The Wolf Moon

The Wolf Moon,
Casts silver daggers,
That pierce the night.
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The Folly Of Wisdom

 

The glamour of corruption,

The conceit of men,

The folly of wisdom.

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The Dark

Afraid of the winter dark

The ghost in the window

Was your own reflection

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The Dragonfly Hunter

How far to-day in chase, I wonder,

Has gone my hunter of the dragon-fly?

A reinterpretation of a Haiku by Chiyojo (1703-1775)

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Storm in a Tea Cup

I AM THE BUDDHA
I AM THE BUDDHA
I AM THE BUDDHA
I AM THE BUDDHA
I AM THE BUDDHA
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I SLAY THE BUDDHA
I SLAY THE BUDDHA
I SLAY THE BUDDHA
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JUST A LITTLE DROP
IN A CUP OF TEA
CREATES A BUDDHA
IS IT YOU - OR ME
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I REMEMBER YOUR HAND
SHAKING
THE HAND OF FRIENDSHIP
TREMBLED
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JUST A LITTLE DROP
IN A CUP OF TEA
REVEALS THE BUDDHA
NONE CAN SEE
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I REMEMBER YOUR SMILE
FRAGILE
YOUR JUDAS LIPS WERE
KISSED
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JUST A LITTLE DROP
IN A CUP OF TEA
SLAYS THE BUDDHA
IN YOU AND ME
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I REMEMBER YOUR LIES
SUBTLE
THE SLIGHT OF HAND
CONCEALED
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JUST A LITTLE DROP
IN A CUP OF TEA
BETRAYS THE BUDDHA
IN YOU AND ME
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I AM THE BUDDHA
I AM THE BUDDHA
I AM THE BUDDHA
I AM THE BUDDHA
I AM THE BUDDHA
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YOU SLAYED THE BUDDHA
YOU SLAYED THE BUDDHA
YOU SLAYED THE BUDDHA
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Amon Ra

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I didn’t see him, not at first, I didn’t see him, or I would have turned away. Icy cold snakes coiled in embarrassing silence, they spilled from the pit of my stomach and slithered away in disgust. If I’d seen him first, but I didn’t, I just turned around and he was there – a nauseating, heart-stopping, electric jolt of a man.

My blood blanched when a flicker of recognition played across that vacant smile and impassive gaze and he once more held me thralled in his headlights. Then I remembered who he was, what I’ve seen him do, and I just wanted to laugh. I wasn’t afraid, really, I wasn’t afraid, just mesmerized by the symmetry of his stripes and his cold dead eyes.

I’m thinking Amon Ra was a mean junkie bitch, with a bad case of temper which allowed him to lay on women and children. So I smote the bitch with my cosmic imagery and Rasta radiation. I fixed him in the constellations with my size ten atomic boots and lit a big bad blunt. Amon Ra? Who the fuck is  Amon Ra?

Confidentially

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May I just say, strictly in confidence you understand - just between you and I, and I would not dream of saying this to another living soul, but with circumstances being what they are I really feel I must say something. Heaven knows I don’t like to pry; I wouldn’t want anyone to think I was sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong. I’m not one for tittle tattle, I’m no gossip, but I’m bound to say and with a certain amount of justification, I think that you’ll agree, that something must be said. With the situation being what it is, and it’s for that reason only, I think I can confide in you – I can confide in you? Good, well as you know it’s being going on for some time now and I feel it’s time someone said something, don’t you? Far be it from me to judge, it’s hardly a question of blame, it’s just that things have reached a point where someone must say something. I think that it might be good to get things out in the open. I’m sure you agree that it just can’t go on like this indefinitely and sooner or later someone will have to speak out and while I’m reluctant to be that person, it’s hardly a task I relish, I think that time has come. I’m sure you can see that beating about the bush can only prolong the matter and there is no point in postponing the inevitable. You do agree, don’t you? I’m glad we understand each other. I can see we have reached an understanding – no need to say anymore. Mum’s the word, you can trust me. I won’t say a dicky bird; this will not leave this room. Thank you for hearing me out. I’m so glad to have gotten that off my chest.

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Opium

sticky black puddles radiate

where unnamed Gods baptize

soft oozing words are featherweight

in luxurious velvet sighs

on clouds of expelled opiate

to recombine and synthesize

soothing songs in tones sedate

tell beautiful and welcome lies
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Idiot Lanterns

billions of captive domiciles
are strung with idiot lanterns
triumphantly spewing 
discount entertainment
at competitive prices
an entire planet
is enthralled
by simulation
and illusion
24/7
30 days
30 rock
48 hours
60 minutes
8 simple rules
$64,000 questions
for the American idle
“I’m a non-entity,
get me out of here!”

