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 
nostalgia for fornication
female fleshly garments
potential entrapment
genital fascination
pissing liquid glass
in the daylight heat
vapors from the belly
beckoning the beholder
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———POETRY WORKSHOP——–
pissing liquid glass in the daylight heat
——————————-
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don’t think I ever listened to Taylor Swift
just put on Folklore (?)
she’s cute
the kind of lips
that prisoners dream of
her lyrics suck
really suck
she needs to connect with outfielders
get away from grade school poetry
she has talent
but she needs to be slapped by the Queen of Poverty
a week or two of heavy meth
diaper rash
her music sucks
her lyrics
she must be deaf
OK
I can’t listen to anymore
good night, Taylor
you should feel shame
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that gravy train
of post-modern civilisation
leaves a stain on your brain
the post-mortem
of instant gratification
Tik Tokking the genitalia
plugging into the mainframe
Tay Tay bought a guitar
to punish her boyfriend
for being mean
and a vibratator to break-in
her vajayjay
with a spurt of virtual reality
as Jake Gyllenhaal
didn’t quite cut it
yet the song remains the same
Welcome to the Machine
is all I have to say
John Mayer
heard that song bird
and plucked it
Taylor Swift
you are a gift to all humanity
Keep on T-Swizzling
that swifty vajayjay Tay Tay
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Taylor Swift forced me to think of death drum
shadow characters sporting horns
I wasn’t afraid
I was raised by witches
witchcraft is in my blood
some folks talk to the moon
I listen
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Kim Kardashian forced me
to invest in cryptocurrency
After I lost the lot
she apologised profusely
Apparently she gets all her
financial advice
from Lady Poverty
and not some
fortune telling Gypsy
as she would often boast
Poor Kanye West
is in the same boat
It’s such a shame
as he can no longe afford
to keep his own name
let alone any Kardashian pussy
Some things come only
with a shit load of money
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however insubstantial it might seem
T. S. music suffices to prevent
the return of the dead
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Loretta Lynn
the coal miner’s daughter
will not be stopped
by death
or even Taylor Swift
Tay Tay ain’t woman enough
She’s the reason
those swiftie kids are so ugly
boyfriends left
to the tender mercies
of the Head Librarian
for a bit of hanky spanky
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himself
thoroughly disguised
a fellow clay hardened
yearns for true happiness
inside, outside and all about
and through the magic box television
optimism has no where to flourish
its holy root choked by enemies
not the police, or the FBI/CIA
rather, young female hands
womenfolk shy of stardom
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optimism dripping 💦
from the manicured hand 💅
of the Head Librarian
as she forced me to listen 🔊👂
to Areola Grande 🍑
saying I would not be cured
till I finally understand
pubescent dreams 💭
and primal screams💥
makes the world go ’round
that’s how things go down
here in Placebo Town 💋
when I could no longer stand it
she turned the volume up ⬆️
and removed my trousers 👖
as her discipline comes 💨
in all shapes and sizes 🔀 🔃
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I was informed today that the DVD box set of my life
was to be shortened
not the usual extended bonus minutes
rather the more sensitive “better not viewed” hours
who am I ?
(+) a man dwindled
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without your trousers
the Head Librarian will judge your size
all men are small contemptible creatures
“odious peckerheads”
from telescope to microscope
the ugliness of genital beauty
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wrinkly and crinkly
or long and thickly
going proudly and boldly
to explore and much more
where no man has been before
without ever knowing
the how and what for?
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pull out a magnifying glass
at poetry workshop
dream sensibility
a pigmy
among
giants
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measured
the need to overcompensate
“I am what I am but I know not why”
sin leads to consequences
climaxing in the revelations
of a Reader’s Digest Bible
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swimming in pain
agony and grief smile
inhaling consciousness
finding it difficult to release
minutes become hours/weeks
voices saying, “it could be worse”
a swift jab in the eye, those words
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The Noble Halo of Survival
with the spoils of war spilling
out cathedral windows
through broken down doors
and across bedroom floors
The Noble Halo of Survival
by any and all means possible
is forever mine … and yours
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the lapse of memory:
the road sign, BE-ALL & END-ALL
Michael cannot be beyond himself
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“If it were done
when ’tis done,
then’ twere well
it were done quickly:
if the assassination could
trammel up the consequence,
and catch, with his surcease,
success;
that but this blow might be
the be-all and end-all here.”
