By the Power vested in me [poem]
No matter what outrageous kind of kismet will befall you
with its bristles, in the seeming random lottery of days
{the blows of which can crush you bleeding to the ground
by creeping up behind and wielding wildsome weaponry
in dextrous ways, discharged and fired without a sound};
however lowly you may sink into the bottomless abyss
or treacled treadmill of despair, I hereby now declare
with all the power vested in me as a minister of life & love
ordained by juicefilled frequencies which freely emanate
from panoplies above in flawless worlds foreverly uncursed:
that always and in truly every little lovely nuanced way
your last state will be limitlessly better than your first.
Too easily we estimate that darkness is the final word.
So I’m now here to signal to you, by that power vested
in me, that to think you’ll sink eternally into your quagmire
as a permanently active state of broken life is just absurd.
How foolishly we welcome every archon’s blunt old knife
to penetrate our back (not knowing he’s a cunning brat).
Remember how the cowboy who was kitted out in black,
when challenged by the local sheriff to reveal his interest
in the town, would then reply “I’m merely passing through”
and later some delinquent infinitely worse than him would
shoot him dogly in the throat or knifely run him through?
Well your despair’s the cowboy & the gun or knife is you!
The whole of life is one vast throbbing chain of change.
The clouds which shape our inner world (to put it in as
few perfunctory words as possible) have been ‘arranged’
specifically to bring us to the light; but not without a fight
& struggle with imaginary hubble-bubble messyourmindup
take-you-to-the-cleaners tunnel-trouble all along the way.
Our failing is to stand our alchemy upon its head and then
instead of making all things into gold we turn gold into
rust and dirt and then we wonder why we’ve lost our way.
But now with power to your heart I crisply (delicately) say:
You will not have to wait to be defeated by the worst.
For clouds will pass and what has recently engulfed you
will be seen by all to be a glory-bridge to where your
last state is a transformation so much better than the first!
© Alan Morrison, 2016
The Naked Troubadour 