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 
rumors
Jesus was on and off the cross pronto
the voice of Scripture ignored
inward voices spoke
He stood up
He walked
(+) a survivor of all manner of harrowing encounters with apes
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never before
in human history
and certainly not since
has there been anyone
quite like him
the Heavenly Prince of Peace
who totally rocks
(with or without them
space cotton socks)
who stands at the door
of your heart
and patiently knocks
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snack not on devils from the wilderness
drink and swallow Eden’s offerings
Jesus retired in the nest of Adam
a place free of loneliness
no lost direction
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Angel Gabriel
in his “Big Boy” attire
delivering the label, Jesus
Mary repeating the name a thousand times
the Reign of Law dismantled and fed to ghosts
shadows weep, the Godly Law failed to redeem them
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baby poet
a rubber band
around his bones
a shoebox of sorrow
never knowing
the pleasures
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I don’t need a lawyer or a hole to soil
the abyss of loss and mortality
looming down the street
worrywarts
suitcases packed
I have my childhood
my colorful adolescence
LikeLike
when it comes down
to quantum mechanics
little Lolita is a cosmic parenthesis
like a meaningless poem
inside a vacuum of nothingness
a hole in the fabric
of the space-time continuum
a portal without a soul
created to consume mortal penises
against her gravitational pull
there be no defenses
as her existence defies all reason
with a lust that belies my innocence 😇
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——————————————-
——————————————-
——the shrieking figure in Munch’s Scream——
——————————————-
——————————————-
studying the Merck Manual
topics most difficult
life unspooling
mistrust growing
scissors and scalpels
limits of what is thinkable
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the great tours de force in male plumbing
the momentous and the trivial
step outside the baths
to wave and mouth
“goodbye”
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humans in a race
taking up too much room
living their lives with no other purpose
than to replicate and consume
is it getting too late
to turn back the hands of doom?
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I remember everything
the discordances
the discontinuities
an endless loop of hormones
I remember Moses telling me
“your past never ends”
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I remember everything
crying all alone
the Lucky Man
who outlived
his lover
his love
I tell myself that it was the best I could do
no matter the mountain thrown at me
I remember everything
driving sex like a race car
90mph in the darkness of night
face after face flash on the ceiling
the alphabet of drugs two miles long
I remember everything
crying all alone
the Lucky Man
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the trick:
draw God down to earth
force him to wash his hands
verbally abuse him about the Forbidden Tree
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in rightness or wrongness
I stand not
any nostalgia
the madness of youth
leafless, ready to explode
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when one tastes dislocation
it be fruit from the tree
modernity
———–
———–
accusations of superstition
wicked men birthing King Charles
I was screaming, “Devils and Demons”
in a House of the Lord, a shantytown shack
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a Savile Row shop mannequin
seated below a neon sign
flashing the word “SERVICE”
to a throbbing hypnotic drone
the congregation chanting
the word “SERVICE” in unison
and then a sparkling crown 👑
is lowered down
with the word SELF-SERVICE
secreted in the lining
unseen by the congregation 🙈
with a sigh of relief
the mannequin king
sings along to the hymn . . .
‘O Great Hyphenation Giveth Meaning’
and then the benediction of the High Thief
by the Priest of the SELF-SERVICE Feast
. . . “Long Live The King!”
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drugs and better drugs
to be free, go anywhere
do anything, be anyone
to escape
the darker side
of ape imagination
SILENCE: forged early
reinforced daily
SEX: rules and procedures
condom punishment
MASTURBATION: detours
watching the repetitions of others
(+) Adam, God’s #1 ape was given grunt work
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is it possible to sleep at night
with babies leaking
from a vagina ?