~ Macbeth
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a good deal of blunting
the night porter hears the calling
the sufferer can tolerate no more
the dark curtain:
no more anticipating
no more remembering
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all that information
purified blood
the raw baby
vegetative
soul
Alice Cooper
singing about dead babies
night porter tales about his lover
tossing their baby out the car window
I’ve seen them in person but never touched
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the vegetative soul ignored
an underwear stain
Momma unaware
alcohol
piss on a piece of plastic
it screams, “Good Lord, you’re pregnant”
down at the clinic desperate for funds
they muddle with her insides
she limps home guilty
Karma
an innocent female in hell
united with her lover
naked and obscene
devils playing
patty-cake
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“To be bitter is to attribute intent
and personality to the formless,
infinite, unchanging and unchangeable
void. We drift on a chartless, resistless
sea. Let us sing when we can, and
forget the rest.”
~ H.P. Lovecraft
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The workforce that labor night and day to support the foundation of The Old Testament
feel shortchanged when they hear Satanists say, “Let us sing when we can, and forget
the rest.”
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WALDEINSAMKEIT
Pliny the Elder has spoken
of a lonely human
bound up in cosmicism
drowning in the ocean
of his own
self imposed insignificance
as absolutely nothing
has any meaning to him
existing only on the outer fringe
where being human
don’t mean a thing
with nothing good up above
nothing evil going down
a spirit of denial
in control of the soul
nihilism and existentialism
the twin mythos of Placebo Town
where Cthulhu
and Pliny the Younger
have taken up residence
at the luxurious
Waldeinsamkeit Apartments
conveniently located
in the shadow of the Golden Tower
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the complexity of reality
plugged into God
created by God
yet, prisoner
daily He begs
“do something”
Michael humanizing
His presence the source
Michael, a puppet that entertains
(+) reality, dangerously limited to perception
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what is perceived?
who is deceived?
as duplicity looks down
from a Placebo Town duplex
where simplicity is frowned upon
where complexity has you
tied up into knots
where the denizens
are afraid of questions
where answers are left to rot
today reality is where you find it
tomorrow maybe not
truth is a constant
irrespective of perspective
founded on the Rock
yet ever a moving target
never spied in the exact same spot
simplicity times infinity
poured through a kaleidoscope
the solitary confines of reality
human limitations unable to cope
defined by abstractions
suppressed on medications
like a dope tangling from the rope
of a system devoid of meaning
without faith and love
. . . there be no hope
God is Love
in Christ there is forgiveness
God is Light
in him there is no darkness
by his grace
I am a child of light
with a simple inheritance
eternal life in a celestial paradise
where the flavours to savour
never taste the same way twice
I thank God
for that infinite moment
when the eternal saviour
Jesus Christ paid the price
for my admittance
as I freely admit
with a good dose
of childlike simplicity
I wasn’t always
. . . very nice
I have now become
a Placebo Town pariah
but my mustard seed of faith
credited as righteousness
will more than suffice
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irrespective of perspective
the whore on the street
knows
it turns out the same
the man with his
Boogeyman hostility
people are just baggage
left behind
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one can find crafty things said about the mustard seed of faith
the Reader’s Digest Bible perhaps
elders cough up rational explanations
ghastly-sick hanging on the cross
the first class ticket
totally bootleg
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indentured labor blues
Dylan killing himself
adding
and subtracting my words
the memory of standing
without rehearsal
(+) Michael listed as unacknowledged clay
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the running man
the falling man
the crying woman
the death of a salesman
desperately selling
his book of poetry
dedicated to poverty and shame
sadly mistaken
for fortune and fame
words from a forgotten land
a signed copy
stained with desperation
and coffee
falling out of his hand
the lonely death of a poet
who endlessly wrote
of things he’d never seen
of places he’d never been
ever talking to himself
forever asking … “If only?”
“The kingdoms of experience,
in a precious winds they rot.
While paupers change possessions
each one wishing
for what the other has got.
And the princess
and the prince discuss
what’s real and what is not.
It doesn’t matter
inside the Gates of Eden.”
~ Bob Dylan
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“My eyes collide head-on
with stuffed graveyards
false gods
I scuff at pettiness
which plays so rough
Walk upside-down
inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough
what else can you show me?”
