EASTER POEM

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.

NO SWEAT

NO SWEAT

I smell
of sweat

smell of death

a smell
to savour
sweat
laced with death

raw odour
needing a tad more
of your perfume
and spice on my skin

and so this alchemy
whose secret
barely hidden
opens itself
to scrutiny

lead
turned to platinum

gold
to uranium

crystal to
diamond

water
to steam

and star  blazing
fissile energy
             force of
such
fusion

stuff of that
industry
to thing that you are

which
that old skald, old troubadour
Saxon
     Norman Viking
Celt
within me

can sing of hesitantly, imperfectly,
the superabundance you require
so
    much long gone
all its
    revelation

lending itself
            to
                all
that
is rival, separate
Other

distant in time
        faithfully elsewhere

whilst
I smell of sweat, do
speak here
of death
and other transformation.