Gospel Radio

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Gospel Radio

Everybody desperate
tryin’ to make ends meet
Work all day
made to pay
keepin’ their arses
off the dirty street
But alas, their lives
are incomplete

But don’t it make you
want to free your soul?
Upright from wrong
… Gospel Radio
I heard Natalie Cole
singing sweet and soulful
on the radio
… that Gospel Radio

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The Grand Artisan

God, the ultimate Artist.
The supreme Scientist.
The intimate presence within,
and throughout this existence.
Regenesis … poetry in motion.
Is she masculine?
Or is he feminine?
Is the answer
beyond our understanding?
Is this life
but an artistic documentary?
Seen through all the agony
and the ecstasy …
the triumph and the tragedy?
Have we truly
been given a free hand
by the Artisan Grand?

Or are we rats in a laboratory?
Are we but particles
within the part and parcel
of subatomic intricacy?
Just mere quarks
traversing the dark?
An infinitesimal part
of a dimension mechanical?
Speaking relativity,
where is the power and the glory?
A perpetual quantum
crunching the numbers
in some mindless continuum.
Is that the universal story?

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The Elvis of God

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. . . and the Glam Rock

A child playing

with wildfire rebellion

The croupier who deals you in

swiftly twisting

sweet venom on the tongue

with chemical smoke rising

Into the wasteland

of a wandering soul

a toxic river is flowing

Body and spirit

within the echo of a scream

paying a heavy toll

Caught in the tangled web

of a deceptive dream

The gambler seduced

with an empty hand

upon a dying bed

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?

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The Angelic Garden

Trick or Treaters
Big Schemers and Tweeters
no need for greed
in the Angelic Garden
of infinite abundance
where the mushrooms
and toadstools
of supernaturally
flavoured darkness
are always in season
From a realm beyond
all rhyme & reason
the Candy Man cometh
upon the seas of madness

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No Exits ~ Exist On

NO EXITS ~ EXIST ON

In the car park
of a stark oblivion
best to leave
your engine running
Don’t plug the spark
Don’t phone it home
all on your own
in the brooding dark
If you’ve got the app
of a beating heart
with an overflowing cup
don’t text it to the exit
like some Brexit
lost in transit
with Boris in the forest
So therefore go forth
and Sexit up …
if you really must

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