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 
just how many sharks does one swim with
that one must disguise their birthday wishes ?
24 hour autopsies next door
stacks of people
cumbersome obese people
how many minutes does the tech spend
with each miscellaneous organ ?
just circle something
what does it matter ?
30 years ago there was a magnifying glass
smooth cutting sharp scissors
and expensive scalpels
today it is a Sears handsaw
and a small axe
quick circles on the screen
somewhere down the line
mathematicians
will organize everything
somewhere down the line
factories in China
will produce more funeral urns
the bohemian crowd
will want crazy shapes
and corrosive colors
husbands and wives in the same urn
dusty acquaintances, Freudian fibers
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some people question the modern poet’s ability
to alter the sexual abuse of oneself
the shadow of yourself naked
they say it looks like you
that it masturbates
without friction
or callous
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poets promised to a craft
a promise in lines of prose
they swear no attachments
but I can smell geography
meanders down below
the double doors
soiled carpet
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no longer happy with the automobile
I’ve taken to the outside sofa
just face traffic and go
countless married couples
are involved in arguments
they return my waves with indigestion
the sofa is limited
good for a couple of miles
a wonderful ride to the library
no food is served
but kisses can be had
just pucker up
and think of Meryl Streep
the sweet pink flesh of Meryl Streep
the confines of a mature woman
wearing ornaments like a Christmas tree
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God is busy
but sometimes
he reads me as if I were braille
Noah was afraid of God
the number of times he was cut
to release spiritual tumors
Noah was more cinematic
than any movie
his genital upholstery
hand carved
a proud man
often on display
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the downward drift
husbands wielding their Daddy sticks
derogatory remarks may be the only defense
romance complete with voice-overs
interior life on display
noise and commotion
holding too much
for too long
(@) derogatory remarks: size, shape, color
June Carter told Johnny Cash that his dong
was like a whippoorwill out of breath
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aspiring to something better
I put on my Moses skin
looking back
the dry skeleton
a grim reminder
of a life lacking discipline
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leave the printed page
and the immediate reality
a room full of floating heads
totally disembodied
grouped with actual people
strange sandwiches
of conversation
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the Rabbi said that he was exhausted
with synthetic readings of biblical prophecies
contrary to all expectations
scattered fragments
form a whole
Frankenstein
personalities and fates
smuggled into the library
(@) a secret society that sneaks literature into libraries
Daddy Onassis and Mommy Onassis
thought-provoking enough
backdoor intellectuals
nose first
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living a life more cinematic than any movie
the family tree in a nativity scene
blips on a radar screen
graveyard markers
a scoop of dust
Robert Frost
letters of the alphabet
weeping and void of comfort
$700 socks named for characters
in a Stephen King novel
scuffed suede breasts
as welcome as bare feet
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feeling so small in the large automobile
most people on the street
were too short to peek
inside
jewelers in town
would stand on stepladders
and exchange trinkets for cash
bodyguards stood by with evil eyes
bullets would have been too humane
they knew where to stab to make death wait
sometimes Aristotle would ride up front
it made the driver very nervous
afraid of making an error
the tires would turn
ever so slow
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Aristotle was from Smyrna
need say more ?
fury was a real thing
what would it take to rectify a situation ?