~ Bob Dylan
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(+) please don’t kick my legs
Bob Dylan in tiny denim cutoffs
perhaps the most beautiful male
to ever strum a guitar/utter a tune
squeezing amorphous anxiety
into a manageable income
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The Old Testament
nothing more than
departed acts ?
a new definition
God frowning, helpless
guilt and sin overdosing
one’s wrongdoing onstage
“sing a tune, forget the rest”
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normalcy
puffing up
the center
of an ever-tightening circle
I say nothing
silenced
by a collective sense
of right and wrong
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pOERTRY wORKSHOP
the hungry and the desperate
looking for friendship
must be a lonely business
being a Poetry Workshop poet
the loud and the quiet
rotting amongst the living
walking amongst the dead
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at least one poet finds it difficult to walk
many find it impossible to forgive themselves
the bright lights at night, the constant roar of life
reality is violently intrusive
poetry to counter suspicions
not only what is written
but also its purpose
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verifiable evidence
I say nothing
lessons taught
no need for a belt
dark and dreaming
living in my potentially disruptive bubble
locked in the physicality of here and now
overdraft Michael (+) overdraft Michael
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I was asked
if I have an apartment at the zoo
tied to a rope, tethered
personal identity
misinformation
people
minding my business
eyeballing my calm detachment
the struggle to survive no longer important
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outside the library
males protest
waving their
library cards
POSSESSION OF THE PHALLUS !!!
inside the library
creatures aware
of their absence
a lack for which
they will try
endlessly
to compensate
(+) living on the border of inexistence
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after I failed to register
on their DNA database
the F.B.I. wanted
to speak to me
about some death
on the Orient Express
and whether
I knew anything
about that dead
Lindbergh baby
apparently having no
familial DNA
was not a possibility
unless I was an alien
according to them
so I went on the run
but my kith
handed me in
and then my kin
who don’t even exist
insisted on doing me in
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those who monitor and censor themselves
pay others to empty their trash
the Librarian often says
“bridle the tongue”
pearls that dissolve
arithmetical
in nature
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it is possible that my relatives cut the lumber
that bastard used to make his ladder
( think twice before you commit a crime with anything homemade )
Lindbergh baby blues
killed the thing
within a mile
of the house
pulled a leg off
stuck it up its butt
must of hurt real bad
can’t forget the look on its face
like Bob Dylan backstage with Ed Sullivan
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We have a really big show tonight!
An Alien orphan walking a tight rope
whilst not playing his song …
‘Talkin’ John The Baptist Beheaded
Paranoid Blues’. So instead we have
The Natural Born Baby Killer’s From
Sweet Home Alabama performing
their latest hit burning up the charts,
‘Black Lives Don’t Matter (unless …
they’re backing singers working
at our recording studio)’.
We’ll then have a pleasant chat with
our sponsor, Pedro the Petrochemical
Dispenser, about how to keep all your
dirty linen whiter than white, as he
hears your confession played on a
mouth organ. So, strap yourselves in
. . . this may take all night.
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get caught with $13, 000 Lindbergh
they put you in the Toaster Chair
fry you right up
supernatural
the destructive power of justice
human horror erased with human horror
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that Mercy Seat
was warm and sweet
an undeserved treat
that tingling
skin peeling feeling
from my head
down to my feet
leaving one begging
for a final
hair raising repeat
I was innocent
of course
but who gives a shit?
at least
it was my priest
who got to flick the switch
saying this will cure
my wicked itch
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a deathbed in the shape of a chair
each birthday a funeral wish
the promise of the candle
more to speculate
than the lyrics
to a Dylan
tune
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forgetting the ungrateful dead
forever pointing a sharpened bone
the freewheelin’ bob dylan
bringing it all back home
where survival is a contest
life and death playing out of tune
the best and the fairest all lost
the least left to exist like all the rest
amongst those astronauts
who never made it to the moon
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blond dinosaurs on the moon
a pagan myth
a man and a woman
thrown outdoors
yielded up
Adam
requesting the privilege to die
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Placebo City
easy to forget the mission
the promise of a life to come
the superiority of each day
inches one away from that
a life to come
think other-worldly
not about punctuation
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there is a light
beyond this current darkness
a spiritual umbilical cord
flowing with celestial conciousness
a torrent of life giving water
for a thirsting world
a hotline to the mind of Jesus
hope
faith
and love from above
CHRIST is the password
for he is my truest friend
and my Lord of Lords
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think about something and it vanishes
may be not today or tomorrow
loneliness
all the lies
friends
no matter how small or large
that cover their eyes and blindly kiss
all that we are capable of knowing
stuffed in a sausage skin called perception
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blond dinosaurs on the moon
something someone said years ago
just more paint someone mixed for you
more material from predecessors
lies and useless information
as you grew into those kisses
heartless love permeated your being
you swallowed the hook and the Digest
a zoo of human depravity, an orgy of sorts
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as a child I often saw Adam
crying and begging God for death
Eve worked on a Riverboat
pecking at worms
(+) no leaping-off point for Eden
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earthbound behavior of Eve
devil dicks, the worms of men
a blasphemous parody of a spiritual life
she thought of herself as a human clock
sex did not slow or stop the tick tock
it only aggravated and infuriated
those not knowing the joy of sex
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she often thought of God
and laughed
what did it matter ?
