Religion is language in itself. What are we talking about is the real question.

The sun shines hot and humid

Yet I have come to love this sweaty respite

Appreciate the fluffy clouds in the blue sky

 … we are nearing landfall

The flying fish swarms my beloved ship

She carries me over the salty sea in gentle knots.

My beloved at the market port awaits me

Ah … the gulls bid me welcome

I have in my chest a bounty of spice

Visions of the sun and its million stars

And the awesome expanse of space and space.

I will take my beloved in my faithful ship

And we will sail the waters together

We will call on strange harbours to trade and sing

We will see people of faraway lands

Eat their food and sing their songs

We will sail to the port on the other side

The joy of not reaching but sailing

The calm and the raging darkness

… The sea must own its own

The chemistry of my molecules are ripped

The nebula and the stars pulsate and scream

Across the heavens and my soul knows

Space begets space and yet she is not

And I am the sea that births a baby

I am the mountain that sheds tears of joy

I am the storm that tastes of the beach

And I am the planet that sails into the void

into the beautiful winds

when you feel the pain

of the eternally discontent

fooled and driven like animals

trinkets of treasured hope

when you feel the pain

of gentle tears and unlit silence

and know that there is true respite

from the fever of life

and you marvel at the simplicity

of snuffing out the insane

flickering on the candles in the glass

at the entrance of the church

then I know, I am death

destined to ferry souls to

the next place…

the assassin is the priest

and my prayers are said

to unravel the rope and let

fly the strands cut and cast

into the beautiful winds

that carry souls to oblivion

(28 Oct 2015)

O Gladsome Rage

I see the sky slowly rolling out

A bold canvas horizon to horizon

Swirling chemistry of dark shadows

So heavy it crackles under its weight

Suddenly the sky descends

Clutched by invisible gravity

Hot thick and smelling dust

Drenching bits of dry grass

And my face down to my feet

The trees are glad of heart too

… And yet it’s been raining for centuries

like this in all its indifferent glory

… yet here I am storm and dust

… and I will blow away and be no more

But today the storm breaks for me

Just for today… in gladsome rage

(21 Sept 2015)

I dreamt one night

I dreamt one night

that the universe was full of worlds

that humanity could inhabit

and the people there had

enough minerals in their bones

to outstrip all the mines of earth.

I dreamt that night

that all the people were kind

they built a great industrial plant

somewhere in time

that all their bones could be mined

clean and efficiently

… for a little fee.

It’s a terrible thing to be

It’s a terrible thing to be

God’s left hand, to be

the only stupid goat in the flock

munching the thorny crown

yet the comic show goes on

a circus feast of

the quintessential blood

of the virgin’s ill begotten

costumed clown almighty

uttering words in various shades

of stupidity

meaningless and forgotten

in spoofs of meaningless morals

the self is

foist and animate,

smitten and crushed

by the careless hand of God

I defy I rage

It is this I: God’s uncovered shame

drunk deep of sweeter grapes

Yet I live poisoned

by the toxic myths of the pure

of the holy and the insane

mingled in the wound

of bloody birth

made flesh by a woman

by the sins of my fathers

and I sing a litany

in praise of God’s mistakes

I is death today…

it’s a terrible thing

to be God’s left hand.

(27 April 2005)

A Villanelle

A Villanelle

I live a stranger in my life

a villanelle I cannot escape

with a parody in every line

a requiem mass I celebrate

as my annual rite of passage

I live a stranger in my life

every year I suffer a deja vu

of my posthumous life

with a parody in every line

my dreams run unabated

in my celluloid brain

I live a stranger in my life

I cannot close my eyes

and the script repeats over

with a parody in every line

but there are no shackles

and yet there is no escape

I live a stranger in my life

with a parody in every line

(30 April 2005)