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 
I don’t think of myself as being nervous
however, if a research mouse bit me
mistakes and inconsistencies
geologic romance, vaporous
vagina bedrock, emissions
penetrated all the way
tapered euphoria
complete semen
100% Adam
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Placebo Town
famous for its stockpiles
Germans collected eyeglasses
and shoes and suitcases and hair
the modern world only
wants the things
that bind us
to Earth
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what do you say when God finds you
HERE I AM
what do you say when God finds you
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I do not know how to speak
. . . I am only a child.
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each woman has a limited number
of times
that her breasts will excite a man
after that magic number
she must invent something new
(+) like a Burning Bush
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one is told upfront
that the woman is being used
to gain access to the dorm of souls
literal, objective, realistic, chapters
no road map, just push yourself, release
practitioners disguise everything
religion and happy flowers
love and more flowers
death and darkness
———()———
the psychology of feeding the damn thing
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I had studied the Dali paintings
and I thought that I was prepared
you sat out there in the truck with your foot on the gas petal
it was so much more than I expected, the fountain of blood, the smell
body parts different by breed, time of month
the great hair, the lesser hair
I paid for what I got
the truck sounds
a happy bonus
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buckets of saliva
the flesh still warm
the lesser, the greater
in the clouds out of sight
the recognition to devour
unbridgeable
a dictionary word
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apart from silent witnesses
maps for finding places lost
Hebrew, fresh from the shell
swaddling clothes from Eden
rehearsed, God was not dumb
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the whole production crew ready
when will that shithead
royally mess up ?
victims of God
Eden
a ticking bomb
Eve, her mistake
Adam beyond shocked
Eve squatting like an animal
God acting dumb, pain generous
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the stage
that was once a garden
is now a screen
delusions of high drama
playing for the masses
avatars of the meaningless
safely hidden
from brain trauma
sitting in the audience
at a Placebo Town theatre
pictures out of focus
without those 3D glasses
alone with just themselves
empty shut-ins dreaming
they are starring
in the blur of existence
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as we swam away from Momma
she said that we would soon crawl
little did the shut-ins know
Daddy tossed a stone
the limit we could go
no 3D glasses for the shut-ins
goldfish flakes not Japanese beef
———
———
bad thoughts about what happened
if one failed to meet their quota
cruel guardians
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My Uncle Graham
an Olympian swimmer
family iron man of Summer
and promising medical student
couldn’t resist that first taste
When I was just ten
I stole my first joint
out of his pipe tobacco tin
By the time I was thirteen
he’d constantly play Bob Dylan
and The Mothers Of Invention
trying to convert me
whilst rubbing his wife’s breasts
just to see my reaction
Now I have this association
whenever I hear Blowin’ In The Wind
or Weasels Ripped My Flesh
My Uncle Graham
couldn’t resist that first taste
of medical grade morphine
just as I was diving into the deep end
with no one teaching me how to swim
Summer has gone
and I am the orphan
listening to Bob Dylan
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to complete the picture
many more anecdotes
detail on detail
the shut-ins were afraid
Christ in his bubble of love
Christ outside his bubble
killing the Antichrist
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the past is a dying sun
the future a supernova
just waiting to happen
with nowhere left to run
so hang on to the presence
and lose all that pretense
down the river of forgetfulness
to the oceans of forgiveness
where the rising swell
is on the the crest
for there’s going to be
one hell of an explosion
when the dealing’s done
It’s a choice
a simple decision
open to everyone
to be against Christ
or to be heaven blessed
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American actors pretending to be Russian
speaking nonsense words with a Russian accent
I do not respect Russian and fake Russian is a bit much
if asked, “recycle”
it may be difficult to realize
that humans go way, way back
endless efforts on top of efforts
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Liv Tyler’s performance in ‘Onegin’
is a happy exception
as she needed not to say a thing
yet somehow she held my attention
my kingdom to be
her Lord of the Ring
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the sad thing is Liv Tyler
had to grow up to be Liv Tyler
she could not escape herself
fame and cash money
were outdated relief
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the dog showed his teeth
then crawled under the bed
I was afraid
country people
would go out around flames
knowing full well it was not Jesus
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Tomorrow is waiting
for David Hockney to die
before undressing
a landscape of revelation
Yesterday sent Harry Styles
to see if David Hockney
was still alive
only to be painted
as a still life
in a bright orange sweater
after proving
he isn’t a woman
Revelations revealing
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odd looking humans
from other locations
people with award looking teeth
secretly jogging
not eating flesh
outsiders
(+) I recall the first time
relatives whispered that I was an outsider
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For Christmas this year
I’m putting a gun in the hand
of every woman in Afghanistan.