she had no number
no debt
after a couple of beers
she would share little tidbits
“God wore underpants when he showered”
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His fear of hair down below
standing up and walking
short teeth, no claws
white face
coloring
yellow dinosaurs
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just like the moon
implicit questions arise
I write about blond dinosaurs on the moon
yellow stains on underwear worn over a week
smoking cigarettes and masturbating
observers watch, parallel to Jesus
paralyzing prick pain, a tight foreskin
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she displays her breasts daily
but old breasts are of no concern
a waste of lips and tongue
she has no parallel to Jesus
yet, she permits him to watch
her narcotic wad
I push it deep inside
sperms helping it dissolve
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she enjoys me complimenting her vulva and lips
small and chubby, very British
bright pink inside
with no smell
Jesus begs me to nibble
he closes his eyes
a wild creature
surfaces
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the question:
how to continue ?
words written from a great distance
God helps share/fix rarely
God helps share/fix frequently
the words will find their audience
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Down Under
it’s Springtime
here in Australia
the Kangaroos are dancing
and the Kookaburras are laughing
at us poor dirt farmers
labouring in the field
getting ready for the harvest
praying for a big yield
with the rains heaven sent
This is God’s own country
if God happens to be
a Rainbow Serpent
like the indigenous folk tell me
They use to say that
they’re the traditional custodians
that the land owned them
Not the other way round
as that’s white man thinking
Now they’re saying
they’re the traditional owners
and that they want their land back
I just sit on the porch
as the goannas sun-bake
caressing my shotgun
and say “Good luck with that!”
With all the recent rain
I’ve had to teach the sheep
how to swim
and strap my pet Dingo
into a life jacket
as my horse got washed away
when the river burst it’s banks
just as the wife
prickly as an Echidna
hunting some Koala for supper
was crossing it
It’s enough to make you cry
There goes my favourite saddle
Plus her fluffy Platypus
that was there building a nest
will be sorely missed
This land is normally bone dry
Perfect for snakes and camels
with sun-dried Emu
on the Buzzard menu
No good for raising cattle
as the Crocs just eat
them cows for dinner
In Summer fire falls from the sky
but for now . . .
Hades Ranch is under water
but it’s nothing
a pioneer can’t handle
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South Florida is jacking up for the season
giant trucks are arriving with zillion dollar automobiles
exotic, works of art
my neighbor had four arrive this week
there was an armed security guard
he gave me dirty looks
he looked like a movie star
I remember when my neighbor was young
he had a weekly TV show
by the end of November
it will be possible to go outside
the temperature and humidity are ungodly
traffic is still light
store checkouts are reasonable
everything gets hectic
more and more hectic
females drop daily eggs
they rub against everything
they are for the taking
(+) it was cloudy at the beach, beautiful naked people
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litter outside the library
ungendered pronouns
BLAME
equally open to both sexes
courage to face romance
frozen lovers and onlookers
destinations during intercourse
dicks that inflate
and know no stop
fixated on size
the librarian (her father, her brother)
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the Whordes of Babylon
whoarding everything
they can get their hands on
fighting them back
from the city gates
just me and a few companion
true blue champions
against the barbarians
of Placebo Town
the future of civilisation
in our blood stained hands
with all of our tomorrows at stake
if only we were more
we could have them on the run
but I fear it is too little
and far too late
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dealing with dirty hands / damaged nails
incantations
and soiled thoughts
funeral clothes from 1940
spider eggs that will hatch in the dark
odd eyes looking / possibly never blink
DEATH, a blank slate of existence
countless spiders using their filament skills
to scribble personal approaches to romance
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looking at your face
searching your heart
roads enter Placebo but do not exit
at 100mph one sees the dying and the dead
death is not a whimsical nursery rhyme
a troubling recognition
an inability to grasp
significance
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In Placebo Town
a most solemn occasion
at the Memorial to War
‘Remember The Placebo!’