superstition baked in a pie
swells in the bedroom like an ocean
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ask people about the upstairs Jesus
and they instantly
park the car
on downstairs Jesus
the Rabbi says that the common man
doesn’t really think of Jesus
he just entertains thoughts
images of Jesus—images of thoughts
one needs an intermediary
a real powerhouse
Aristotle Onassis
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dreams of Jackie Onassis
sitting in front of a large mirror
rubbing a cream from Switzerland
on her scuffed suede breasts
a scientific formula
a dead embryo
or two
the only immediate answer
to the abandonment by God
(shades of the Kennedy curse)
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patterns of humiliation and exaltation
patterns of incarnation and resurrection
each morning the limo would visit self-realization
Aristotle would have the window down
clouds of cigar smoke pouring out
tobacco grown near Golgotha
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Honeymoon Hotel
all the times you had trouble
at the front door of romance
adolescent behavior put away
because of a condition
known as adulthood
adolescent behavior
taken out daily
friends with human faces
needful of companionship
old lovers
still ask
for more
autographed
merchandise
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instructed to shine
the flashlight on yourself
others are startled to see your innocence
no evidence of Robert Frost recitations
no questions without answers
fingers free of chaos
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just think
somehow
you were
removed
from
a
WOMAN
a world of question marks
men with loaded guns
nonphysical solitude
a bicycle with no tires
oiled rust free
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incognito Aristotle
Aristotle-within-an-Aristotle
the smell of ham salad with extra relish
almost never safe from prying eyes
finding it progressively harder
to grasp the dong
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thinking back
when I would tell fellow workers
that I was Moses (the skin of Moses)
few people sat at my table
people that didn’t speak
mainstream English
names I’ve forgotten but faces
that’s an entirely different story
each set of eyes like a signature supreme
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how many other people wear the skin of Moses ?
how many other men are pulled from a woman ?
a life of private eyes and detectives
agents of the government
the private world
what it would take to wipe away the orphanage
the bats and ghouls at night (the creeping)
the sound of children being tortured
what would it take ?
puritans applauding
as demons postpone the future
seemingly unrelated episodes, the poetry
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poetry written on the side of a cliff
daily existence on the cat walk
promised the electric chair
promised the cyanide chamber
every Christmas it’s a toy gallows
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explicit sex acts
seedy characters
dirty ankles and nails
every single thing circumcised
———–(floating)———–
with the Rabbi in an over-crowded lifeboat
he was holding my hand in a SORRY way
I knew he was mathematically correct
I was the Rabbi, inside the Holy skin
———–(floating)———–
mother on the other side
father pounding his fists
horrific creatures
suppression
repression
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“Sometimes letting things go
is an act of far greater power
than defending or hanging on.”
~ Eckhart Tolle
“There is no gate, no lock,
no bolt you can set upon
the freedom of my mind.”
~ Virginia Woolf
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the sky dark with mispronunciations
when one lives so close to Placebo Town
one must adjust to the company of sky vultures
previous achievements littering the trees
the poor pedal themselves
the rich pedal others
the Poet of the Week
on drugs 24/7
callousness on display
poetry about Russian roulette
kissing women in a rough manner
poetry about Russian ribbed condoms
alone at night with a butt cheese catalog
a dry rub Swiss with a serious cringe
a level 10 gravitational pull
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Beautiful…
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Thank you, Geetika 🙏
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My pleasure to read…
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the poet finds it difficult to understand anything
not important to himself—his own understanding of himself
with little time to contemplate, operational thought rules
practical use, Daddy
to survive
and somewhere
originators
worried about appearing “pleasing” to God
(@) brightly colored birds in the lobby of the Honeymoon Hotel
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Left in the wake
of a Bluetooth handshake
at the Crossroads Hotel,
conveniently located
on the Highway to Hell,
with the Salvation Army
preparing for a second wave
that swelled into a tsunami.
The truck stop parking lot
was turned into an open grave.
Had I returned from planet Dune
too soon, and without Federation permission?
On Dune it had begun to rain
for the first time in a millennium.
But my backpack
full of contraband spice
always kept me high and dry.
Had I foolishly returned to Earth
and that accursed Crossroads Hotel
only to be drenched
and to watch humanity
slowly die?
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at some point in time
the planet Arrakis turned into sand
and helped form the state, Florida
South Florida was a hub for the spice
crazy people with heavy suntans
and female chimps with sparkle
loved the stuff
the real foldspace substance
was meth from Washington state
although there are no longer giant sandworms
there are countless posters of Atreides
tee shirts with the Melange logo
bootleg soundtracks by Toto
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TO CONFORM THROUGH THE WORKS OF THE LAW
to have power and domination
the fire truck of marriage
up in flames
the Rabbi said that masturbation was self-deification
the spectrum of men crucifying themselves
bringing forth the seed
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the needs and concerns of men
God who has become man
man who wishes to become God
the poet with clay feet
fearing direct dealings
the unchangeable God
the many bodies of Adam and Eve
the many bodies of Noah and Moses
self-revelation through children
children being tickets
original inner beings
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“Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate.
Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.”
– Kurt Vonnegut
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there were complaints
about the exploitation
of a cut-up poet
pure vaudeville
a baby bird pulled from an egg sack
the words are visible but they fail to connect
the words are naked and eyes look elsewhere
people say clever things —vagabonds perhaps
identity and the passions, the tendrils of poetry
where the hell are they ?
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“I sometimes feel that
I’m impersonating the dark
unconscious of the whole
human race. I know this
sounds sick, but I love it.”
~ Vincent Price
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planted upright
in the midst of Placebo Town
his pleasures dormant at an early age
playful stand-ins were dime a dozen
sometimes he watched in amazement
devoured by the extreme intimacy
the wife with a hint of cannibalism
the poet with no drive to sample
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Poetic entropy
of the never regions begins
at the Crossroads Hotel
where no one hears you scream
Right next door
at the Honeymoon Hotel
everyone knows what’s happening
There’s a camera in every room
and three in the kitchen
All the action beamed live
onto a big screen
in the staff canteen
so they don’t miss a thing
The manager always knows
what’s going down
and when to turn on the sprinklers
After performing the daily sacrifice
for the assembled shareholders
he reports directly to head office
in old Placebo Town
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REPORT DIRECTLY TO THE HEAD OFFICE
Old Testament Placebo Town
“time regained” on the minds of sinners
time to counterbalance puberty
time to counterbalance romance
fingers grapple
with the troubles of adolescence
tirelessly masturbating the alphabet
repetitive text pushed forth
the poet thinking
that he is part of the alphabet
corrosive thoughts about love
honeymoon gymnastics
(@) living off the livelihood of sex
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no physical contact incest
decapitation of family
all those heads
on the floor
Robert Frost holding the head of Medusa
each poet with a decisive moment
when the wings fail and fall off
riding elevators where there no elevators
the eyelids of poets heavy with shame
the knife blade up and down
eroticized castration
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riding elevators where there are no elevators
relatives bearing witness to one another
the poets with their death drive
their desire to damage
to destroy
(@) birth to words
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the deepest
darkest place
the circle of Judas
only three short blocks
from the Honeymoon Hotel
the place where they raise the dead
yes, Placebo Town proud to be an endpoint
accidental intrusions and cleft-born intercourse
replicas of Jesus with the clean penis and the scars
the genital wound, an indelible mark of the past healed over
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the penis scar
the mark of identity
relating one to their ancestors
distinguishing man from beast
the succession of endless fathers
being bracketed close to the first one
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Did Adam have nipples?
Did Eve have hairy armpits?
When Neo took the red pill,
did it reveal the knowledge
of good and evil?
Did the Cheshire Cat just sit
there grinning, as Eve went
plucking in Eden’s garden?
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what does it mean
to ride the elevator
where there is no elevator ?