poetry about the cistern of jism
infant dust nightmares
an entire playground
in a single squirt
————————–Adam tried to hide
————————–Eve was a predator
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to become fully human
more is required
than Beatle
exaltation
( WITH A LOVE LIKE THAT YOU SHOULD BE GLAD )
cleanse the spirit
pretend to poetry not
wash off the non-human
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told not to speak of Michaels
filthy garments on clean words
Eve throwing darts at Jerusalem
you know that it is true
each Michael a harvest
resurrected together
into a Multiple
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caught up in having the erring creature
pulled from myself, Michael
the battle cry so pronounced
breaking the silence
sickle bending
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simply singular
an intergalactic space amoeba
I have traversed this universe
through unknown dimensions
as a single point of consciousness
in search of the highest complex
beyond words and explanations
a lifeform drawn to the purest flame
without the taste of defeat
or the desire for conquest
to this planet Earth
I have come in peace
after my rebirth
in the fires of existence
where only one name remains
when the storms all cease
the King of Kings . . . Jesus Christ
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ACROSS THE WATERS
the high capital of doom
reflects the recent cleaning
his shield confused for the moon
Daddy Hollywood in his Pandaemonium
his riches, his Engines, his industrious crew
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the novelty of visiting Hell as a tourist
——0——
as evening sets
novelty crawls off
flesh and bones change
dialogue, a translation of pain
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it is not farfetchedness
Beatle music played loud
fallen angels with wide smiles
full of WELCOME
newly brought home
tourists exhausted from travel
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each worm vile
yet, one be vilest
many disturbing
THOUGHTS
intellectual pain
sightless silence
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sightless silence
around the campfire
PICASSO
reinventing
the violence of sex
shrewd and voracious
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what was thought to be an injured street dog
Picasso with his penis bruised and swollen
no words in the competitive dialogue
of reproduction
(+) the other side of the birthday candles (+)
DECELERATION
senior citizen parachute
the egghead of Picasso
around the clock
adult diapers
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after months of our
one on one driving lessons
(+) little Lolita now excels at
ACCELERATION
but her road rage
has become a sticky problem
as her All Seeing Eye Of Clitoris
gets all engorged
like an angry glazed cherry
peeking out from the crater
of a volcano about to blow 🌋
it then becomes my duty
to pull the car over
and sooth that hungry
Mount Vesuvius
. . . problem salved
possibly saving the lives
of hundreds of innocent road users
my only worry
will I be on hand🖐️
the next time it happens? 🤔🕶️
Is it all down to me
to protect the hapless masses?
as a Viking apple 🍎
doesn’t fall far from the tree
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HE DID NOT STEAL ALL THE ENGINES FROM WORLD WAR 2
Daddy at his prized Pandaemonium
the motors roaring 24/7
Placebo citizens aware
of sparks and booms
afraid of the night
the large vacuum
of darkness
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no females in Heaven
no cheerleaders
Creation Itself Wrong
no place in the continuity
no weave to repair the mistake
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Adam
too much time
too little time
ongoingness
Eve
painting
the stars black
NO entrance to Heaven
—————————-
—————————-
Adam was full of anticipation
Eve caught up in constant deliberation
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every poet in the room
started their poem:
defective father
——-0——–
that thing the men are doing
well, that’s not how it is done
finding yourself in a low budget fake porno movie
thinking about Andy Warhol and his lame hair wrap
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trying to stockpile
cookies
for winter
trying to ignore
your role in that film
a low budget fake porno movie
your butt crack on screen a dozen times
no greater exaggeration
than Lincoln reading
Shakespeare
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the director told me to take off the PPE
in particular the surgical mask 😷
promising he’d pixilate my face . . . so
even lovely Linda wouldn’t recognize me
but he lied and now I’m in the Dog House
. . . (the name of my latest movie 🐶)
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all those terrible battles of the Civil War
where Americans killed Americans
“the unfinished work”
somehow stored
under the wig
of A. Warhol
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the unfinished work
fled the scene
in a Campbell’s Soup Can
when Andy Warhol
got shot in the gut
by a batshit crazy lesbian
only to be caught in a choke hold
whilst praying
for some air-conditioning
down in Hell’s Kitchen
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( 100% private )
Andy Warhol’s mother
thought that he was a bank robber
why else would he wear that frightful wig ?
47 slugs in the gut, some wacko chick……please
Andy hardly embraced the rules and procedures of art
attention to detail, what a joke, grunt labor for a hourly wage
Andy’s mother washed his undergarments
taking notice, rootless with no sign of seed
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while fellow citizens
are standing in line to kiss Marilyn Monroe
her lips nervous like earthworms
I am with June and Johnny
eating potato salad
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smoking city boy pot
hungry for a buzz
high eyes up
Michael
deciphering
among the rubble
a primordial human
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naturopathic 🌿 is best
(at least … it’s hard to abuse
and rarely causes death ☠️)
the home of the obese
is obsessed with off label use
the Ozempic Games is a race
where the winner comes last
with the new and improved
hightech opiates
Big Pharma has a customer for life
as nothing beats
a painless rest in peace
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hanging out with ghosts
June and Johnny
dark electricity
potato salad
abasement
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not all angels are perfectly formed
angel shapes under fruit trees
autumnal leaves covering
the thoughts of R. Frost
(+) creation undisturbed…… NO, all creation disturbed
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Reader’s Digest headline:
Creation outlives Death
Adam caught up in the vastness of geography
having never stepped outside Eden
he dreams of escaping Earth
to pull free of Satan’s tug
———-0———–
any and all interpretations of Eve
centered on her reproductive funnel
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June and Johnny
on the safe shore
as one theme fades
another bugger emerges
between reader and subject
the hand of Satan/the will of God
the wrath of God/the decay of wrong
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CREATED GLORY
——0——
satisfaction of heart
sleeping
on the railroad tracks
obedient dependency
complaints
complete with ladder
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“Keep your electric eye on me”
———–Bowie
citizens off the agenda page
often find steadfastness
in drug abuse
those who rejoice
in their own suffering
live in some other zip code
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each day
apes go deeper in debt
surrendering affections
for a lesser view
of Heaven
the love of heart
what shapes the direction?
