We're all on a road to somewhere.
“Mercy and Grace me please!”
~Ulysses
Once I had a lover
Was it all that wrong?
She done me like a crime
against all reason and rhyme
Yet, she knew how to play
my favourite song
There was a time It seemed
she would haunt my dreams
and the days were all
just way too long
But tell me
what can you do
when you ain’t that strong?
Lord, I’m tired
of paying these dues
Them used lover blues
Her mythology
is all Greek to me
Was the pounding
on Chaos’s anvil
more than a mere mortal
could ever handle?
I was staying at
the Surfer’s Paradise
Hawaiian Motel
a Wild Turkey in hand
slowly defrosting
in a cyclonic swell
when the news broke
… the King of Rock
had just fatally fell
He could rhythm & blues
the whole jail house block
from a cell
at the Heartbreak Hotel
And then
in his blue suade shoes
gospel all the way
to the edge of reality
Heaven’s pearly gates
now blown straight to hell
Mosquitoes and neon buzzing
as the No Vacancy sign
flickers on
at the Surfer’s Paradise
Hawaiian motel
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.
An evening with the Punk Poet
. . . John Cooper Clarke.
Fleeing Chicken Town, evidently.
A National Treasure
. . . if Bedlam was a nation
Looking for hidden treasure
in the doing of serious leisure
at the most exotic Coco Mojo bar
As that coral sea
just keeps glistening
in the tropical sun
I’m ordering yet another
mango mojito
whilst listening to Mojo JuJu
singing that native tongue
“It is something to be deep
in the snow in Winter,
to be deep in the yellow leaves
in Autumn, to be deep
in the ripe wheat in Summer,
to be deep in the grass in Spring.”
~ Vincent van Gogh
In the shallows
just below
the translucent skin
of Spring
an opal blue explosion
awaiting
the grand thaw of awe
to begin
The riverbank
in springtime
A chestnut tree
in blossom
dances along
the sparkling spectrum
Under a sky rent by light
on a starry starry night
Is seeing too much
beyond your place in time
ever
and always
the crime?
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
Continue reading “Sailing High in Creation”