(face value: the sum of weak minds)
fear not the sum of weak minds
fear one thing and one thing only
the temptation to join the Antichrist
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I was drowned,
I was washed up
and left for dead
I fell down to my feet
and I saw they bled
I frowned at the crumbs
of a crust of bread
I was crowned with a spike
right through my head
But it’s all right now,
in fact, it’s a gas
But it’s all right,
I’m Jumpin’ Jack Flash
~ Keith Richards /Mick Jagger
So come on
Jack be nimble,
Jack be quick
Jack Flash sat
on a candlestick
‘Cause fire
is the devil’s only friend
Oh and as I watched him
on the stage
My hands were clenched
in fists of rage
No angel born in Hell
Could break that Satan’s spell
And as the flames
climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day the music died
~ Don McLean
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there are many nightspots in Placebo Town
all sins covered
especially those foreign
to our core nature
the sounds of baptism played backwards
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Placebo Town
on a Saturday night
The beautiful people
are all coming out
A white powder Mardi Gras
of red Ferraris
and dry martinis
Jeffrey Epstein
and his entourage arrive
in a procession
of silver Lamborghinis
Club 27 is now open
with blue neon blazing
where Kurt Cobain
and Amy Winehouse
are the starring attractions
It’s Rock ‘n’ Rolla all over
and over again
Quiet as a mouse
barely hiding his grin
behind a clawed hand
and a flashing ring
Jumpin’ Jack Flash
is sitting in the corner
handing out the cash
to a Chinese waiter
The smell of burnt opium
is overpowering
A deathly hush descends
The show is about to begin
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people chew decency
as if they were cattle
poor little Jeffrey
with his skinned knee
every 10 minutes
his money
changes hands
light-hearted reward
for the intolerable acts
the unsaid
(@) whores are whores regardless of age
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Gonna change my way of thinking
Make myself a different set of rules
Gonna put my good foot forward
And stop being influenced by fools
So much oppression
Can’t keep track of it no more
Sons becoming husbands
to their mothers
And old men turning
young daughters into whores
~ Bob Dylan
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Sodom and Gomorrah on the map
on the new edition
the ink is red
flesh of the land
the hounded beings
pounding the ground
circling the prison yards
memories nested in solitude
nested in temptations from the past
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Somebody should’ve bought
Jeffrey Epstein a teen model sexbot
before he he began to mutate
into an alpha predator.
Feeding on innocence and naivety
like a randy Frankenstein’s monster.
A slave to carnal compulsion
on a Roxy Music bender.
Money is power in this broken world
of hard hearts and easy corruption.
In every dream home
a heartache
And every step I take
Takes me further from heaven
Is there a heaven?
I’d like to think so
Standards of living
They’re rising daily
But home oh sweet home
It’s only a saying
From bell push to faucet
In smart town apartment
The cottage is pretty
The main house a palace
Penthouse perfection
But what goes on
What to do there
Better pray there
Open plan living
Bungalow ranch style
All of it’s comforts
Seem so essential
I bought you mail order
My plain wrapper baby
Your skin is like vinyl
The perfect companion
You float my new pool
De luxe and delightful
Inflatable doll
My role is to serve you
Disposable darling
Can’t throw you away now
Immortal and life size
My breath is inside you
I’ll dress you up daily
And keep you till death sighs
Inflatable doll
Lover ungrateful
I blew up your body
But you blew my mind
~ Bryan Ferry
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Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom:She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned;
they did not help the poor and needy.
They were haughty and did detestable
things before me. Therefore I did away
with them as you have seen.
~ Ezekiel 16:49-50
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“therefore I did away with them”
words a loving God would glorify
women raised above other earthly creatures
women who kiss and exhaust themselves
in the pastures of other women
ignoring direct sight of the eternal light
(@) on what was to be left in the grave
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I guess if you’re sacrificing
your children to Moloch 🔥
with Canaanite drums pounding
to drown out the screaming 😱
you’d be deserving of a big time
instant karma kick in the arse⚡
Never mind the bollocks 🟡🟡
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poor Jeffrey loved his mother
not only would she laugh and love
and run her fingers through his hair
she would feed on his youth
the husband without feet
who floated on clouds
a schoolboy crazed
for parted lips
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Out of respect
for his ancestry,
and a bloated sense
of his own destiny,
Jeffrey dreamed of spawning
a new improved master race
of “Transhuman” supremacy.
The key ingredient
being his genetic input, of course.
Teen incubators being transported
In Donald Trump’s plane.
In conjunction,
and with the blessing of the
Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation.
Microsoft Judas now says,
“I never knew the man!”.
Genocide! … Suicide?
Nothing gets in the way
of an age old new age master plan.
They say . . .
The best-laid plans of mice
and men often go awry.
Yet Nimrod, with the mark
of Cain on his forehead,
is still shooting for the sky.
Now that Nietzsche is dead,
you can’t always get what you want
. . . is all I’ve got say.
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each penny counted and squeezed
insignificant women
laid at the feet
to be used
discarded
pagan mysticism
a simple expression
of animal sensibility
(@) igniting friction in the creases
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a book full of complicated things
streams of words put on paper
many afraid of the storm
or the log in the fire
narrow-minded
tiresome love
dolled up
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having hearts of flesh
instead of hearts of stone
they say the Old T. kills
and the New T. gives life
what do they say for tomorrow ?
