Archive for May, 2014

1998: Portrait
Emergency in the house of lout!
Someone has put a Lou Reed album on.
The boys begin to rub their arms, and eye each other furtively,
‘Oh come on man, let’s get on’ someone says
Phone call time, the man is there.
He’s got the goods as they say,
and he’s coming on over.
He rides over on a Ducati motorbike.
With little paper packages of powder mystery,
Twenty five bucks and you’re off your head.
Then mixing up in a spoon, chucking in a cigarette filter,
The point of the syringe is in the filter sucking up the opiate juice.
A plume of blood in the clear liquid of the syringe, then it is pushed on home.
The sweetest taste in the top of my skull,
So warm all over and nostalgic for days without pain or perplexity,
I am the dancing bear of love and happy coincidence,
Tickle my fur, come for a cuddle.
We all feel so warm and loved inside by a thousand fuzzy koalas,
But from the outside it doesn’t look so good,
As we nod off in the corner.

The girls at Uni walk on by,
And I can never catch their eye.
Here I am in paradise and I feel like a lost child!
Fleeting instamatic glances across the forecourt,
Or a smile at a distance,
And I begin to feel alive.
And they are fresh and young like morning dew on petunias,
And I feel old and corrupt like a haunted house.

The girls at Uni walk on by,
And I am feeling really fried.
Dancing through the sunlight like a thousand fireflies,
Skipping down the pathway in pretty summer dresses with a flower pattern,
Nubile, soft and succulent, buxom and bodalicious.
But I cannot say a word of friendship or love,
My mouth is full of sand.

One day I’ll speak,
And say ‘Hi, how are you going?’
And if no-one reports me for sexual harassment,
We’ll converse about a range of topics,
Of Christmas trees and sealing wax,
Of guinea pigs and nonviolence and trinity as community,
Of subtlety and perfidy and effigies,
And maybe she’ll like me,

Take me to a place where infinite love is an everlasting fire,
Where there are no victims because there are no victimizers,
Where the voice of Jesus is heard loudly and clearly saying ‘Shalom.’
Where the tree of life gives its leaves to children of God for their healing,
Where all live as brothers and sisters and no-one goes hungry or thirsty, no-one is without a place to stay,
The universe will be radiant then with no corruption or tears,
No-one is howling with loneliness in a cheap room,
Or drinking themselves to death because they have a hole in their soul,
Or ignoring their kids and wishing their life would end,
All are imitating Jesus’ love and not each other’s rage or pain,
Imitating his love for the neighbour and the other,
And from love, truth, creativity and hope flow like a torrential river,
Art mystifies and glorifies God in the kingdom of Heaven,
Where the lion lies down with the lamb,
And the whole earth sings new melodies out of the wonders of God’s eternal unconditional love.


Posted: May 7, 2014 in poetry
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Just one more drink to warm the bones and cool the throat,
Just one more drink to burn up hate,
Just one more drink to knock down death,
Just one more drink then a torrent of love,
Just one more drink to break conformity and cripple mediocrity,
Just one more drink to set the night alight,
And keep the fascists from the door.
To tingle the toes and bring a smile to an old man’s face,
To comfort the empty heart and scratch the balls of destiny,
To kill time and make sanity beg for mercy,
To dredge the unconscious for songs of fun and debauchery,
To make something happen.
The bottles are all around me, these empty husks of nothing,
Testify to a love of excess and an excess of love.
I turn on the Pogues and sing along to a rebel song,
Of death and love and drink and true religion,
Banjos and fiddles and Irish punk rock jiggery.
So let’s drink to Shane Macgowan and his liver and his brain,
Open up another beer and drink it down again.


Posted: May 7, 2014 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , ,

I wandered to an ancient cave in a mountain on a plain,
Around the cave entrance were Aramaic inscriptions, warnings of doom.
Within were creatures with fangs and eyes in no rational proportion,
Uneven face ratios asymmetrical and strange,
Wriggling over each other like maggots in pus,
With tongues and lips grotesque and mangled protrusions of flesh for no purpose besides the bearing of a horn,
And assholes sucking and blowing filth covering them like pustules.
The noise they make is unspeakable,
A howling growling hullabaloo,
And the stench is unbearable from the writhing wriggling expulsions of filth.
Hiding in a forgotten corner of the world, vanishing in an instant to lurk in the hearts of the innocent,
Each one is a blackening the warp and weft of the web of reality.
Their names are many and they serve one master with an awful creed.
They whisper hate and madness into the soul of the unsuspecting sinner.
The ruler of this world of suffering and sorrow,
Knows each one by name for they are his creatures.
But the darkness will not devour the light,
For there is a saviour truer than law, brighter than sunlight, aching with love,
He will redeem us from their power.