The Naked Troubadour

Henceforth… [new poem]

Posted on May 21, 2019

Henceforth…
I am going to spend
whatever time I’ve left on earth
in quiet wonder.
That is all.
No other fool or feral spirit
now can pierce the sky I’ll make
containing not a trace
of iron or brass
or thunder.

No more to man the barricades
against inevitable floods
of either dirty water
or the endlessly cackling crescendos
of the torch and pitchfork mob
which bays outside my alwaysbroken windows.
Chanting “me-me-me” continuously,
they gnash their teeth
and havoc wreak
they never turn the other cheek
they virtue-signal
form their cliques
feign their victim-laden grief
denounce all contrary beliefs
pseudo-deep
they pretend to weep
obsessing over what they eat.
Then, trying to wipe
the bloodstains off their feet,
they demonspeak
about the need to “stop the war”
protect the rights of sub-species obscure
(although the right to slaughter babes
is what they’re loudest fighting for).

What kind of world is this?
No need for you to send me a reply
or an emoticon with tears, as if you cry!
For every question on my lips these days
will be rhetorical
as answers are already known
and in my hat have long been thrown
and in this haunted place (I speak now as a man),
without a single doubt, I stand alone.

Henceforth…
I am going to spend
whatever time I’ve left on earth
attending to my flowers
with a special urgency,
so the tyranny of “happiness”
and alien powers
on me can hold no sway.
(I’m finished with the stain of disarray).
No more to dwell in body, mind, or heart,
where poetry is unallowed to start
or be engraved into my days.
Integrity, lucidity, and serendipity
are all I dreamly crave.

When I inspect the lines drawn in the sand
by remnants made of common decency,
I see that winds from hell
have in the main now blown those lines away
and paved the path
for madness to be seen as sane
and dark to take the place of light
and so much that is wrong to be
regarded as the pinnacle of what is right.
Those things I see enslaving human souls
are seen by others as what makes them free.
How far we’ve fallen! Open your eyes & see!

You’ll read these words (those few who do)
and then be on your dreamscape way.
“Another of that poet’s rants”, you’ll say.
But here I am, without a crutch,
hoping that your heart I’ll touch.
If we were lovers, I would kiss you much,
roll you in the sacred hay,
banish every shade of grey,
love your roadbumps clean away.
With your heart I’d gently play —
laughter loud would fill our day!

Henceforth…
for whatever time I’ve left on earth,
I will be a lighthouse on a cliff.
My bell will toll for all the souls
who’ve come to grief upon the rocks below,
who did not see the light
because they closed their eyes
deliberately
or wore a blindfold
wilfully
or made their war upon the Rock
which killed them in the end.
To all you sailors of the seas
a special message now I send
with which I hope your soul to please:
May your lost and stricken vessel
now be mended, tarred, and find its way
and not be on the bottom
of the ocean found to lay.

Henceforth…
for whatever time I’ve left on earth,
I’ll continue to resist the urge
to hide from Truth which (in this delusive world
of lies, deception, power-plays & empty dreams)
must always be a snakebite in Achilles’ Heel;
uniquely, it will all that’s in our hearts reveal.

For something surely has to snap
the copper wire of compromise
which somehow slyly closes eyes
and tricks us into thinking alliswell,
and thereby robbing us
of what we need to make us wise.
Unless we snap that wire in two,
we’ll be deadweight —
just another thread in Satan’s screw,
a pawn to join his groomed, deluded crew.

Henceforth…
for whatever time I’ve left on earth,
I must proceed beyond all limits,
self-imposed or not —
a disciplineful knight in my own Camelot.

Anything which does not help me sing
and dance, or which has been designed
to keep me in a trance, will be eschewed.
For this, one must maintain a lofty altitude
and be prepared (if that is what it takes)
to walk the pathway unaccompanied,
save for that small guiding Voice —
our Gift when narcissistic instinct breaks,
upon which we will then admit all our mistakes,
and make the only holy choice one makes
(no matter what then comes in strife),
to follow Light, and Love, and Truth and Life.

Henceforth…
for whatever time I’ve left on earth,
I vow to find another way to live:
To swim against the tide,
no matter what the danger in the ride,
or if our persecutions multiply,
or if we find ourselves proscribed
by false imposed authority,
and the vast majority of souls
anathematise us bitterly,
and treat us like we’re warts upon
the face of planet earth,
we’ll recognise our worth before the King,
before whom we will only bring our FAITH —
which, gleaming brighter than all gold
or shiny things collected through our days
(the “swag” of our self-serving me-malaise) —
is all I find that’s needed in this so-confusing maze.

© Alan Morrison, 2019