We're all on a road to somewhere.
“I saw the best minds of my generation
destroyed by madness, starving hysterical
naked, dragging themselves through
the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix.” ~ Allen Ginsberg
The Persistence
The gleaning
seeking fallen fruit
after the harvesting
Neither sowing small
nor reaping big
The art
of just surviving
Street wise
to disguise
the festering fever
of hidden trauma
Is this life a test?
A trial by fire?
The Love Memorandum
Still breathing
Living still
From oceans deep
a mortal spill
The waters testing
in the fullness of time
What’s in your heart?
Who’s on your mind?
Having received
the Love Memorandum
from Planet Freedom
Regarding that love
that doesn’t change
with the wild weather
Of love forged
in the fires of forever
A love that never fails
Like the latter rains
of a summer harvest
Love gives meaning
to this existence
Isis of Crisis
The silken road
of Afghan calm
that led me to Isis
The Queen Supreme
of my Karma Crisis
Born of a desert storm
and a broken seance
There patiently
she waited for me
at the Mirage Oasis
Greeting me in style
with her crystalline smile
and a “Hello Sailor!
Any port in a storm?”
As the Blue Nile
was bleeding down
my starboard arm
Seeping in from the ink
under our shedding skin
to the steps
of her gilded throne
In that river delta
of helter skelter
the sediments of passion
all turning to stone
Fossilized in sentiment lost
The reflections
of her mirrored face
appeared without a trace
As my life lines
were fully erased
then held for ransom
The life of
a thousand deaths
A thousand deaths
to live again
where the saltwater
meets the desert sand
The flood waters rising
Her love dissolving
the wild child
of stormwater
in the cauldron
of her fiery baptism
Upon a barren crest
a starburst shattered
in the wilderness
of a frozen desert
As the scars
of an ancient thirst
softly whispered,
“For the love of God,
we could do you no harm.
Within that still
beating heart
against our sting
of tempted fate
was placed a golden charm.”
An evening with the Punk Poet
. . . John Cooper Clarke.
A National Treasure …
if Bedlam was a nation.
Fleeing Chicken Town, evidently
On the road to somewhere
The Hymn of the Plagiarist
without a prayer
ringing in my ear
The fast lane driving
a lad insane
criss-crossing creation
a consuming passion
with bad seed love
lost down the drain
Seeking empathy
in the heat of street poetry
venting out from some
mental health facility
A stolen generation
marginalised and
criminalised
by the vagaries
of prohibition
The high life chasing
upon the tail of a dragon
Dead fingers touch typing
whilst couch surfing
on digital cocaine
In the straw hut
with a kava chant
before the hunt
for a tower of flame
The past a real blast
or just a story
I tell myself ?
But I must ask the question
… Where am I now?
Just another stray
gone missing
under an alien sun
A myriad of roads
glistening
A delirious minor
following in the footsteps
of the transient
and the mysterious
Tom Major
A mind left behind
orbiting planets distant
Yet by the prayers
of a loving mother
and guardians angelic
I was led
to the waters of wonder
along pathways ancient
Set before me
the infinite future
The big picture
glimpsed clearer
from much higher
Even from under
a jackboot of trouble
Yes, there is
a colossal diabolical
hell of a mess
But there is also
even more so
a big time
heavenly salvager
The good news
always free to choose
So I ask the question
… Where to now?
JUST ONE DROP
A drop
that doesn’t fall
That arises
One for all
A death
that brings life
Just one drop
more than enough
In the silence
a friendly voice
I hear the call
Always a choice
Words of truth
that never fail
A drop of love
that doesn’t fall
Just one drop
of grace divine
suspended . . .
in the fullness of time
A door open
the word spoken
No witness silent
to a world of crime
Throughout the expanse
of infinite space
one drop of hope
for this human race
Words & Artwork:
~ david redpath © 2018
Where Beauty Resides
The bells of liberty
by your stockings rung
The deepest restraints
in my hands … undone
Like a flake of snow
your sacrament melting
upon my thirsting tongue
Quenched in the ocean
of love’s perfection
Down on bended knees
lost in the squeeze
of your wholly communion
To ride the high tide
of hard won freedom
Yet, I’m a captive slave
to your will being done