I asked Moses why his face was covered
why his voice was veiled
(@) Jeremiah and Ezekiel handing out words
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virgins inflamed
at his mere approach
virgins on the sidewalk
with their skirts hiked up
The Pope of Pee Holes in Placebo Town
the menfolk stare at the ground
troubled by the measuring tape
self-assured reveries shattered
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how can one forget the day
the angels came with ladders
and Adam and Eve lowered themselves
to the valley of suffering and humiliation
no longer the heavenly sounds and smells
no longer the gentle creatures without fear
———(the memory)———
as Adam lowered himself down the ladders
he found himself forced to gaze up at Eve’s backside
bombarded with the facial delight of Satan inside her folds
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our local librarian confessed
that the moon is the shield
of the fallen son
not a child from earth
but one from the heavens
every man who fears not God
will display his true color in secondary light
a librarian with a swarm of disturbing thoughts
I asked to see her feet and she asked to see mine
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the prompt tonight was
your first thought after seeing
an actual public display of fisting
I felt sorry for the poor dweeb
the distant future would be cruel
if not the here and now
================
autopsy after autopsy
psychically wounded
by scientists
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A conversation overheard
at the junkie rehabilitation
facility, conveniently located
next to the Placebo Town
Central Railway Station;
There must be some kind
of way outta here
Said the joker to the thief
There’s too much confusion
I can’t get no relief
Business men,
they drink my wine
Plowmen dig my earth
None will level on the line
Nobody offered his word
No reason to get excited
The thief, he kindly spoke
There are many here among us
Who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I,
we’ve been through that
And this is not our fate
So let us stop talkin’ falsely now
The hour’s getting late
All along the watchtower
Princes kept the view
While all the women
came and went
Barefoot servants, too
Outside in the cold distance
A wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching
And the wind began to howl
~ Bob Dylan
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riding the train is no fun
it works forward
as well as backwards
nothing supernatural
like when Jesus visits
with grams
of reminiscence
happy times they were
29 minutes before the Fall
(@) no mirrors or reflections in Eden
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Then inhibition ascended
Like pictures in an exhibition
An attack monkey
All dressed in black
On the back of creation
The fig leaf of desperation
Becomes the new state religion
Where the spirit is missing
Once lost
Can you ever get it back?
Good Times
Dodgeball and destruction
Playground crimes
A weapon of your own choosing
Nickel and Dime
Deals going down
In a subway scene
The sick and the sublime
The clock unwinds
The air itself begins to scream
Not a second to spare
As the Harvest Queen
In just her underwear
Awakens from a dream
To be crowned with plastic lust
At the Placebo Town Fair
Humanity walks in it’s sleep
Till way past late
The fullness of time
Is getting deep
Fallen angels beware
A slow train is coming
To separate wolves 🐺
Goats 🐐
And sheep 🐑
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………………………David,
This passage is 100% perfect !!!
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Iron sharpens iron ⚔️
Thanks for the multiple sparing
my esteemed poetic friend ♾️
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Eve
the wicked game
spread petals complete
aroma of the late night
the slight tearing of silk
sperms tasseled
(@) the saga of the furless skin
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Before The Fall
Adam
entranced
by Eve’s entrance
of spiritual elegance
that portal of the very soul
was the first man ever to utter
the words, “Oh God!”
as they jointly invented
a crazy little thing
called ‘Rock ‘n’ Roll’
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life reduced to a museum of images
a constant parade of spectators
question mark religious poetry
brief descriptions of Eden
upstairs in heaven proper
no tears or heartache
embroidered joy
on everything
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acquiring sexual experience
without commitment
untalented lovers
scary civilian
skin
the main boss lady
Jacqueline Kennedy
famous for firecracker farts
was banned from fire stations
banned from frolicking behind them
her physical body was marginally habitable
known to crack a nut and burst a pipe
scruffy and scrappy, ghastly white
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