®
isbn 0-9548420-0-6
isbn-13 978-0954842000
All Rights Reserved.
front cover artwork:
‘end of hue’ © 2005 Gavin John Kerrigan.
All Rights Reserved.
Let my imagination
laugh for me,
as I break
into the world,
poker faced
as a stoned apostle, true to the
flying invisible
kingdom,
i have outlined
to build.
From
Me
And
Friendly Demon
INTRODUCTION (11)
THE BATH 15
BLUE TICKET (IN) 17
THE BOOK OF POEM 21
LOST POEMS 34
THE BLACK DOT 43
THE ATOMIC BULLET COMIC (in three sections): 44
a. HIGH TEA 45
b. AN ESSAY AFTER A MOMENT IN
HISTORY 76
c. FINAL LOVE 86
BURNT ACROSS 97
MAGAZINE DRUGS (Reliquary: A and
Reliquary: B) 104
THE GLOWING ARM (in six sections): 114
a. SUMMIT OF THE EVENING 116
b. SEARCHING LIGHT 123
c. ALLEY POSTER 137
d. THE LAST POEM OF THE LAST POET 139
e. SARDONIC SCRIPT 159
f. OASIS NEWSPAPER 170
YOUNG MAN MAD WITH WORDS
(the battle scrolls in two sections): 181
a. LETTERS IN FADED INK 182
b. DEVOTION EXPLORATORY 201
KILLER-PROTECTOR 210
THE RED LETTER 213
THE EPIC 217
ODE TO HELL (land of the current hill) 226
THE LAST EXPLANATION (death defined) 229
THE YELLOW PAMPHLET 232
SLOW BOAT INTO THE SUN 241
THE INTOXICATED POEM (in six
sections): 242
a.THE LOWLINESS OF A LONG DISTANCE TRAVELLER 243
b. TREATY OF FALLS 253
c. THE PAPER 257
d. THE CHROMANTIC 261
e. JOURNAL OF A HUNTER (a page from The Poets Trench) 264
f. HOME 266
BLUE TICKET (OUT) 269
THE POETS SERMON 274
THE 24 HR FREAK-OUT 276
MANIFESTO 293
ASSIGNMENT (NO4) 298
I HAVE A FIERY VISION TO PROMOTE A SENSORY INFERNO 300
STRYCHNINE BISCUIT 306
CALIBRATED SUNSHINE 319
SUPERIOR SQUALOR 324
STAGGER AND BLEND 328
THE PURSUIT OF LIFE IN A RAM’S
SKULL SWIMMING IN SLUM SOUP 333
UNDER THE TANNING BALL 338
INTRODUCTION
All that I want to concern myself with is the rare vision of nature and to move amongst exceptional things, in the workshop of the imagination.
I came down to earth and realised the intentions of the gods had been impressed upon me, a gem of reconstruction encrusted into my paper crown ... I had been rewired into a new fool: an agent of the gods, a symbol of dark deviant beauty, a poet whose soul lies now in shards.
And so, I woke up just before the moon was expected to shine, then I went out to find intrigue and soon found myself tied to a gate with whip lashes across my back, it all didn’t make any damn sense ... but then the sun shot up and the ground started to burn my feet and the hot lord rose higher over my bowed head ... the birds began to jitter - the clouds began to litter - the drugs began to make me fitter; and then all in one high-octane adrenaline rush of appraisal for life, I dispersed the backropes and resisted the pearly gate and flew off richer, madder - more demented and most importantly free.
I had come full circle. I had abseiled to the lowest cringe. I had solo climbed up to the highest reality and had returned happier, whole, whole-hearted - fierce, fierce.
Lee Richard Kirsten (The Last Poet) THE POETS BIBLE a letchard inc odyssey Vol. 1-3Talons in the veins
of the wrist, grapple out from the falcons unbroken fist. Understand the heart of a man most, by his choice of weapon.
This entire happening, was once a dream.
Don t mind about dying, take the risk.
reach the seas
&
beach your knees on shores of gold.
This is only the start ...
AN INTEREST AT LARGE SEEN IN DETAIL
Oh God bless this ...
PICTURE PERFECT MOMENT
The first time if it is not, make it!
LEAD THE WAY - YOUR OWN EFFORTS THE HEART OF THE STORY
So indecent but so “the-in-thing”, we worship the light of the decade ...
