1, poem, poetry, – Page 6 – poems 2 die for

EASTER POEM

Easter is upon us
read
the book “Zealot”, read the
Gnostic Gospels

watched J of N
on a streaming service
for the zillionth time
but did not
see this
sucker coming
(still see
myself as
the prodigal son)

and now
a tale of torture, agony
for all time
sweating blood there in
Gethsemane during
that ultimate dark night
body of
Christ itself
turned apocalyptic

tale of Paul and tale
of Mary Magdalen
tale of Crusades against
the other Abrahams

tale of
the energy in mass
released in microseconds
delivered on a platter
to vaporize
sacred sites

just
to list
evidence for
the case

that we
still
need
redemption

transcendence
of the brutal self

at least
for some peace, a modicum
at least
over this Easter

whilst I
amongst parable thorns
fallen on
stony ground
called
but not answering

flatly look forward to
spending this Easter
summoning up
ancient alchemists
of my
acquaintance

begging them
getting them
egging them on

to transform, transmogrify,
do their utmost
to achieve this

this bag
of Roman nails
simply
shuffle down
that table
before
my eyes become golden,
eclipse my eyes as solar spikes.

TA!

was Ta!
but now
it’s
Tirrah!

as we now find ourselves
in that man Possum’s
shattered porcelain
Thomas Stearns Eliot
game of
chess, what
the thunder said
Da! Damyatta!
end of
the world as we know it
wasteland territory

and so
like that eternal footman
who could never
be Hamlet
hollow to the core
as I ride
that river through
all its colonies
to its poisonous
source

I bid my adieu
all I can do
my words lost on you

and yes, Ta!
for the love you thought
you gave me

BOOM

bing bang boom

hit me over the head
with the sound
that fosters appetite,
alters, enhances
consciousness

turns brain
Yogi from
spaghetti

turns from
meatball
into lasagna

in this age of Kali Yuga
gives you
your moment
of peace

MEDUSA

Medusa, she of the serpent tresses,
unjustly transformed because
women cannot be innocent

knows they are coming
the reporters, the cameras,
the cliche
hunting commentators,
the writers and poets
with all
their reflective surfaces

knowing
she can never
forgive or be forgiven

and this her logic
is that
until she is killed
(sure she
is to be killed)
she must
strive to turn
each of these
paladins of brutality
contempt, injustice

to mute outcrops
of fabulous stone.

IF CHESS

if chess
were music
it would
be Mozart

the melodies sparkling
and yet fastidious
scarcely can tell
anything of
rebellious Aquarius
in there at all

if chess were
soundtrack

wouldn’t be
punk rock, wouldn’t
be Led Zeppelin

yet
   Mozart seems
prepared to
rock-
hard
            go hard
                  rock

be our favourite snotty-nosed
neo-classical punk

inclined to
    tease the establishment
as far
as he could get
stick
that
       dissenting finger
everywhere, from
tune to theme
(cleverly disguised to
rhyme
    with the times)

see them
for the wooden
major minor pieces
that they are
carved
for the ranks and
files and
to dance the diagonals
(Archbishop black and Archbishop white)

IMMORTALS

INMORTALS

as the division between
dream and reality, sanity
and madness
ultimately collapses

I think of the identifications
made and the frameworks
devised
for living our lives

at one time or another we were
anarchists, liberals , communists,
conservatives, reactionaries,
empathic social democrats

becoming neo this

and that
as the years whooshed past
and the spirit
of our youth
unmistakably began to die

and now we sit
wisdom badly waned
rationality denied

so much worse for wear
the world
(much worsened world)
made to suffer
for our
presence

great sin of ego
desire to keep
what
was for all
for our
few selves

our wealth a
sign of favour,
as if
selected
by immortals

BLESSED

blessed are
the pure in spirit

most
distilled
amongst us
transcendent
beyond compare

for them
that most cerebral reward
of white pieces, black
pieces
chess for all eternity

hoping that in the course
of infinite play
they will most certainly
discover, find,
simply stumble upon
the perfect game

whilst
those no lesser
on this sliding scale

might find themselves
charting the incredible
magical features
of a sublime simulation.
wondrously
generated world

in which
no law is called
sacrosanct
unless by truly
consensual overwhelming agreement

the idolatory of markets is
crazily absent (yet not
decisively forbidden)
as is
the presumed eternal
law of
supply and demand

CROSSBOW

I interrogated Aphrodite
after the fall of Troy

so much death and devastation
through her direct interference
all for a single
golden apple, and the required
abduction of a queen

holding her in
the sights of my
crossbow whilst
I bombarded her
with questions

on the nature of love,
her sacred domain, and
why
it should exist at all
when it destroys
so many of us

or leaves us
alone and yearning
victims of its disdain.

DARK POETRY

no twist, turn,
switch

though by all means
a switching on
of the light

a searching, probing
light

the kind survelling the landscape
scanning the skies

enough luminosity there
to scare anyone away
from
subterranean explorations

writing dark poetry,
commonplace anathema

who knows in
the darkness
what razor’s edge
what peril to hard-won
community?

what sways and bends, plunges
deep into itself
goes full on despair
of Garden of Gethsemane
petals of
blood there
to be seen?

yes
what we have here
must say what it says write
as is written

in the absence of light
suddenly that which dazzles

what
the reader demands
never
an abyss, no dark
night of the soul

SYLVIA 2026

Sylvia i would take blackberrying again
out amongst
those luscious, vicious.
brambles one
last time

be like children
unrestrained. gorging
ourselves stained red
returning home
bloodied
with load upon load
in plastic bags
telling ourselves
soon soon soon
we shall all be
in pie Heaven

it was a war
gathering them
but we
were unshakable

so having
fought a war
to capture this
wild treasure

let love
be the power
we next consider

so much we both
need to redeem there
we have
our mad symbols which
to some extent will
serve us, help
with the co-creation
of one common reality

much
lovemaking to learn
starting from
the ground up

with the care of watchmakers
dealing with a machine
of such sensitivity,
such intricacy

all those cogs and jewels
and tiny immaculate gears

watching your fingers
move through the thorns
is
as if i were watching
the playing of
some strange, exotic
beautiful instrument

transcendental
as if composing
writing the exact music
of this scene
for every berry
a sublime note.