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 
lyrics we once knew
but now cannot recall
much-needed Dylan
his catalog of data
his helping hand
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people walking around with data
in every pocket
data folded and folded again
data so small its no longer visible
loving data
takes no effort at all
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in the long-ago
before the mobile phone
I rambled
and I tumbled
like a rolling stone
reality was either
bent or straight
as the word on the street
would alternate
from angry to sweet
so after an intense
chemical lobotomy
I made my choice
the poetry of dichotomy
is where opposing forces
creation versus oblivion
drawn by the heat
of flesh in a frying pan
can battle it out
amongst the desolate
of Placebo Town
where never the twain
should ever meet
as the prime directive
of pseudo secret agents
is mass alienation
even in the long-ago
before the mobile phone
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self-knowledge can be a fancy choice of clothing
walk down the street
cats turn tail
the wife at home warming her hands
amused with naughty thoughts
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(+) ghostwritten affection in valentines
physical picnics with butterfly kisses
occasionally stopping to orgasm
love in the making, love made
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the wife says that people should cherish
more than the facts of their experiences
not fear so much
the agents who
interpretate
I openly sleep with a ghost
stuffed with grade school conquests
boys and girls and sailors from the past
—————0—————-
—————0—————-
Most Asked Question:
“Did Captain Ahab lose more than a leg to the white whale ?”
Answer:
“Yes, when he made water, it ran down his leg.”
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———————–
———————–
“Moby Dick” employed Melville
for $600
not enough for a pair
of space grown cotton socks
somewhere in the world
pygmies sit
around
a campfire
and discuss
the homoerotic nature
of Captain Ahab’s crew
———————–
———————–
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Ishmael
was rather odd
the only sailor
harpoon in hand
who didn’t go down
with the good ship Pequod
he was last seen
escaping a Turkish prison
in a burqa
hand in hand
with Lawrence of Arabia
and catching the Midnight Express
to a land much nicer
where Moby Dick
is happily married to Big Lolita
and Captain Ahab regularly has sex
with their morbidly obese daughter
a fat fish called Wanda
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the noise of maracas
shaken by a naked man
syncopated sounds of jubilee
flesh pounding flesh
Daphne du Maurier
finding it difficult
to spell plethora
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little Lolita now says
she’s pansexual
and that I’m her Peter Pan
a boy lost in the plethora
of her Neverland
so I’ve told her
from now on
I’m strictly bisexual
in that I’ll only fornicate
with her
twice yearly
how quickly we forget
when the castanets come out
and the maracas start to shake
God help me . . .
she now wants it biannually!
am I to end up
just an entry
in the annals of her history?
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how much does a gallon of rain-barrel water cost ?
youth in a field of dandelions
old people upset
everything of value
——wasted——
wasted, wasted, wasted
the noon whistle
workday concerns
imaginative dimensions dulled
——20 years later——
the gloom of the cemetery underskin
a bedspread layer of sand and soil
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devils
squeezing semen
male pornographers
at the Honeymoon Hotel
filming nocturnal emissions
the sin of having seed
the guilt for seed
gone astray
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HOW QUICKLY WE FORGET
WHEN THE CASTANETS COME OUT
AND THE MARACAS START TO SHAKE
an honest chuckle
as I drive myself home
the palisades of heaven
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as you daydream
in your maternal blood stream
angels massage your navel string
you are alive
connected
electric
a potent male germ
who masters the dark of night
wrestles the singleness of self
underived and utterly
unprecedented
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men encourage other men to have harems
prowling around in the dark
round shapes without a face
never quite perfect
sensual friction
(+) spiritual sandpaper
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when passengers pass the PLACEBO POLE-STAR
they suddenly realize that eternity will never be finished
( people do leap from the vessel hoping to land on Placebo’s shores )
(+) those who enter the water are devoured and become fecal matter
at some unknown time
fish shit does return
to the ingathered
objective
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amateur night at the Honeymoon Hotel
all that friction to make a spark
the fire that once resided in the Tree of Life
now takes rather than reward
Dark Love
is the Law of Coition
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little Lolita
and her Viking mother
have now moved in
my house
has become a circus 🎪
with a lunatic ringmaster
Lovely Linda
being a good Christian woman
wants to look after
this voracious widow
and her hormonious orphan
“We have plenty of room . . .
and they can stop paying rent.”