(+) actual footprints to attach identity (+)
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to be or not to be?
I took the vow of probity
after a bit of celestial probing
whilst cloud gaming with destiny
only to be undone
in an orgy of hedonism
to be what will be
now materialism
is immaterial to me
SEE HOW THEY RUN
LIKE PIGS FROM A GUN
to become
what was
and has already begun
dreams of the extreme
with all the fun
taken out of being human
by Mother Program
with the act of creation
the exclusive domain
of the Superior Algorithm
smells like Nirvana spirit to me
but then … what will be will be
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how do apes judge fun?
they sit in their giant Dodge Rams
and clap their hands going down the road
never having to touch the big round thing
(+) employees at the steering wheel factory are nervous
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Coca Cola, macho soft drink
worms itself down your throat
gender anxiety
masquerades
both sides
male bonding
NO overweight
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———Dollar Store sexual orientation———
hourglass potency
no noodle
equals
no relationship
———at some point, the house sank to zoo level
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an encyclopedia
of imaginary words
Multiplying Michaels
Babel in the underpants
labyrinths start but never end
varieties and travails of experience
reality becomes something remembered
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(+) hourglass potency (+)
the correct volume of blood travels to the correct area
the thing swells and goes inside
can it last ?
outside the night noises grow weak and vanish
a blind intersection of pleasure
will orgasm be a terrible crash ?
( Chernobyl leaking )
SEX, a shared sense of isolation
LOVE, the monotony of monotony
numbed by the arithmetic of marriage
at best, SLEEPWALKERS
damaged by despair
the habit of despair
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time poor … yet flesh rich
in the depth of my domestic abyss
sitting around the table at breakfast
Lolita eating salt and vinegar potato chips
with some caffeinated energy drink
Viking Mother on a vodka fast
sliding from her chair
onto the kitchen floor
face first
as Lovely Linda
the Mother Superior
of Temple Hedonista
makes me some healthy
almond flour pancakes
served up with love 💕
and drowning in maple syrup 🥞
as she likes me fit and strong 💪
Little Lolita just laughs
whilst sucking on a tootsie lollipop
as we speculate how long
her Viking Mother will last
after misplacing her precious hip flask
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in the future:
a French magazine will quote,
“Sex, a shared isolation
Love, the monotony of monotony”
———————-
———————-
the arithmetic of marriage
doesn’t add up
sleepwalkers
taking showers
fully clothed
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an entire lifetime of empty gift boxes
silent/motionless sex
for your birthday
the holidays
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the poisons of every day
optimistic decency
John F. Kennedy
welcomed
but not for long
his day-to-day
suspended
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people who put on clothing to take a bath
the absurdities of insanity
left behind
an outdated
Merck Manual
HE: bull size scrotum
SHE: a bra made from Styrofoam egg cartons
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disobedience
Adam and Eve
apes rolling around the countryside
darkness finds them less reasonable
under the moon
no otherwise offensive
than as they are wicked
disobedience
the name of the game
apes rolling around the countryside
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another placebo day
another nocebo breakfast
in the medicine chest of existence
Little Lolita
sucking on a chupa chup lollipop
winks at her Viking mother
and then with a mischievous glance
asks me if I’ve ever looked up
in the Dark Webster Dictionary
the meaning of her name … Lolita
at that Lovely Linda began to choke
on her almond flour pancake
after replying I had not
she promptly handed me
a hand written note . . .
‘LOLITA: One who laughs out loud
whilst engaged in the act of oral sex.’
I then had to confess
I find cunnilingus hilarious
but with Little Lolita
it is ever a game
of survival of the fittest
as I keep telling her
when it comes down
to a stray FedEx box
I’ve had the full gamut of experience
having been lost in transit
with no sender
or even a forwarding address
but for the one sentence . . .
‘Placebo Town: Priority Express’
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(+) and I remember everything
the booze, the drugs, the sex
violence after dark
another Michael
30 cigarettes
before noon
June and Johnny
honey cornbread
fried potatoes
a snort of shine
nonstop idleness
comments about apes
rolling around in the yard
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