What a great idea I hear you say.
Yes, the Yuletide is high
and it’s time to make a stand.
Let the chips fall where they may
like they do in Babylon.
First we take Kabul, then we take Iran.
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the eyes are easily tricked
thousands of layers of Michael bones
employees bulldoze the past to find the past
reptilian relatives burden me
the gestation of day into night
a naked horizon with legs spread
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Food poisoning: 2 days and counting
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Get well soon 🙏 Keep warm 🥶
and Merry Christmas, Michael⛄😎
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Thanks David. Am really down for the count. Merry Christmas !!!
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Very sorry to hear. Hope
you’re better for New Year 👍
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Don’t go eating them frozen Iguanas!
Those scaly critters 🦎 are no manna
from heaven, but if you’re going to
insist on eating ‘em FIRST WASH ‘EM!
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so there I was
the Placebo Death Depot
a victim of the waiting room
a large screen TV going to town
females of all ages discussing
the privates of their mothers
their sisters, girls at school
from the self-contained
to those gone wrong
terribly wrong
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so here I am
aboard the Titanic
the game is on
Placebo Town dreaming
of fair weather cruising
NO NEED TO PANIC
with deckchairs sliding
chess pieces rearranging
amid alarm bells ringing
wisdom and repentance
repentance and wisdom
to get back on course
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so there I was
just a pile of rumble
core pain on the level
of a glorious birth
———–
———–
outside the Placebo Death Depot
handicaps which hinder Michael
were alert and ready for warfare
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inside the Placebo Death Depot
infamous words are written on the wall
LIFE: LABORS, FEARS, AND CONVULSIONS
for what reason we do not know
our Lord remains anonymous
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having survived
many a fiery re-entry
into this cosmos
an all consuming family
has donated my body
to medical science
as former lovers
over givers and undertakers
despots and martyrs
have rewritten my past
in an attempt to remove any trace
of my true existence
with one solitary word
NONCOMPLIANCE
a score board running on empty
as slavery left me bored silly
DAVID REDPATH
KNOWN TO THE LORD
my only epitaph
just cemetery graffiti
as no one truly knew me
a neuroreceptor of wrath
who strayed from the path
repentance and wisdom
neural pathways
leading to the Kingdom
of universal fruition
grasping eternity in one last gasp
the person of Jesus Christ
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repentance and wisdom
without repentance
you’ll never truly know
the breadth and depth
of your darker side
without wisdom
a world of deception
delusion
and the grandeur of illusion
will take you for a ride
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while parked at the Placebo Death Depot
I tried to listen to as many conversations as possible
one guy was calling a couple, “Adam and Eve”
talk of angelic military guard
cultivating the earth
building empires
barbaric Eve
wet
with desire
conquer her
conquer him
fancy them
in Hell
all that circled Eden
ripe for colonization
praise the inner slavery
obedience, unable to swerve
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Placebo Town
communicates telepathically
with it’s sister city
Babylon The Great
where the Death Depot
has started recycling
the Chinese are investigating
even the President of the United States
is excited at the prospect
nuclear fusion was the missing key
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the truth is
I live in this world
where Someone painted everything red
other people arrive in their own skins
weird bodies and heads
at first, they seem intelligent
but later on, not so much
people are stupid
animals, at best
you pick your heroes
your gender to exchange sex
or you become a victim
possibly they lock you away
because sadism is powerful
stinking prison scum
they rejoice in your rape
they want you to be infected
a zombie reality
where Someone
painted everything red
the blood of a million generations
Bible people buried in the ground
dry rotten nectar, cells coated in sin
on Sundays, bone salad served
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people constantly pound me
in the head with a hammer
but being a boy scout
I can recall
on Sundays
bone salad
served
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2023
a new tattoo?
a broken taboo?
