
would’ve bled to death
right there on the beach
I don’t mean to boast
being his son
but my father
Captain Stump Grinder
was one
tough son of a bitch
A corporate pirate
and hired gun
who dug his way
up from the trench
and made himself rich
A pirate with a wooden leg
who eventually went wrong
and lost it all
on wine, women, and song
Not to mention
the gambling
with his shipmates
all night long
Now there’s nothing left
in his treasure chest
Not a single
golden doubloon
for his prodigal son
Only an old wooden limb
rotting at the bottom
of the Pacific Ocean
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in the bad place
where men drink alcohol
submit your soul or die (submit or die)
living fabric with brittle edges
clay dust swept away
no washy-washy
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I am probably harmless
and easily forgettable
there under my rock
I remain forgotten
formula controlled in purgatory
rubbing my knees counting down
A TIMED RELEASE
(+) shallow soul from a life in the achievement contest
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one Michael throws down his skin
another Michael picks it up
and runs
at the bottom of a wishing well
Michael alone with a paradox
his love of others
his love of self
together
proceed
forward
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Truth or Fiction:
—————
when I was young
I was in the inner circle
of a “family”
I refused to do negative things
and played the role of Christ
the leader was a local lad
a complete criminal
murder, rape, needle drugs
he had extreme demonic powers
his brother was #2 and a heartthrob
#3 was my cousin, my ticket in
the inner circle is long dead
I remain
LikeLike
I could reach down into myself
and pull out a new Michael
how many Michaels pulled
determines arrival
PLACEBO TOWN
golden rules:
domination, coercion, violence
LikeLike
reaching way down deep
pulling up an award winning Michael
one not addicted to rearranging reality
the narrative of facts and figures
discarded in a wind storm
LikeLike
I am often asked
about taxi service in Placebo Town
“without the breath” no need for a ride
location is more than words
lip service seems limited
unfolding creation
is wide open
LikeLike
the devils on television
singing sad songs
they are a looking
they are watching
the devils on television
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come off the factory made opium
everything seems the wrong size
Johnny telling June that he can’t go on
“life is like eating shit pie”
Johnny asking June
“how much shit can one stomach ?”
come off the backroom dope
everything inside out
LikeLike
Placebo Town
is a synthetic ecosystem
wrapped up
in a plastic puffer jacket
inside a used prophylactic
Placebo Town
is a festering scab
in a discarded condom
left on the back seat
of a taxi cab
disguised as freedom
Placebo Town
is a womb with a tomb
and no room
for a foetal position
where I was left to drown
on that black market opium
the day I was born
Placebo Town
is where I learnt to swim
amongst alien lifeforms
who just wanna have fun
with a being
as symbiotic as anything
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the last bird
wanting to know
what’s up with Mikey
some scent drifted her way
standing in the cremation line
paperwork for the last act of life
the cold hard truth upclose and ugly
LikeLike
after death
they inflate the bodies
and float them downstream
they curse and say bad things
they scratch their buttocks
and rub their eyes
early morning
white snot
corners
(+) just remember: domination is not transformation
LikeLike
they inflate you
and charge for the final voyage
they call you king and give you a number
in a world of success they praise your failure
(+) pay in advance and a jail chaplain will rub your balls
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many consider
the Placebo River
to be holy
no better place to dump
a rotting cadaver
after a brief
baptism of fire
as the river
flows forever to the sea
the floating bloated dead
endlessly drifting
past the living
to a memory forgotten
just don’t go swimming
in the Placebo River
or you’ll die
from rat-bite fever
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Placebo Town
where money trees grow freely
where citizens daily harvest 100s and 50s
some chuckle at the thought of dollar weeds
LikeLike
The Hoodies
are the natural enemies
of the Puffer Jackets
as they freely feed
on the dollar weeds
whereas the Puffers
must work at it
by diligently trimming
those money trees
Not all denizens are equal
in Placebo Town
Many a predatory Hoodie
has conspired
to bring the system down
as the proletarian Puffer
is a straight jacket
enslaved in a monetary racket
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somewhere in Japan
they feed black steers
100 dollar Manuka Hay
meanwhile in Kentucky
moo cows scramble
for 50 cent weeds
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somewhere
in South Korea
they eat dog flesh
masticating canines
served up as dumplings
with their canine teeth
much safer for a feline
anywhere
in South Korea
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she asked me what I was thinking about:
masturbating with my nondominant hand
————–on the path———
webs of consciousness
some type of mental spider
ready to wrap your inner worth
your voice grows weak
your rhythm stops
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Pink Floyd 24/7
I’ve erased the vocals
——
say a prayer
for people with “dream-catchers”
having misplaced their migratory path
they have become the bathtub that doesn’t drain
——
the greater your access, the more in focus
—————your mud-walled torso
—————your primitive clay feet
Pink Floyd lips move
I can’t hear what they say
I am comfortably numb
a crayon for a dick
five fingers and
a reserve
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