with the names of the fallen
carved deep into marble
Mine has been there
since time immemorial
as I am the Unknown Soldier
that the Placebo has forgotten
but never forgiven
for surviving
the Opium Rebellion
and that skirmish in Vietnam
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A common daydream:
people would pay money to crawl in the crypt
30 private minutes with the Unknown Soldier
touch his noodle
sniff his armpit
(+) replace body daily
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nursery rhymes in the Digest Bible:
———to solve a riddle in a strong storm
———fertilizer covered in satin and silk
(+) mental constructs to illustrate
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girls in bikinis on the moon
hiding from blond dinosaurs
astronauts anticipating pleasure
females with swollen nut sacs
sometimes multiple scrotums
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enduring a bit
of harmless conversation
after some
dangerous punishment
and oral debasement
with the Head Librarian
down in the Placebo Town
library basement
when I noticed this walk-in
refrigeration unit in the corner
apparently the Librarian runs
an after hours funeral parlour
twilighting as an undertaker
as she tells me smugly
how it pays good money
So being a gentleman
I complimented her endeavour
and commented
that it’s nice to have a hobby
as she shoved her business card
in my face with just
these few words printed on it
“LET ME TAKE YOU TO
A MUCH COOLER PLACE”
now you know why the library
shuts at 5pm sharp
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Placebo Library
source of residue
of a trial of the flesh
by the flames of those other passions
details too dirty to narrate
the need for release
the drop of the egg
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——(+) MEN ON ICE (+)——
afterhours library service
you can trust your lover with lesbians in the basement
you complimented the Head Librarian’s groin
she immediately started to get erect
a crotch not always genteel
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🔻Do You Feel Safe?🔻
I do my best with the dark money
Elon Musk anonymously donated
for me to compose a requiem
titled ‘In Memory of Life on Earth’.
Instead I blew the lot on a hot shot
of Martian heroin … and then told
him on instagram. If you listen
very carefully you can hear Elon
crying in the basement of the
Placebo Town Library.
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a thousand brides on the bridal bed
their legs spread wide open
typical Elon Musk
pushing the petals apart
making something sacred his
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Eve was constantly dropping eggs
she knew Elon Musk before his birth
his body alone
does not make him a human being
his enemies call him “Baby Face”
I don’t call him anything
he is a problem
but not my particular problem
hero/villain
(+) an interest in his ethos, noted
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to get a job at SpaceX
mixing up the Martian medicine
I had to complete a course
in Placebo Yoga
“Detox your body and recharge
your hole.” … Elon said
“Just like a Tesla car!”
instead I stole a chemistry set
from the SpaceX laboratory
I’ve been weightless ever since
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no external realities from childhood
I hear it every day
such madness
loud screams
a hand stuck
in a garbage disposal
backing the car over a pet
backing the car over a toddler
Elon Musk laughing about his bank account
the luxury of having employees poop for him
“No Wipe Elon” his hands be consecrated flesh
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SpaceX: The Reverse Ovulation
A generous patron of the Arts
Elon paid for the hymenoplasty
I performed on Amber Heard
before an appreciative audience
of movie critics & tax accountants
with a standing ovation from
Johnny Depp’s lawyers as I most
skilfully sewed Amber Heard’s
lips together with Elon Musk
still inside of her as the tremors
and magma flows from courtroom eruptions finally ceased …
to everyone’s great relief
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Amber Heard was very popular on the school bus
old fashioned —how her axis turned
the color of her pubes
announced the seasons
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Blonde mosquitoes
from the Placebo Zone
caught in the flow of Amber
only to have the DNA
of victims in the dark
extracted many eons later
and concocted
into the prehistoric monsters
of Primal Park
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fingers get slammed
in car doors and virginas
all the time in Placebo Town
as it’s a sign of affection
blonde dinosaurs often
bite the hand that feeds them
could Taylor Swift taste any finer?
Swifty with her smash hit vulva
that sings so sweetly
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French Toast at IHOP
take turns fingering Taylor Swift
it may be a small feat
but she generates
strong nectar
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this entire existence
opens up
into the Multiverse
touching the cosmic conciousness
with a symbiotic alpha pulse
that seemingly lasts an eternity
and then folds back in on itself
with a gravitational wave
of seismic relief
a receptacle of dark energy
born to be swift
but never brief
with a cauldron taylor made
for replicating life
an intergalactic gift
from the event horizon
where the horizontally unworthy
instantly come to grief
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rumor: they’ve shut Taylor Swift down
like a bad carnival ride
casting the deathbed scene
I’ve entered my best pose
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