We're all on a road to somewhere.
Is ‘Love’
just another
four letter word
given a life sentence?
With those voices
taking away my choices
Sometimes too little?
Sometimes too much?
Such is life
in this world of strife
Where they’ll turn
your smile
into a frown
by hanging you
upside down
from the whipping post
known as Placebo Town
Toads a’ croaking
The sugarcane high
Fools rushing in
where the angels
fear to fly
Doors broken
thrown open
Eucalyptus trees
torn asunder
in the claws
of electric thunder
from a cyclonic breeze
Bells toll for the souls
strung out on the line
Then hung out to dry
in the doing of hard time
Yet not a word of goodbye
so what could I do ?
She gone with the man
with that dragon tattoo
On the road to somewhere
The Hymn of the Plagiarist
without a prayer
ringing in my ear
The fast lane driving
a lad insane
criss-crossing creation
a consuming passion
with bad seed love
lost down the drain
Seeking empathy
in the heat of street poetry
venting out from some
mental health facility
A stolen generation
marginalised and
criminalised
by the vagaries
of prohibition
The high life chasing
upon the tail of a dragon
Dead fingers touch typing
whilst couch surfing
on digital cocaine
In the straw hut
with a kava chant
before the hunt
for a tower of flame
The past a real blast
or just a story
I tell myself ?
But I must ask the question
… Where am I now?
Just another stray
gone missing
under an alien sun
A myriad of roads
glistening
A delirious minor
following in the footsteps
of the transient
and the mysterious
Tom Major
A mind left behind
orbiting planets distant
Yet by the prayers
of a loving mother
and guardians angelic
I was led
to the waters of wonder
along pathways ancient
Set before me
the infinite future
The big picture
glimpsed clearer
from much higher
Even from under
a jackboot of trouble
Yes, there is
a colossal diabolical
hell of a mess
But there is also
even more so
a big time
heavenly salvager
The good news
always free to choose
So I ask the question
… Where to now?
Sometimes I nap
snuggled up
to the screen
perchance to dream
downloading
the latest app
from Mother Machine
Like dancing
with no body
when fully jacked in
And though the birds
are outside singing
the bluetooth in my ear
keeps on biting
Am I flogging
a dead blog?
Tied to a whipping post
in the Chapel
of Celebrity Worship?
Waterboarded with wit
and spiritual insight
Has the cyber bug bit?
Fond memories
Favourite recipes
But I’m not nostalgic
Now bulimic
with quotations
ad nauseam
Am I becoming
the Social Cyblog?
With a great glob
of reblogging
and visions foreboding
of graveyard robbery
Amid the ghosts
of a million posts
haunted by the screams
of advertising streams
flooding this highway
of bloggery
To have
or have not?
To block
or have the lot
My cyber kingdom
to come
I am
the social medium
Prompt me
and you’ll get
a reaction
Yet battery
depleted
and all my entries
deleted
Lacking inspiration
Climbing mountains of trivia
to find hidden treasures
wearing just my pyjamas
Getting no satisfaction
in the cradle
of post civilisation
Could I handle
another book review
longer than the book?!
( I swear it’s true.)
Am I following
or being followed
by a social rabble
to the brand new
Tower of Babel?
No need for sandals
I can barefoot
across a desert
of broken hearts
laid bare
on algorithmic gravel
The poets
the dreamers
the bullies
and vandals
To sign out
or throw in my lot?
I am
the social me-diot
Is there
a grand plan?
Perhaps a new
and improved
upgraded
kind of man?
In the meantime
I skim … I scan
I link
Therefore I am
I swim
in an ocean of spam
I do not dive
down the deep end
I don’t stop
to think
before I send
Beware the bot
The illusion
of airbrushed
perfection
to show me
what’s hot
I need to follow
to be told
what’s what
Don’t hold back
My reply
will be instant
and immediate
So please please
like a lot
Just my keyboard
and me
on a spree
late into the night
downloading a riot
Streaking across
the firmament
of you favourite site
Uploading with
encrypted kryptonite
the Host with the most
For I long to be
the Saviour of all posts
the Anti Social
… Social Meteorite
Words & Image:
~ david redpath © 2018
Collecting sincerities
like get well cards
after a multitude
of cosmetic surgeries
With the deepest
heartfelt sympathies
a matter of my
private insecurities
Poor poor pitiful me
My lover likes
to make love
late in the evening
till well past three
With abandoned glee
I prefer
to make love with her
in the morning
after a strong cup of tea
It would seem in between
I need to be resting
… seriously
This is why I must try
to keep on breathing
Lord have mercy
on poor poor pitiful me
~ anon
PhotoArt:
david redpath © 2018
Change
The good, the bad,
the beautiful, and the ugly
in the broken mirror of time
all staring back at me.
When Earth first given birth,
a world of wonder and beauty
it was … good.
Should be, could be.
The Spirit challenges me
. . . “CHANGE”.
Secret Happiness
Crossing oceans vast
Navigating the flowing
and swollen rivers
Following
the Siren’s song
through a past
of smoke and mirrors
Your spells
your scent
bid me hither
to the Bridge of Sighs
where and when
my lovely lies
The joy of arrival
The pain of your leaving
A question of survival
Always clinging
to hopes stirring
of our next awakening
with destiny ascending