I’ve started the new year
with it all over me
that scent from next door
is it voodoo?
Little Lolita?
her widowed mother
Nakita?
does it really matter?
my lovely Linda
is all I can ever hope to handle
It’s all a blur
(and to think 🤔
I don’t even drink?)
a congenital scandal
did I measure up?
God help me 🙏
will 2023 finally
make a better man of me?
perhaps
some bone salad surgery?
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noise for the sake of noise
sometimes lust
for the sake of lust
could be a lottery jackpot
or a skunk in the pantry
a ruckus
———
———
a lack of ladylike hesitation
escalation
danger
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album cover art for bone salad surgery
the moment my cash changed hands
a resident, a neighbor no more
rock & roll, predetermined
a porcupine in a world
of balloons
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I was there
where women hung torn clouds to dry
where space grown cotton socks were mended
where buildings housed images of psychological battle
things that cannot be seen
pass through me
I am not native
or false Hopi
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love complete with a wrestling mat
fierce battles/romantic interludes
LOVERS THAT TANTALIZE
rather than define
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road maps that lead to cities whose veneer has worn thin
half-closed eyes glued to telephone screens
religion at best, STALLING TIME
——————
——————
romance regardless of the consequences
the ears of their ears
the eyes of their eyes
prowler alert
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I was told today
that even the devil
doesn’t take everyone
———————–just think, Devil Rejects (?)
thank you kindly
Mr. No-Nonsense Mortician
teeth and nails, a stack of bones
another human jellyfish with tongue
ever-expanding oral curiosity
fresh washed or not
probing, nuzzling
the moist nest
the root
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that crazy old lady poet
lifting her manhole cover
she calls me her “soldier boy”
advised to ignore the escape way
to dive headfirst into the folds
the crickets chirping
the barrier thick
she was room
temperature
——————screaming skulls and thoughts of Jesus on the cross
——————put my dick back in my pants and smoked a cigarette
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autumn poets
void of optimism
carts of depravation
circled around their hearts
Robert Frost, the paperweight
that imprisoned all lesser poets
his scrotum hung so oppressively low
that his nuts often touched the ground
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wormed with gravity, finding it difficult
a thousand things learned and grafted
divine intelligence latrine stored
stealing without shame
the sun, the moon
lesser backsides
———-
———-
the dance of death
divorce from memory
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Russian imperfections
rich males tumble from above
females blossom into angry bison
(+) at birth, grasping a handful of misery
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It is a challenge
being original with sin
with nothing new under the Sun
blossoms and pollen
stamens with webs being spun
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I THOUGHT REALITY WAS REAL
that I was alive and living
a rather clever trick
based on one thing
—–pain—–
gatekeepers and agents of observation
laborious and never ending
clouds outside/shadows
voyeurism at night
being dominated
limited oxygen
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I THOUGHT INFINITY WAS INFINITE
till Poetry Workshop came to a full stop
a ghost writer had forged my signature
upon a blood soaked parchment
my last will and testament
apparently a victim impact statement
“All good things come down from above.
