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 
to be meek
when meekness is a virtue
a tiny flashlight in total darkness
Honest Abe would ask, “why is nothing finished ?”
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UNFINISHED !!!
the average person
covers their darkness
with diluted rainbows
———–
———–
squalid huts
coated with paint
from North Korea
———–
———–
my favorite color:
joy seeing the doors of Heaven open
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words
completely interior preoccupation
never outside myself, me face
the sideshow Thomas’ Doubt
clean in spite of untidiness
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all them women
like bacon in the pan
frying
single-minded
sand from the carpet
the flesh folds of pretense
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literature before bed
with
blurred photographs
sexual conversation
less of a sin
if silent
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mom is asleep
and you’re polishing
the incarnation of reality
YOU hustle while you wait
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around the campfire late at night
boy scouts polishing
naked cheerleaders
doing somersaults
(HUSTLE WHILE YOU WAIT)
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find comfort
when you sit
in the barber’s chair
the imprint of the man before
pleasantly squeezes your business
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(+) every male barber is homosexual
(+) having your hair cut by a male barber is homosexual
(+) after you sit in the chair, you become the object of desire
humans: goods that change and pass away
the barber presses against you
you can smell his hand
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Little Lolita now cuts my hair
with more style and flair
than any jailhouse barber
she’s taken over
that particular chore
from Viking Mother
who would chop away
without forethought or care
(especially when drunk
she’d hairdo me like a punk)
whereas with Little Lolita
the process is a form of foreplay
with that added element of danger ✂️
what more can I say . . .
than she really loves to cut hair
especially when in the mood
for a very bad hair day
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the phone late at night
“me father’s barber is no light foot
he kills wild boars with a paperclip”
time is an odd thing
perhaps he is at stage one
collecting energy in his bulb
next life he may bloom
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HISTORY IS BEING MADE
recorded history
footprints in
wet cement
corrected
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the things that people do
——pinch off a piece of soul and smoke it
——put it in a wine bottle and swig it
swallow Jesus
become a walking self-portrait
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material all autobiographical
a loaded school bus
off a cliff
WHAT A CONCEPT: oneself narrated by oneself
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the local newspaper office
donated issues not sold
to a black preacher
an elderly man
in the winter
he would sit
next to a stove
and feed papers
hungry/freezing
an inch or two
from death
HISTORY was visible coming from the chimney
names and faces and ape-like antics
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climbed down into the cistern
to collect the timepiece
it was 2:02
Lars von Trier
was there chubby
said that I was lazy
rather, I had become so
my new penny shine gone
——0——
——0——
citizens of hell
busy recording
differences
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the cost of igniting a death jet
could feed starving children
and put a plug of tobacco
in the jaw of many adults
———the cost of igniting a death jet
———could erase/replace
———the shoddiness
———of our current
———superstition
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finding Jesus reality in five wounds
spoon-fed fears and breast-fed impurities
fascinated by the symbolic meaning of numbers
unwarranted feelings about being inside mother
from all representation to something else
people with their internal cartoons
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Placebo Town:
ride and control your spouse
1, 2, 3……….
the saddle is stored out of sight
1, 2, 3……….
learn to walk with testicle fever
1, 2, 3……….
(+) nothing trivial about sex after the honeymoon
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Normal Behavior:
ask your local librarian
about what normal behavior
is supposed to be
(melodramas
above the waist)
———0———
THERE IS NO SOMEWHERE
OUTSIDE OF LANGUAGE
———0———
the four measures of the librarian
depth/surface
subject/object
———0———
your strait-jacket
not a one size fits all
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OBEDIENCE TO SEXUAL REGULATION
courtesy literature available
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pOETRY wORKSHOP:
talk
of taming a tree
like a dog
or a cat
talk of raping a lock
scraping the key
for evidence
(+) complaints against inauthentic emotions
two pillows
on the Honeymoon bed:
similarity and strangeness
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various degrees of medication
various means of suppression
emotional disconnections
expressions of validation
laced with carnal interjections
poetry workshop covers the spectrum
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PROMISES
laced with carnal interjections
(life) wasted equivocating
complicated sex toy
difficult to return
daydreams
plunge
permit the flesh to navigate
add themes and characters
daily combat, the new wife
handwritten juvenile snot
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you get on the big road
do you head towards yourself ?
or do you journey towards God ?
traitors
who separate us
holes in the story
where devils dwell
half-hearted poetry
splashes of red outdoors
civil war or potato salad ?