I tried to warn her
but she just wouldn’t listen
It’s enough to make
a grown man weep
my home has now become
something in-between
a cheap honeymoon motel
and that Hotel California
it is total bedlam
I’m now completely depleted
all skin and bone
I may even have to cancel
my membership at the local
female only gymnasium
if I wish to be surrounded with
sweating energetic women
all I have to do is go home
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beholding mental pictures
real life with limited detours
parents sheep dogging children
idealizing interpretations of fame
constantly exploited by social media
—————-
——-0——–
at supper
Father gave a small talk
on the penetrative function
of the penis
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behind iron bars
Poetry Workshop’s
compulsive inmates
are hidden out of sight
like fireflies in class jars
desperately flying about
reaching for the light 🚨
trying to break out
could ChatGPT
possibly set them free? 🦋
should Elon Musk
launch them into space 🚀 💥
Mars is the right kind of place
for the Workshop of Poetry
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(+) my whole life crammed with compulsive inmates
grief and celebration
poetry about the intersection
between the two, the fist fights
half a dozen Michaels at the window
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recognition of what you have already been given
recognition of your future inheritance
the new feet, the dance floor
humbling, comforting
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the spotlight on you
at the center stage
your allegiance
licking your
hand
in your fancy underpants
you enter the cage with a beast
all your past sins with teeth and claws
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This is how I know
that Lolita is a sociopath
there’s now crumbs
in the butter dish
she also leaves the lid
off the toothpaste
and pubic hairs
all over my toothbrush 🪥
but I have to forgive her
as she sneaks
into the bathroom
to watch me shower 😎🚿
I only wish she’d stop
posting those videos
all over TikTok
I just have to laugh
Little Lolita
my social media psychopath
it’s only her Viking mother
who can make me cry
with her Norwegian legs
that stretch all the way
to Valhalla in the sky
and her lack of discipline
that leaves sweet Lolita
free to fly 🧚 my path
of least resistance
as she now wears a necklace
made with the extracted teeth
of the beast 👹
from my reckless past
thank goodness
it’s been redacted by grace
and that beast defeated
by a faith that will last
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Moses said this morning,
“learn to ignore the humans in your life”
other people may drive your automobile
but only you pilot your identity
sacrifice for your expectations
no matter
how unrealistic
how unattainable
REFUSE TO LIVE WITHIN BOUNDARIES
if necessary
be more demanding
rather than serving and giving
friends and relatives are less-than-perfect
to Hell with unremarkable, mundane moments of life
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DADDY, DADDY, DADDY, DADDY, DADDY………..DADDY
the difference from yourself you notice
in the people around you
a large mouth
stretched out
into the shape of a kiss
the ring of privacy
open and ready
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consumed by an alien
much like Scarlett Johansson
under the skin
condition malfunction
ADHD
Alien Digesting Human Dysfunction
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real treasure
cannot be diminished
romance clockwise
romance counterclockwise
tourists in the House of Love
enjoy the absence of struggle
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sexual jitterbugs
the promise always better
than its fulfillment
a matter of routine
this side, that side
tiptoe, twirl
explode
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she was sad, working 10 hour shifts
trying to put a roof over her head
poetry and romance passed by
she had no strength
to hold on
SHE WAS AFRAID THAT HER GHOST
WOULD BE INFERRED FROM HER WRITING
no one talked to her
as often as she
talked to
herself
(+) endless conversation (+)
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we face the already
and the not yet
clarify your values
to return home
freed from romancing
your lips return
(+) open your mouth and proclaim
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the great illusion
human civilization
nescience writing poems
of innocence lost
in the rush to oblivion
and of romance doomed
barbarians dancing
with the ghosts of the past
over a catacomb of skeletons
in the darkness of gloom
Robert Frost
without his underpants
Jack Kerouac
and Karl Marx
in the tomb
as the Angel of the Presence
counts the cost
all the way
back to the womb
a soul survivor
on the Freedom Train
crying out . . .
“Yes, I’ll be a witness!”
the great illusion
human degradation
limited only
by man’s imagination
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poets who wish to author themselves
become experts at swindling
(+) no crooked path without consequences
thousands of unnoticed moments
each step in need of rescue
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all is vanity
in that pOETRY wORKSHOP
on the outskirts of sanity
where round pegs
are flattened and squared
only those with feet of clay
who have conquered fear
along life’s crooked path
ask themselves
what am I doing here?
as nowhere to be found
on the dusty shelves
of Placebo Town
is that promised throne
and it’s elusive crown 👑
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inescapable desires to be in the grave
a world where no one questions your size
or compares you to the size of another
where you do not have to parade
to be seen by others
your restoration
is complete
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when I diagnosed lovely Linda
as having a bad case of Long David
she just laughed
saying she could cure that
with something sharp
whereas little Lolita
believes everything I tell her
and as for the Viking mother
anything that transports her
to the banquet halls of Valhalla
much to my relief
her sociopathic daughter
is an unbeliever
when it comes to Nordic myths
since who could ever measure up
to Mjölnir
Thor’s magical hammer?