I tried my best . . .
but just couldn’t get high enough.”
a final draft is yet to be
uplifted by the Spirit of Love
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Infinity was Infinite
Rodeo music: Blue Oyster Cult
flowering the guitar
5 wounds of Christ
the distance
from Good Friday
to Holy Easter Sunday
revolving religion
but not me
the people
I ignored
——
——
Blue Oyster Cult
a snotty bull between your legs
——
——
rodeo camaraderie
inadvertent cowboy tenderness
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four adults in the garage
parked in a car
with no sky
implicit awareness
of the strict masturbatory code
mandatory masks and rubber gloves
all sperm rags buried with a proper service
agents of observation keyed to a signal box
blank-faced
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to restore his manhood
kissing dusty shadows
voluptuous sand
perpetual clay
art-house
God gave Adam a worthless ticket
to Eve’s perpetual invitation
outside Eden, Eve lived in a skin movie
more thrilling than anything with Adam
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Art Deco
Art Nouveau
Broken hearts
Come and go
Vincent Van Gogh
Real confessions
Rococo faking
Décolletage
Sabotage
Haughty burlesque
Visions Baroque
Art Nougat
Blue vein fromage
Transcendent insanity
Touching reality
Heart of flesh
A mind of uncertainty
Feet of clay
Clones of Eden
Faces Golden
Hidden meaning
Salvador Dali
Impressions
and reflections
Art for Art’s sake
Destruction awaits
in creation’s wake
Andy Warhol
Marilyn Monroe
Hunger of the soul
Smoke and mirrors
A Minotaur roams
the Ancestral Halls
Pablo Picasso
Art Deco
Art Nouveau
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Eve with her melodramatic give and take
her ability to dance men between her legs
without a spoken word
a penis deep inside
Adam unresolved
remote, alone
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mutated beyond recognition
since the big eviction from Eden
billions of deviant Adams
diminutive in the pool halls
subservient in the shopping malls
conformity is the new rebellion
thank goodness for small blessings
… at least Eve has still got balls
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extensive ignorance
from the ground towards the sky
agents of death peddle images of murder
looser social habits waving from school bus windows
(problematic)
romance with its focused lighting
suppressed areas of personality
honeymoon close-ups
(doubts)
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VOYEURISTIC IMPULSES
(good-looking or not)
the Lon Chaney
of your soul
knocking
on the
door
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Right next to the Placebo Town Square
there’s a Golden Tower, with all of it’s 59
floors housing the Placebo Medical Centre.
At the entrance a neon sign flashes . . .
“Abandon hope all ye who enter here.”
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my confession
the love of passion
in slow motion
feeling the undertow
from above and below
that heavenly basting
pleasing and teasing
with glazing drizzling
swept up in the surge
of a cyclone blowing
through flesh and bone
the eye of a storm
that urgent urging
to explode the motherload
the driving need to exceed
with seed flowing
upon a regal throne
sweetness in the tasting
momentous the groaning
from the deepest erogenous zone
where does it come from?
where does it go?
I just don’t know
but it sure beats being alone
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available for the guys at the pool hall
those excluded from regular romance
would-be actors living as outsiders
polite nonsense (fringed)
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guys at the pool hall
often spoke of David
and his golden Harp
————–the exhale from angel lungs
that hit the chord that pleased the Lord
(sad thoughts about precedence)
a weak hand
baby tongues
gone or attached
Babylon babies dead
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(0) failing to make good on promises
(0) prioritizing guys at the pool hall
Greenwich Village
poets sandwiched
–united in sex–
dicks inserted in dicks
the transfer of angel seed
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no females in heaven
or in the beyond
angels come
from angels
God comes from God
———-the seed goes in
where the seed comes out
no brides, no flower girls
no expressions
of anything
rotten
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they always go
to their local Home Depot
for cleaning supplies
mops
ropes
tarps
and tape
as evidenced
on a credit card receipt
and captured on CCTV
I guess it’s no surprise
that murderers
(the ones that get caught)
are so stupid
those 15 minute celebrities
on Courtroom TV
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violence is for lazy people
re:
the desire to be confined
to have meals prepared for you
to be free of family and friends
————
————
simple test for insanity:
take a drink from the river
that flows past Placebo Town
to undergo a spiritual circumcision
(+) cut off your lips and add them to the foreskin jar (+)
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have always been fascinated
by God/Angel reproduction
no females, no mothers
tube inside tube
flowing seed
adult birth
WHAT ABOUT JESUS ?
