Looking for hidden treasure
in the doing of serious leisure
at the exotic Coco Mojo bar
I’m ordering yet another
mango mojito
whilst listening to Mojo JuJu
singing her native tongue
as that Coral Sea
keeps on brightly glistening
in the tropical morning sun
In the midst
of this deepest sadness
the reminiscence
of a secret happiness
From the highest peaks of light
to the Isles of outer darkness
she came shining bright
my Lady of the Harvest
My Belladonna of the night
A team of archaeologists
from the University of Vladivostok
digging away in Scotland (in order
to avoid Putin’s draft … no doubt)
have recently unearthed a cache of
documents and artifacts pertaining to
a certain eleventh century Scottish
Lord, Bruce de Redpath.
The inevitable conclusions, and
inescapable implications, to be
drawn from these ground breaking
archaeological discoveries are truly
earth shattering, as it irrefutably
confirms the coronation of this
Scottish nobleman as the undisputed
King of Anglo-Saxon England on
the 19th day of October, 1066.
Evidently, in the aftermath of King
Harold’s death at the Battle of Hastings,
the remaining English Lords huddled
away in London turned to a Scotsman
to fend off Duke William of Normandy
(a.k.a. “William the Bastard” to his
few friends, and “Stormin’ Norman”
to his many enemies).
Poetic words
Words most appealing
Words that play with you
only to leave you
hanging from the ceiling
Words of the absurd
… devoured by birds
Words deceiving
Words that may never
wish to be heard
Words most revealing
Words that leave me
… lost for words
Words with true feeling
The bells of liberty
by your stockings rung
The deepest restraints
in my hands … undone
A ladder of splendour
slowly climbing
Your sacrament melting
upon my thirsting tongue
quenched in the ocean
of love’s perfection
Down on bended knees
lost in the tender squeeze
of your wholly communion
To ride the high tide
of hard won liberation
Yet … I’m a captive slave
to your will being done
let them go
line after line
let them blossom
or die on the vine
generations generating
like fish in the ocean
there is magic
in all creation
the diobolical
and the divine
the synthetic
and the truthful
poetry in motion
birth and death
the beautiful
and the hateful
feeding at the bottom
with hungry desperation
or at the top of your game
riding a high
of natural exhilaration
God … the ultimate Artist
The supreme Scientist
The intimate presence within
and throughout this existence
Regenesis … poetry in motion
Is she masculine
or is he feminine?
Is the answer
beyond our understanding?
Are we just avatars
in a game of actual reality
Is this life
an artistic documentary
viewed through
all the agony
and the ecstasy
the triumph and the tragedy?
Have we truly
been given a free hand
by the Artisan Grand
upon the canvas of eternity?
Or are we just
rats in a laboratory?
A collection of quarks
traversing the dark?
Mere particles within
the part and parcel
of subatomic intricacy?
An infinitesimal spark
in a dimension mechanical?
Speaking of relativity
where is the power and the glory?
A perpetual quantum
crunching the numbers
in some mindless continuum
Is that the universal story?
… sealed with a kiss and a warrant
He fly da vulture
He stranger than danger
He swamp da monster
He got winner envy
He lose by plenty
He look orange monkey
He big sunshine faker
He red carpet bagger
He Passé da posse grabber (?)
He dat hound dog’s brother
He da Beastie’s bestie
He one mother trucker
He be Frankenstein’s baby
David Redpath 