Month: Mar 2017

The Lost Art of Femininity

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the_lost_art_of_femininity

For some decades, much has been said about the necessity for men to get in touch with their feminine side; but from my observations today, I would say that it is not so much the men who now need to do so but the women! The discovery and practice of true femininity by many women today is at least a dying art, if not a completely lost one. If you ask me at this point what I mean by “femininity”, I reply that a woman would know the answer to that instinctively when she is in the company of a real man who loves women. But if I were to respond more, I would say these things:

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Detox [poem]

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baggage_class

“So now I will a cold monk be
and fill my life with poetry”.
So said the disillusioned (but yet still free)
unfusioned flagrantly-clichéd opponent
of crass sentimentality.

He looked upon the luggage that he towed
(mostly lightweight cool safari stuff)
and said: “I will not drag another’s load
for my own tonnage is a freight enough
and deadweight haulage will not once again
be thrust upon my naked back
to buckle both my weakened knees
and throw me off my yet-unbeaten track”.

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Puking All the Way to the Bank [poem]

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On one side of the woozy window’s glass, a fly
meandered aimlessly (or so it strangely seemed
to me from where I sat). But who on earth am I
to understand the crazy antics of a fly when I
can barely comprehend the reasons why I’m
destined randomly to ramble just like that?

A purpose is to everything assigned (even a fly)
or so I’m told by speculating minds who’ve
merely read a book or two or channelled voices
in their heads alleging to come from the dead
or aliens of many kinds, although I must confess
I find {& here’s the rub!} that all the stuff which
each voice inly says inside their heads spews out
in blatant contradiction to the others!

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Unwalked Pathways [poem]

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unwalked_pathways

When strange cosined estrangement
makes its strangled mark around
my desert journey’s restless crazed abode
I’m forced to pay the price the piper plays
when gigging for some vassal lord
who loves not music with his heart
but only has the need for what he deems
will fit the bill (that’s quite apart from all
the times I swallowed hard the sugared pill
they made me take [which even common sense
would show was merely fake {placebo is the game}]).

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“For Someone’s Child” [video]

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HERE’S A VIDEO of “For Someone’s Child”, a song from my latest album, “The Key”. It was just made by staff of The Liberty Beacon as they resonated with its message about child victims of war. It is a requiem for every child who has been killed or maimed in conflicts around the world. I wrote the original version in Barcelona in April 2003 after the “Shock & Awe” US bombing campaign on Baghdad, which initiated the gratuitous genocide and deliberate destabilisation of Iraq. I have since updated the lyrics and added a vocal bridge. Note that it is in the key of E major to give a glimmer of hope. Click below to listen.

(Click on the link below the video to read the lyrics)

Read the Lyrics for “Time to Choose”…

“Time to Choose” [video]

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HERE’S A VIDEO of “Time to Choose”, a song from my album, “The Key”. It was made by staff of The Liberty Beacon as they felt it summed up their mission statement “Eradicating Programmed Ignorance”. Click below and crank up your volume!

(Click on the link below the video to read the lyrics)

Read the Lyrics for “Time to Choose”

It must be Spring! [poem]

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It must be Spring!
In reservoirs of lusty not so laissez-faire
placenta-shaped parenthesis
[whose skin I yearn to kiss],
I search incessantly for loveness in the air.
My well of sap (no more dried up)
is rising through my veins with Spring-tide-
superfluity (no more the incongruity
of wasted nakedness), while all of me
is songing-longing to be (w)hol(l)y shared
within the juicy temple of a goddess
(though [so far] she’s never there).

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Every “Moment” is the Edge

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EVERY “MOMENT” IS THE EDGE! Now you may ask “Why is ‘moment’ in quotation marks”? Simple. Because there is no such thing. Not really. Moment = mistake. Here’s the ride: There is no past (for that is only imagined temporarily in some neuronal electrical impulse in our brains). It doesn’t really exist. There is no future (for that is only a neuronally-imagined possibility or potentiality). That also has no objective existence. Neurons are transitory will-o-the-wisp opportunists which take advantage of the fickle fleeting newness of the illusion of the present. Let’s be honest, there isn’t even really any “now”; for as soon as you grab it as “now” it becomes a lie, no longer extant. Now is never now! Try to grasp it and it’s gone, like an incontinent elderly gentleman who repeatedly excuses himself and leaves the room. So let’s also forget about now.

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What ‘Madness’ have we Here? [poem]

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As the sound of every cellful thing arches its wowsly way
within my molten mind, the stars stand still as if saluting
what has gone before, till twilight paints itself in patterns
predetermined by the rays [I marvel for an obscene while]
flung by the sun in front of this young poet’s doors, ablaze,
and in all craziness he bows before its wisdom with a smile.

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The Great Unravelling #9

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Julianne Rediscovers her Father (and Herself)

book_the_great_unravelling

A CERTAIN DARKNESS found its way into Nathan’s awareness — one which dreamed like a mattress filled with horsehair floating on a lake of poems and tears at the dead of night. He saw it from the corner of his eye yet it filled his vision in full panoramic technicolour.

On the other side of the restaurant, a woman sat alone. Gloweringly.

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