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——————–the shattering of dying thoughts
to aspire to be greater
would require
a ladder
——————–reworking of the already written
the library with its fleas
creative by-products
3 shelves of Frost
Reader’s Digest
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(+) First Rule: upon entering a library, locate Robert Frost books
and deposit them in a trash can
(+) Second Rule: develop your own form of expression
to hell with autumn and pumpkins on the vine
To heighten the likelihood of a major breakthrough
go to sleep reading Mary Shelley
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spontaneity at the honeymoon bout
born from years of apprenticeship
one good lung
and a pint size
VOCABULARY
(+) gifted enough to disturb an entire floor
Honeymoon Hotel 6/8/2023
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manual laborers in the sex industry
daydream about foreplay with an axe
manual laborers in the world of poetry
often seek a community of practitioners
———pOETRY wORKSHOP———
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manual sex in the daydream industry
labourers in the act of poetry
with a grind to axe
upon the prefrontal cortex
in a postemptive attack
of multiple abstract imagings
as the community choir sings
‘Careful With That Foreplay, Eugene’
God help those poor pitiful human beings
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Flushing Out the enemy
you circle around the truth
the dayglow juice on your hands
the knowledge you are redoing
what you have painfully done
self-flagellation, your dong
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PLACEBO TOWN
misremember memories
the body of Virginia Woolf
floating in the ocean bloated
harpoons and curse words
the Great White Whale
librarians in an uproar
refusing to shave
their legs
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somewhere
along the line
the conveyor belt
of human compassion
has broken down
ever since
the devil stole the handle
that pumped life
into the populace
of pLACEBO tOWN
where social anxiety levels
are measured by satellites
that revolve around the Earth
and treated with alien chemicals
that dissolve without a trace
smuggled in from outer space
the favourite place
for the surviving residents
is head first underground
but most agree it’s for the best
as what goes around comes around
in pLACEBO tOWN
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THEY ASKED ME IF I COULD IDENTIFY HER
yes, the large creature was Virginia Woolf
a grey slug with both legs swollen tight
her vulva was an open watermelon red
boys, the waves have been most cruel
her parlor is no longer welcoming
———0———
a life completely off its sprockets
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Vita Sackville-West
made me promise
to never ever mention
Virginia Woolf’s watermelon 🍉
not even to say her name
without a genuflection
and an exhaustive session
of self-flagellation
so now … in total compliance
who’s afraid of Virginia’s watermelon
and was it worth that painful experience?
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never innocent or unspoiled
the lower mouth of Virginia Woolf
the vulva, the vagina (murmur)
dead angels and dinosaurs
line the crevice
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Although there are large red stop signs in town
the promiscuous way is the highway
naked humans in herds copulating
NO notions of sexual decency
inmates turned savage
PLACEBO TOWN
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staring into the face
of the human race
past the dust and grime
of space and time
I was surprised to find
glimmers of true brilliance
the kind that shines
in the deepest darkness
with a persistence
and resilience that belies
this mortal existence
from whence it comes
is anyone’s guess
but I hear clearly the cries
of … Vive la Résistance
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I often visit for the coffee
not the social misery
when fear and death
overcome prohibitions
crime becomes a friend
———0———
dirty coins and sodomy
Bowie circling overhead
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outside the city limits
where life and death
conspire to animate
———0———
PLACEBO TOWN
———0———
a perversely eroticized shell
blood and guts and shadows
man and that other creature
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our local guide
Ketut
turned out to be a
kava junkie
he insisted on stopping
at various villages along the way
so we could all partake
in many a kava ceremony
over and over again
after all …
we just wanted to see
a waterfall for heaven’s sake!
by the time we got to our destination
his hands were shaking
on the steering wheel
and the air was buzzing
I could tell this man
was in no condition to climb that hill
the locals consider a holy mountain
up to a sacred river
where the spirits of air and water
dance together in celebration
no doubt . . . high on kava
but I must admit
our local guide
Ketut
was a lot of fun
tomorrow he’s taking us to Suva
to do some sightseeing
(if we make it that far as there’s
many a village along the way
all with a friendly kava ceremony
ready to happen)
God help him if ever
he discovers cocaine or opium
I reckon that would be the end of him
Ketut
the kava junkie
from the island of Viti Levu
in perpetually happy Fiji
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the fever to copulate
OPEN LEGS WITH THE NETHER SHAPE MOUTH
———0———
Death smiles
man trying to bridge back
warm lungs and beating heart
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dreamers of cinema dreams
standing in boiling water
birthday candles waiting
to be exhausted
——0——
the mother boat delivers us
the dinghy takes us out
born plural
——0——
an Angel whispers in your ear
“you are just a sponge”
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what does it mean to be born a sponge ?
a sponge in the center of artichokes
(+) artichokes have no voice
learning to live with
balloon captions
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artichokes
do have a heart
if you choked
on an artichoke
it would surely cry
whereas a sponge
would happily feed
upon your carcass
even before you’ve died
never stopping
to ask the question … why?
