The Doors of Deception

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.

Continue reading “The Doors of Deception”

Sailing High in Creation

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Riding the bounds
Sailing high in creation
Things that astound
on the wing
in the deep
and under the ground
Yet consciousness
hard up against the glass
of this broken existence
Confiscated by the State
as a piece of degenerate art
then sold as a slave
to the black market of fate
I made the big break
for the heights of Montmartre
A spirited defence
yet only token the resistance
at the cutting edge
of forsaken circumstance

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Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie

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Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie
(edited) ~ by Bob Dylan

When yer head gets twisted
and yer mind grows numb
When you think you’re too old,
too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin’ behind
an’ losin’ yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl
of life’s busy race
No matter what yer doing
if you start givin’ up
If the wine don’t come
to the top of yer cup
If the wind’s got you sideways
with one hand holdin’ on
And the other starts slipping
and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire
needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood’s easy findin’
but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin’
and the street gets too long
And you start walkin’ backwards
though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up
as down goes the day
And tomorrow’s mornin’
seems so far away

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The Broken Hallelujah

For the Loving
the Loathing
and the target
who never stops moving
For all the hurt who fell
chasing their own tail
through a reflection glistening
Four sheets to the wind
and under the full sail
of a fevered imagination

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The Ancient Paths

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Walking the ancient paths
of my forefathers
to the mountain summit
from a favela slum
Singing a gypsy hymn
petitioning the heavens
for a taste of that
ever loving Kingdom come
Never the right answer
Always the wrong question
Is Christ the key to eternity?
Maybe the baby
has been unceremoniously
thrown out with this world’s
dirty bathwater?

Señorita, señor,
sing for me again
that sweet gypsy hymn
Desperate times
Sacred treasures
Give me
that old time religion
Walking the ancient paths
of my forefathers

‘Roll of Honour’

Words & Artwork:
~ david redpath © 2018

Photography: Linda Redpath

Gloria In Excelsis

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Faithfulness

through the wilderness

Climbing a mountain

of passion burning

from just a single spark

The pure fragrance

of holy incense

Your sacred presence

in the deepest dark

throughout the longest night

In the shadow

of your wings

I find peace sublime

Celestial rest in the midst

of an endless cosmic fight

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The High Road

The flat screen

a most unwholly edifice

to a download scene

of gratuitous violence

Remote and depressed

that button of silence

Disorder is depleting

the span of my attention

Always fleeting

Consciousness

breaking the surface

The high road taken

past a world of distraction

to the fields

of contemplation

With little Miss Daisy

driving me

all the way

to satisfaction

In gratitude

for creation’s magnitude

I find happiness

beyond imagination

~ david redpath © 2018

Please excuse my little miss
spelling. Holy accidental !

Artwork:
‘The Forest at Fountainbleau’
~ by Henri Matisse