That driving heat
radiating off Wall Street,
an insatiable power lust
where total control is a must.
But it isn’t just the money, honey
that wets your appetite
with pretty maids all in a row.
Like the lines of blow that flow
up your nose
from way down below.
In the lounge room of my childhood
there’s this little box made of wood,
and when I open it’s varnished lid
up pops a proudly painted stork.
A cigarette wedged in his beak
with the promise of something good.
“Care for a Peter Stuyvesant?
They’re tailor made for the Jet-Set!
You’ve been on a plane,
and you’re a big boy now,
all of nine, so try one of mine.
You’ll find the taste most pleasant.
Ignition … prepare for take-off.
Never mind the cough.
You’ll soon be feeling fine.”
Profiteering
from a global pandemic
Mr. Reciprocal Philanthropic
the effluent magnate
of a fire ring climate
and all things plastic
that float upon the sea
… to whom do you compare?
There’s a hungry black hole
31 million light years away
in the centrifugal centre
of the Whirlpool Galaxy
Matter and energy
being recycled
to who knows where?
Can you measure
a bird of flight
by the weight
of a single feather?
Can you look
into the face of a child
and not see
the deepest treasure?
Yellow, black,
brown, or white …
love divine
is at the heart
of the matter
Where hatred
is a raging river
there’s a purpose
for the yet to be
hero of great valour
who sees beyond
the muddied surface
More precious
than gold or silver
that wide eyed innocence
The loving potential
of the truly essential
… Imaginessence
“I’m a hog for you, baby.
Can’t get enough of your love.
When I go to sleep at night
That’s what I’m dreaming of.
One little piggie went to London.
One little piggie went to Hong Kong.
This little piggie’s
Comin’ over to your house
Wee wee wee be makin’ whoopee
Cookin’ that cracklin’
Makin’ sweet lovin’ bacon
All night long.
One little piggie ate pizza.
One little piggie ate potato chips.
This little piggie’s
Comin’ over your house, mamma.
Gonna level with your sweet lips.”
~ Clifton Chenier
(Genetically Modified 😎)
Artwork courtesy of Multiple Michael
https://multiplemichael.wordpress.com/2020/03/12/the-secret-ingredient/
Like links in a chain
I was strung out
somewhere between
those merry little elves
reaching for the light
and the servants of pain
dwelling in the dark
Having spent
a lifetime bent
circling the extreme
of an astral plain
within a fevered brain
headed down the drain
The ecstasy
and the insanity
Yet the message was sent
Called by name . . .
“Be wholly sane!
And man …
don’t forget to repent!
You’ll never be the same.”
I am the beast
of least resistance
The organ grinder
upon humanity’s back
The Alpha Influencer
on your social media
The leader of the pack
waving a borrowed bible about
Whilst high as a kite
on the aphrodisiac
of greed and corruption
I am the crack
in all creation
🙈 🙉 🙊
An evening with the Punk Poet
. . . John Cooper Clarke.
A National Treasure
. . . if Bedlam was a nation 😎
Fleeing Chicken Town, evidently,
Toads a’ croaking
The sugarcane high
Fools rushing in
Where angels fear to fly
Doors broken
Blown open
Eucalyptus trees
Clawed asunder
In the white hot thunder
Of a cyclonic breeze
The local bespoke crematorium,
and pottery kiln, under restoration.
Where I hope, one day, to be smoked
and then placed in an urn of clay.
Michael Le Multiple may think
that’s an idea magnificent.
Upon the foothills of time
this mere mortal coil
one day will cease to unwind.
So, I say . . . Burn baby, burn🔥😎
