Let me further indulge my occasional morbid tendencies – though clearly I am not the only one going down that path, today. I am inspired (not for the first time) by Stoner. I particularly like her words ‘dry as a twig’, for some reason. Suddenly I can’t imagine anything ever being drier than that.

*****

 

Look with love

From above

As I lay alone

Bits of old bone

In the dirt

No more hurt

No eulogy here

No fear

Of a ghost

I loved you most

As I died

And you cried

Showing me

That knowing me

Had been real

And making me feel

Loved at the end

But let’s not pretend

It’s the end, too

For you

So laugh once again

Remember me when

You’re not alone

A new love of your own

Sing a song

Say ‘so long’

Misbehave

Dance on my grave

*****

I don’t really know what this one is about. Somebody else can decide.

I’m not much good at challenges, and this is no exception. But it tumbled out anyway. I blame these people

*****

Let that world be

Just distant voices

Other choices

Other promises

Made

Another life

Another wife

Words that cannot be unsaid

Let me now travel instead

To hidden places

Finding traces

Along the way

Of love

Here and there

And no words to say

Let me look from above

At your toes

At your hair

Are you there?

Do you care?

Let me be

Inside

And find

A key

To throw away

Forever

So that everyday we may

Stay

Locked

Together

*****

 

 

After another absence (has anyone noticed?) here I am again with signs of my continued existence. As faint as the heartbeat may be.

I stumbled across something I must have written before and possibly even released to the public here. I can’t remember. Life is always a work in progress, and likewise my occasional words (though, in that regard, little real progress is ever made), and so I tinkered with this a bit here and there. And splashed some black paint around it.

***********

God. i implore

stop keeping score

Your clown

can’t cope

anymore

at the circus

call me down

from the tightrope

Your fragile string

on which i dance

and sing

coloured spotlights

in the eyes

of Your dullard

the noise of the crowd

so loud

no chance

at all

to hear my cries

just let me fall

to the floor

to capsize

to think

no more

to drown

and no longer be

what You made

i’ve begged

i’ve prayed

to sink

release me

from Your trapeze

let peace be

an end to Your tease

let me fight

no more

let the light

fade

let me trade

my life

for nothingness

endless grey

descending

ending

no rebirth

no pretending

goodbye. so to say

and come what may

with life on earth.

*************

I was, as is habitual for me, discussing poetry with a friend recently, particularly in regard to bad poetry, of which there is an abundance (some even worse than mine). Being Easter, the conversation took a little diversion towards Christianity, and I was reminded of the song ‘Jesus is just Alright’, made famous by, amongst others, The Doobie Brothers.

The songs was written in the mid-sixties when being described as ‘just alright’ was quite a positive accolade rather than a more modern interpretation which might suggest being ‘barely OK’.

I can summarise the lyrics fairly simply. Essentially it goes like this ….

Jesus is just alright with me, Jesus is just alright. Jesus is just alright with me. Jesus is just alright. Oh, yeah.

These words should be repeated over and over again with increasing enthusiasm, particularly when it gets to the ‘oh, yeah’ part.

Whilst I don’t doubt the pious honestly of the author (Arthur Ried Reynolds, for the record) I do question the imaginative effort that went into the writing of it. Most of all I have trouble finding it to be a convincing and well thought out argument in favour of devoting one’s life to the worship of a questionably credible ancient mythical icon. But I may have missed the subtleties.

In homage to this enduring masterpiece I offer my own, hastily cobbled together, religious piece. Should this be my last ever post (God forbid!) then you will know that I have been struck down by lightning for my blasphemies on Easter Monday.

Hades he was hot.

He was King of all the Dead

But he had no sense of humour

Is the rumour I have read

Athena she was smart

But quite a tart at night in bed 

Though not as bad as Venus

Who loved a penis, it’s been said

And Aphrodite, God almighty!

She was a goer, that’s for sure

Luring lusty sailors

From the safety of the shore

Apollo used to follow her

To watch how she’d behave

Whilst Poseidon, he was hidin’

In his underwater cave

Thor was such a bore

But God! That god could drink!

He’d fall asleep and then he’d snore

So loud you couldn’t think

Jehovah he was quite a dude

Don’t use his name in vain

To do so is just fucking rude

What that means I can’t explain

Jesus was his only son

They strung him up in underwear

Crucifixion. That was not much fun

But he’s alright. Oh, yeah!