first navel in Paradise
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IMMACULATE IMMANUEL
faith in the factual
beyond abstractions
and ridiculous superstitions
faith in the factual
the greater Creator Spiritual
breadcrumbs left on the path
(where navels are optional)
for ernest seekers curious
a trace of truth indisputable
no place for those tribal beliefs
of the self-satisfied supercilious
as pride comes before a great fall
with fairytales for the gullible
faith in the factual
the pathway to righteousness
heaven blessed
to see beyond a horrified past
faith in the factual
to outwork and outgrow
all that trauma to the soul
is a precious hard won gift
heaven caressed
I THANK GOD FOR JESUS CHRIST
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a childhood Planet of the Apes
knee deep in brutality
sodomized at school
sodomized at church
forced to drink sin
forced to speak
—-with—-
uncircumcised
—-lips—-
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angel lovers not adverse to murder or worse
not adverse to putting babies in the oven
blood and flesh on the menu
it is okay Mister Love
the free pass waits
at the door
24 hour spotlights on moral responsibility
a way of life in our unique environment
I point my flashlight and all I see
is evil, no love, no respect
monsters with black
diseased hearts
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rendering
removing layers
deeper than flesh
Eve being given away in marriage
her monkish charms on full display
core design, not a male, not a female
the birthing tube like a serpent excited
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I MADE LEONARD COHEN CRY
whispered in his ear
how angels are made
how Gods are made
showed him a photo
of Eve
with her birthing tube
exposed for all to see
a serpent excited
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I MADE BOB DYLAN CURIOUS
how a gentile flying high an LSD
with his flash photography
penetrated security
gaining access to the darkroom
inside the gates of Eden
a poor heathen
I had to repeatedly deny
that I was Ashkenazi
to some tambourine man
much to Bob Dylan’s annoyance
the destination was worth the process
I still have the negatives as proof
that once in a game of chance
aboard a magic swirling ship
some call destiny
the Great Spirit had it’s eye on me
even giving me a positive wink
as witnessed by all eternity
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apocalyptic events taking place
here and now
caricatures
unclean people
ultra-modernism
finding tomorrow impossible
people crossing the borders
(do they speak Latin ?)
people crossing the borders
to take what others have
————
————
those not over-tasked
realize how easy it is
to make a Hell
of Heaven
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good people doing bad things
in places well hidden
bad people doing good things
when someone is watching
the privileged buying a bigger gun
the undeserving wanting everything
nothing new under a setting sun
yet something strange is rising
with nowhere left to run
how the mighty have fallen
Sovereign Citizens
of failed nations
and borderless corporations
Influencers of the Narcissist Supreme
minions of Gog
mercenaries of Magog
and them self-serving politicians
amoral scuzzballs all covered in sin
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adolescence is driving fast on the wrong side of the road
adolescence is driving at night with no headlights
often, personalities come about by accident
ever-tightening awkwardness
countless voices in a vacuum
————
————
prohibition of desire
lesson one
passing through parents
fastening onto language
————
————
possession of the phallus
absence of the phallus
(+) back roads of Kentucky
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is it a conspiracy of karma
a head-on collision with fate?
somehow it’s down to me
to give Little Lolita
her driving lessons
always late at night
through empty streets
with no traffic about
desire in the driver’s seat
headlights on high beam
and the brakes out of reach
asking myself
have we gone too far?
Is it all just a crazy dream?
am I losing control
of myself and my car?
is the engine overheating?
is it all too much
this sweet little sixteen
adolescence in a rush
grinding the gears
her hand on my clutch
Little Lolita’s need for speed
is giving me a rash
she may feel the steering wheel
but my heart
she must never touch
because it belongs to another
where the road hits the rubber
and angels dare to watch
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I made Leonard Cohen cry today
informed him that Japan
would soon vanish
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