AND BRICK DOWN FIRES
Slapping down virtuoso money, in the knowledge of our involvement & the stakes going up
EXPOSURE:
Sometimes I freak-out so much, believing in the sights and the sounds - when it is only a world of order & beautiful chaos
PRECEPT:
Breathe in - breathe out - stay true to the dream
BACK TO THE SCORE:
Living it one little day at a time
HOWL THE FRENZIED HOWL OF THE WEREWOLF GOD!
There is a new diatribe to sponsor B
The poem is as it falls
SYLLABUS ABYSS
There is eagerness in the versatility of restlessness
AND THE THING DRIVES ON ...
The innovator in fire, smoke and thunder assembled with demon and bohemian
CONCEIVE OF THIS:
Clouds pour bankless, over the street lamp looming over a quiet dark lonely road, hung & fritzing like a dying vein, underneath the collar of an outlaw, swinging from the gallows stage, as ...
EVERYTHING IS IMAGINED IN ONE REBELLIOUS SECONDManuscript of the moment
BUT IT ALL DISAPPEARS JUST LIKE THAT AND LEAVES AN INDELIBLE STAIN, THE CRIME SCENE POURING INTO THE NEXT RECEPTIVE BRAIN, I IMAGINE
CGrateful for dreaming & love; I must love
THE PROPHET MOVES ON ...
Appreciating the warm return of spiritual friends and places - but not for too long ...
SNAPSHOT OF REVOLT IN MY MIRROR:
A desperate journalist of an accidental society
SPOTLIGHT
Let it all hang out - your artistic Faust
A TREASURE WORTH FINDING ~ end
Strange phenomena crowd my mind in the hot sticky nights of
Augustine.
I run to escape this enchanted madness, but my naked body is entrapped in a web of blind hate. It tears at my soul, draining the love I once knew, fulfilling it
with destruction and hate.
My name is Lucifer, King of death.
Slowly the figure fades into the vastness, a shadow drags behind slothfully.
The sun beats down, vapourising
energy and will.
Voices stab the figure, encouraging disbelief.
Sweat pours down, running lines of exhaustion and tiredness.
Dropping into the loose sand,
the figure kneels and raging like the ocean, echoes out sweet blasphemy.
Mirages dance in the distance,
shimmering with deceitfulness.
Slowly the figure dies,
its ashes lay to rest,
in saddened disfigurement.
I see narcotics in funny shapes, sizes. I see needles, veins.
I see weird unexplained freedom. I stretch out my wings, feeling
flight - death.
Let me sleep the dreamless sleep,
no pain, just a heavenly gain.
I talk, my voice echoes in its box, my muted friends don’t answer; they’re dreaming themselves alive, leaving me to talk to God.
My marrow dries, my skin dies.
Let me sleep the dreamless sleep.
Ancient warlords ride sturdy horses
along dust blown paths.
With bodies of armour and hands of sword, the army gathers upon a hill.
Flags of cult whip in the wind.
Ready to do battle the war trumpet is sounded, bellowing over the plains of Persia.
The rumble of horses hooves beat the air, as the voices of men come together in the clashing of swords.
Triumphantly the victor is crowned.
Grievously the defeated is beheaded.
Romanticize all ye lovers.
Read poetry, sing songs, drink wine,
make love.
Give a budded rose to her, when it blossoms - the time will be right.
And just like the rose, you will
open up to one another, smelling the essence of love.
But be warned.
If the rose is still budded and you open up, your relationship shall be pricked by the thorns of life and both your hearts shall bleed,
Left to wither in the garden of weeds.
Her beige back and thigh, tans in the mid-day sun. The sand clings to her toes.
Running through the clear surf, the water almost eagerly splashes upon her breasts.
Her voice like soft music, tenderly caresses my ears almost seductively.
To touch her would be a treasure,
but she’s so far in my thoughts,
in my dreams.
Come here,
I love you.
Satin lovers
Mexican dreamers
Swan lake dancers
Spanish fly seductions
Provocative woman with idol bodies, out for a trip.
Can you trust them.
In your mind, you imagine - controlling thoughts and time.
You blow out the sun,
You touch the moons face,
You can sculpture mountains,
Control nature,
Destroy enemies,
Your arms are wings, soaring through Currents.