bleach me
with the cathode raygun
marinade my brain
in the irrelevant and inane
talk show raconteurs
with lightweight banter
enliven Saturday night specials
with polished mediocrity
they stunt my mojo
with their novocaine lines
I’ve been broken 
on the wheel of fortune
I am the weakest link
America’s next biggest loser
fired into my demographic
slot machine

I hit the jackpot
when they bound my imagination
with cable and tangled me up
with a million channels
I could drown myself in
they have delivered unto me
an important message
from my sponsor;
“Everyone who visits your toilet
is judging you”
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The Boy in The Moon

The moon hung low and large - so close he could nearly touch it. He was mesmerized by its great golden face. There really was a man in the moon and he was smiling at him. He was following him. Every step he took the moon kept pace with him. He turned to the left, he turned to the right. He walked quickly, he walked slowly, but the moon was always right there with him as if they were connected by an invisible string. He really ought to have been hurrying home. He was terribly late. His mother would be worried and his father would be angry, but he just could not break away from the spell being cast by the magical moon. 

He'd had a wondrous day of footballing in the park and cowboys and indians in the woods. He had forged new friendships in the spirit of adventure and exploration; he made his way homeward with a heart light with the joy of living. He thought this long summer’s day would last forever, but it was getting dark now and day had turned to night.

He could feel the cool night air on his grass stained knees, the sensation roused him from his reverie and he suddenly realized he was in a world of trouble. He picked up his tempo with a curiously light gait. The faster he went - the lighter his footfalls felt, until he felt he was hardly touching the ground at all. At last he was running and all the time he never took his eyes off the moon. ‘Was this a harvest moon?’ he’d heard of that, but he didn’t know when harvest time was. He felt like he was treading on air and when he looked at his feet he realized that he was.

He was still moving, his stride was carrying him forward, but he was floating away from the ground. He felt as if he was full of helium like a balloon at the fairground. He was curiously unconcerned with this development, he felt happily detached from the earth, yet exhilarated by this new discovery. He had overcome gravity, he was a flying boy. Soon, however, he discovered that the higher he went the less forward momentum he could generate with his legs and he kept floating higher. He became afraid now that he would float away, or that he would fall back to earth with a bump. He began to panic a little, but not for long. A chilly breeze blew through his thin shirt, but he did not feel cold – his body was infused with reassuring warmth that radiated from his core. He simply let go of all his cares and drifted on the wind ever higher into the night sky.

He marveled at the houses, roads and fields that were shrinking below him and the wide world opening up around him in an ever expanding horizon, but no matter how high he climbed his friend the moon stayed with him. He never rose above it, but it did seem to grow larger. Away from the street lights of the town now far below he could make out the stars, there were so many and they were different colours, some were white, some were blue and some were red. Soon the stars above outshone the lights that criss crossed the darkened earth below him and he discovered that far from being dark, the night sky was a brilliant blue. 

The boy was floating ever higher towards the ever growing moon. He felt quite serene in his gift of flight, as if this remarkable experience was quite natural. He pondered how long it would take to fly to the moon. It felt now as if the moon was pulling him towards it as the earth had once done. He speculated that he might not be flying away from the world, but falling towards the moon. He wondered if he would ever set foot on the earth again, if would he ever see his mother and father, or brothers and sisters again, he wondered distractedly if he really cared.

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Graphic by Steppenwolf

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moon dogs

they say the pueblo people snare moon dogs     in golden filaments      and wear their luminous pelts     to dance in their lunar mystery rites      when the big shiny glows      like a big silver dollar      across the southern desert      them moon dogs hunt the dark in packs       their howls fill the night air      eerie as spirit songs on the breezing       they paint the joshua trees large       and the desert lupines aquatic frost       them moon dogs cavort like ghosts       and caterwaul in the inky     the last truly wild creatures     in the last truly wild country       when the sky falls on the land     and we are sunk under her mystic woven blanket    them moon dogs chase their tails        round the angles in-between       their shadows and our dreams

 

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Empire of Broken Promises

 

Craters filled with dinosaur teeth

Vast archives of dusty elephant tusks

Mountains of torn old manuscripts

Broken road signs and tattered flags

Crazy paving stones leading nowhere

Fractured rainbows and sullen assent

False prophets and broken idols

Idiotic geometries of insane dimension

Incestuous romantics beating off franticly

To jungle rhythms played on thigh bones

Mutant junky baboons tapping veins

Wiping their asses with William Burroughs

Living relics of the beaten generation

This is the land of who gives a fuck

Where tomorrow never comes around

Where the streets have no shame

Whores give blowjobs for food stamps

And souls are rented by the hour

Jesus never lived in this neighbourhood

The light here comes from a darker sun

The residents await repatriation to hell

Nothing comes easy or cheap here

It’s the sleazy dark side of civilization

Spreading like a cancer across the city

Creeping like a nightmare into your room

A kingdom of have little’s and have naught’s

A filthy empire of broken promises

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