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woman and child
in the prison cell
jailed on all sides
she trading wares
for nourishment
knowing her man
would return
the peasant
welcomes
peasantry
——-
——-
a strange shadow
her man
scientific
vile
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peasants spit tobacco
when poets mention peasantry
horses blow snot
and make crazy leg
————–
————–
Johnny Cash quickly grew tired of
sewed fig leaves, coats of skins
24/7 “Stairway to Heaven”
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(1) work at the factory
(2) tolerate home
do not tell the Germans
about the navel string
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negative anticipations
re: agents knocking on the door
unprepared from the pillow
constantly differentiating
this Michael that Michael
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reduced to dust
nothing but a protein shake
an energy drink dispenser
for that succubus of lust
hungry little Lolita
if only there was more of me
with an endless
intravenous supply of water 💦
perhaps I could take better care
of lovely Linda 🌹
and that Viking mother ⚔️?
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the agent that knocked on the door
asked me
“was I from the Tarot Witch Ravine ?”
and I was from the Ravine
a scary place by day
a place to let alone
by night
—————–
—————–
heartbeats in defiance
lock the doors
the windows
Ravine folk
hungry
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lovers nuzzling the darkness of night
power lines touch the ground
skeletons creep on knees
no street lights
no cars
citizens ask me my favorite movie
countless choices, good/bad
guess I like to see actors
climb themselves
up above the
clouds
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Dream On
the awakening
to the thirsting heat
of an angry sun
shining hard upon
an endless oasis
high above the clouds
she sees me coming
from behind
a glorious shroud
of ravenous lust
her all seeing clitoris
with eyelids
now wide open
all hot and swollen
with fertile intention
begging the question
.. is love divine
the celestial solution
washing clean the deepest
and darkest ravine
with the seed of creation?
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REALITY:
characters feel that they have outsmarted their tiny drama
only to discover that they have been double-crossed
paralyzed and slowly leaking the life force
——————–
——————–
(1) embarrassed by pissing yourself
(2) angry for lack of a final smoke
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I’ve been down this road before
in and out of the Ravine
young and healthy
the exit ticket
much too soon
( it is no secret that Jesus is jealous )
double-crossed and leaking like a damaged hourglass
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Dream On
the awakening
to a loud door knocking scene
an agent yelling out . . .
“You know she’s only sixteen?!”
the Viking mother yelling back . . .
“We have no idea of what you mean?
According to Horse & Hound Magazine,
sixteen is the new eighteen!”
Viking mother then took
that aggressive agent by the hand
and led him into the kitchen
soon after he stumbled out
pale and shaking
mumbling something about
having the wrong information
and profusely apologizing
Linda just sat quietly in the corner
whispering . . .
“Everything is going to plan.”
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RIGHT NOW is apprehended only as it is passing away
the reader misreading my words
living by flashlight
so darkness cannot
extinguish our life
(+) we share Earth with constant praise of God (+)
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(+) you will go out in joy and be led forth
in peace … the mountains and hills will
burst into song before you and all the
trees of the field will clap their hands 👏
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you can only forget what you have known
try to erase the hours of yesterday
the minutes of today
travel hand in hand
( WARNING: male hands are gloves of masturbation )
————–
————–
good intentions and bad choices
God pulling us from nothingness
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the serenity of nothingness
as nothing says peace of mind
like a book burning in Florida
with a kind WARNING: female
hands do much the same 👌
only in a concave fashion 🔅👈
perhaps those gloves should be
tied together ✋🤚 by order
of the Governor of Florida❓
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to flirt with death
to detain it
replace erection with reminiscence
that which once glued us together
now pulls us apart
the newcomer
is visible
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you may make jokes about me
not walking a tightrope
the corrections
below my
knees
all that has gone
all that remains
(+) animal metaphors (+)
to live a life, laboriously revised and rewrote
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capacity for sadness
flush the toilet twice
out on the big highway
a tanker truck labeled
UNDISTILLED EMOTIONS
I thought of Bob Dylan
a man with zero
Bond-like
savoir
faire
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the painter covers the surface
a preoccupation
the artist captures
what lies beneath
riding high on creation
the genius driven
by an all consuming passion
to plumbs the depths
chasing divine inspiration
whilst dissecting reality
with the tooth of a dragon
grasping
an inexplicable explanation
to light the flame
before they could run
Pablo Picasso and Salvador Dali
doing art school in Spain
the entertainer
offers temporary relief
some light distraction
extraverted conflict
a cracked actor honing his craft
with the tooth of a dragon
from James Dean to Kurt Cobain
your choice
a sports car or a shotgun
loaded karma
splashed with trauma
too heavy for some
Andy Warhol on the run
Lou Reed meets David Bowie
a cultural transformation
James Bond is fiction only
a spurt of big dick envy
in need of some pussy action
with the tooth of a dragon
… and then there’s Bob Dylan
who skinned the dragon
after chasing it to the gates of Eden
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the simple mouse
that knows
outer space
is without merit
a thousand years
the first rest stop
(devils chuckle at the odds)
meanwhile,
the governor of Florida
burns books
and tortures citizens
unhappy with their gender
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detachment from the world
what a hobby !