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the background soundtrack of Hell
artichokes crying
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Alice Cooper
singing about dead babies
ice nervous about brief sun
(+) Adam, himself mechanical
united by no link
helpless and alone
the bitter gall of envy
HE KNEW NOT
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Alice Cooper: artificial male
an amulet bearing the Name of God
lodged in his mouth— forgotten
Sabbath come— Sabbath go
berserk outer ugliness
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poetry controlled and deliberate
humanity itself weak
unable to bear
destiny
sin exposes her breasts
beloved warm pillows
the boys line up
to become men
(+) each male with milk crusted lips
confesses, “I am the monster”
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momentary silences
artichokes crying
interrupted
Sin, tense
LikeLike
(aroma of Sin)
butter collected
from her envelope
my spout blindfolded
LikeLike
———–phone call from Hell
I couldn’t hear the words
———–for the artichokes crying
but I knew what was being said
any conflict of repugnance
would be overcome
—–0—–
Michael in liquid form
ready to pour
—–0—–
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immature affection
for the librarian
puppy love
she was a published lesbian
buried discomfort in her heart
zero hope of evoking any sparks
lovemaking far too mechanical
her erogenous zone hungry
for more tenderness
and less tension
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tut tut Ketut!
he’s just a boy who can’t say no
another kava ceremony
with Little Lolita sitting
cross-legged on the thatched floor
right beside me
the tradition is “Men Only”
so far she has adhered
to the local dictates of patriarchy
and not partaken in the ceremony
but as always
she’s as curious as a kitten
directly behind me
a pair of young women
backpackers from Germany
both reach out
as the coconut cup 🥥
was being offered up
and took a big slurp
of the sacred kava
then … as per tradition
thumping their chests
and shouting out “Bula!”
a little while later
skinny dipping at the rockpool
it was apparent they were lesbians
and had their eyes set
on my Little Lolita
turns out that Urzula
from Düsseldorf is a librarian
and Ava a school teacher
from somewhere in Bavaria
so after a deep tissue massage
by the waterfall
we invited them both back
to our hotel
for cocktails 🍸 an appetizer
and then dinner
with Lovely Linda
who spent the day reading
Blood Meridian
in a hammock by the beach 🏖️
and Viking Mother
who had gone out drinking
with Ketut’s younger brother
Momo
who she now has on a leash
as she teaches some discipline
with him begging to be let go
Viking Mother can be
such a cruel bitch
you wouldn’t think so
to see her on hands and knees
vomiting into the swimming pool
that glitters
with a golden yellow glow
thanks for a fun-filled day
Ketut
the Fijian boy who can’t say no
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today at the bank
the nice lady touched
my stack of paper money
asked me if I had employment
I silently thought
of my periodic gatherings
indebted to nature not labor
pOETIC wORKSHOP:
pruned foreskins
untutored erections
truck stop literature
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many people scribble words
but how many come
in liquid form
ready to pour
the struggle we are here engaged
the splitting of Michael
the multiple Michael
LikeLike
obedient children
through obedience
—(freedom)—
apartness without guilt
limited confinements
pamphlet religion
baby Jesus/lambs
a heart on fire
——————-in the rear of the library
they question why God withheld women from Jesus
SAY WHAT YOU LIKE
Jesus left footprints through Death
He did not swim the Ocean of the Other Sex
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Joan Baez singing “Diamonds and Rust”
a super ego with eyes bluer than robin’s eggs
Dylan with his interior traffic, his inward oracle
accusing and esteeming the system of man
cruel factory voluntarism, dark irony
what model of father
Daddy Dylan ?
LikeLike
my night porter
supplies drugs
odd spirits
who try
to crawl inside
————-the crowd waiting to speak with my lips
the museum of Michael
hourly fates on display
nothing subtle intertwining
Michael this, Michael that
——(trivialized)——
warm narcotics
for sleepy times
holding hands
with Jesus
MICHAEL THEATER
hourly fates on display
a simple kiss
a kind of invitation
a simple kiss
to conjure associations
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Ketut collected us from the resort
in his ’57 Chevrolet pickup truck
with Little Lolita and myself in front
Urzula and Ava in the back
all ready for a mystery jungle hike
that Ketut had promised we would
never forget
after the third kava stop
he let slip that it was the rare
White Albino magic mushroom
we were after
and he knew the very spot
we’d find it in full bloom
“You mean the one the locals call
Albino Penis Envy . . .
the Andy Warhol Frenzy of Fungi?!”
was my startled reply
“Lo.” (meaning “Yes” in Fijian)
I looked at Little Lolita so sweet
and innocent on the bench seat
of Ketut’s ’57 Chevy
in her OH LOLA™ micro bikini
and whispered in her ear
“This will be a trip to remember,
but best not mention
that Albino Penis Envy business
to the two girls riding in the back.
They may take it personally.”
It was not long
till mischievous Lolita
gave Urzula and Ava
something to be envious about
in my defence
all I remember is a multi coloured
apparition of Marilyn Monroe dancing
upon the canopy
of a Chevy ’57 rainforest
rising skywards from my pelvis
to Bob Marley and the Wailers
singing ‘Lively Up Yourself’
with naked Rastafarian lesbians
all out of focus
talk about a bunga bunga
bungle in the jungle!
“Well, that’s all right by me, yes.”
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at the expense of understanding
Jesus sharing your coffin
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my night porter
wraps me in comfort
———0———
NEVER ANY CHEAPENING THOUGHTS
———0———
peculiar dimensions to my pornographic self
privacy walls around myself and my printed words
(+) inhabiting Michael may not be understanding Michael
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SAY WHAT YOU LIKE
Jesus left footprints through Death
free of any feminine yoke
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