We're all on a road to somewhere.
Six long weeks
roaming the dry crust
of a sun burnt wilderness.
Nothing but rocks and red dust.
The hot desert winds
that flay the skin
… now murmuring,
with words broken
of souls lost and forsaken.
Best I finally surrender
upon this alien terrain
the haunted trauma
of a time I’ve tried in vain
. . . to never remember.
. . . and the Glam Rock
A child playing
with wildfire rebellion
The tailor who fits you up
swiftly twisting
sweet venom on the tongue
with chemical smoke rising
Into the ghetto of the soul
a toxic river flowing
Body and spirit
within the echo of a scream
a tangled web
of a deceptive dream
For heaven’s sake
sleepwalkers awake
Is it ever too late
to make the big break?
Who’s pulling the strings?
Can you hear the truth
when the Elvis of God sings?
“The voice of your brother’s blood
Is crying to me from the ground.”
Artwork: David B. Redpath ©2019
Is she
beyond me?
Another love refugee
from behind a veil
upon a prevailing trail
that has led her to flee
My very being
wholly captivated
With me
will she be
totally satiated?
Is she soul free?
Is she emancipated
from the old man
of cruelest slavery?
When in Agra, perhaps on the way to
the Taj Mahal, drop in to Sheroes Hangout.
So much more than a Restaurant & Cafe.
Run for and by survivors of acid attack.
All women, overcoming the unspeakable.
“Now we are ready to fight back!”