a need to intellectualize
no poop too small
poetry about frayed turds
—————
—————
outside the
poetry circle
pharmaceutical
without permission
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peeling away the layers of Reader’s Digest
each and every thing coated
myths, rumors, crazy speculation
each and every thing coated
peeling away the layers of Reader’s Digest
fracturing the thoughts of others
doing the crazy foot with Genesis
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A simple prayer
for those brave
yet foolish souls
who went to sea
upon a flood
of acid reflux
time and space
peeled away
in a purple haze
Fortuna Redux
I humbly pray 🙏
(no Tibetan Book of the Dead is
that American Reader’s Digest)
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without religion
there be no sin
just day-to-day
making the boys pay
as you bend over from behind
your open flower a welcome sight
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to arrogate
like an arrow 🏹
through a narrow gate💘
is it the fate
of those who ovulate ♀️
to become a target 🎯
for a shooter
sharp and straight ♂️💦❓
there’s no time to hesitate
as those eggs 🥚
have a use by date ⌚
and the flower of youth🌺
needs to pollinate 🐝
plenty of time later
for buyer’s regret 😢
when burning lust ❤️🔥😎
turns to stone cold hate 🪨🥶
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a great distance away
angry God in the sky
quivering life
with small
concern
apes with their corruption
exchange and interchange
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apes require their children to suffer years of Marquis de Sade
parading them around nude while quoting Freud
born with gender and forced to drag it about
never taught that either must subsume
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the Marquis de Sade
a true aristocratic
working class hero
who new the meaning of pain
and how best to inflict it
a natural born Republican
the Governor of Florida
wants to have him exhumed
to run his election campaign
when he runs for President
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the Rabbi said,
“all history moves towards one goal:
THE MANIFESTATION OF GOD”
errors and sin have warped
the looking glass
apes give way
to gold-skinned men
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a multitude of voices
offering a myriad of choices
influencers
and soft shoe shufflers
from the danger zone
some put up defences
in their private and personal
poetry circle
exposed and prone
whilst others tear down the walls
like a virtual reality rebel
hoping for a poetic miracle
as they lock horns with the devil
from the safe distance
of a mobile phone
whilst many
seek eagerly an audience
in a game of pretence
upon a throne of pretty prose
as they pound the flesh
with their chains
of skin and bone
then finished off
with a rubber hose
in my poetry circle
I stand alone
listening out
for that golden voice
from somewhere else
calling me home
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experimental
all that I do
me thinks
and yet
the welcomes dwindle
the pavement turns to sand
at night the creatures come inside
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unshaved men in the backroom
room temperature lubricated
a small fee for intercourse
troubled by their touch
where be my church ?
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the small creatures fall
buckshot and bullets
violent whip-stocks
fill and empty me
loitering prior
to death
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“This is the evil in everything that
happens under the sun: The same
destiny overtakes all. The hearts
of men, moreover, are full of evil
and there is madness in their hearts
while they live, and afterward they
join the dead.” ~ E Anon
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unshaved men
forcing themselves inside
happy with their large size
each monster dong contained
perpetually growing multitudes
the necessity of deposit was urgent
yes, necessity of deposit most urgent
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I suspect little Lolita
has been cheating on me
I found a King Kong™ condom
in her school bag
and what was obviously
a Clinton corsage
on her sports sweater
the one that says “TOUCHDOWN!”
but then . . . I did tell her to go
and find someone her own age
but not some spurting gorilla 🦍
I might have some strong words
with her Viking mother
as a spanking may be in order 🤔🕶️
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