You are invisible,
You are a god
Creating your own world
Your paradise.
Indulge in something light.
Observe panoramic views, linked with space and time.
Sip the pink champagne sky with its bubbly delight, feel the creamy clouds melt slowly down, chilling your throat.
Talk to the peregrines gods of flight.
The pendulum is timing us.
Walk in the palace of Sultan rule, smell the money, steal the jewel.
Crush the grape - taste the wine, pure from the vine sweet divine.
The pendulum is chasing us.
Horizons are yellow, orange and blue.
Gulls fly south.
The water is shaking with lines of white, the night is blue, full of fright.
Champagne turns the colour of the night, its bubbles bring out stars and comets.
The pendulum is dimming.
Serpents bite the moon, poisoning the darkness. If you are brave it will not bite, ease your doubts feel its painted cold, smooth skin; look into its eyes, protect your kin.
Kiss its pout.
Lick its fang, have respect it’s a King.
Give him wings - he will fly like a dove.
Give him spine - he will bite your heel.
NIGHT
The frailty of relentless thought fades, into the dark open night.
The forest is wet and damp.
Voices are heard through the trees
as the wind passes gently, sending a chill all around. The eeriness of crept up haunt, stalks its lonely and horrified prey, as wild beasts are formed in the clouds arrayed.
On the earth, hasty footsteps crackle to the sound of withered leaves, scattered across the unwary trail, to defeat,
to destruction.
A loud noise echoes through the cool midnight breeze.
A sharp blinding light pierces through the heavens. I look up in glorified amazement, looking into the face of purity and grace.
I feel my soul stirring deep within.
Then, the holy one raises his hand and I feel all my earthly burdens been lifted.
My naked body rises gently and I feel the warmth of God’s love wrap me tightly, for eternity.
Halo perimeters
Timid saints
Young virgins in gorgeous blood shed. Bent crucifixes displaying
a repulsive and distorted figure of Christ,
Hypocritical confessional boxes,
stained glass windows.
Brass bells ringing - bringing together
communion and gathering.
Priesthood indoctrination - feasting on the good Lord’s body in desecration: breaking bread,
drinking wine - flesh and blood intertwine.
The 666 beast has risen.
Setting suns stagger down a darkened alley, to their home fires & tea beside the telly, after a day’s job, well done.
Darkness draws its shadows, like vampire fangs growing longer - greater, crawling over the
sun’s warmth - cooling fever - with great cool & vacancy.
Hasty shore waters rush like salty dogs after sticks, bashing the sand smooth. The moon cuts a white path over the glassy water and the splashing drops of fizzy sea, that foam onto our squirming tongues,
they burn our soft skin throats, like seamen.
It’s very late & it stinks here, but I am wide-open & in waiting.
LAST NIGHT
I found her at a party last night. She was a rich golden honey blonde, with a broad innocent smile and helpful nature.
The memories I recall out of my
beverage mind are so wide and vague,
that my perspective is slanted.
Guardian carriage got me here safe.
I was drunk,
my sleep seemed restless,
as though drawn out and made up of thoughts and not dreams, because it was a
shallow rest.
As I write, my mind is still clogged by the same, some what percentage of a
dark burning evil water.
The nakedness of their bodies, is
radiated under the cool midnight.
With wet back and thigh, they make warm love. Entering into the game of foreplay, he feels her sensual wetness.
Her inner beauty welcomes him deeply:
rising, stiffening.
Slowly he caresses her tender breasts,
kissing them with care.
The sound of lovemaking and arousal fills the nights air - rhythmically.
Newly weds carry each other tight over the threshold of dreams:
a white picket fence, crackling fireplace, cat and dog, boy and girl playing on a setting hill
silhouettes fade.
Renovation is needed, cracks are opening, the garden is dying, dog kills cat, children are sick, dad beats mom.
Wedlock vows are derailed, the train leaves its carriage entering into courtroom divorce, alimony settlement, family feud -
the children are confused.
Their parents have broken the seal,
the shiny gold band ring, it’s in their past Till death do us part?
Inspirational juice, so succulent it gives life.
It’s like citrus birth, a new season, with different
ideas, all growing - dropping seeds that set us forth into another dimension, making us the pith of idea. Everything we make revolves around us, description is interpreted from unspoken thought, that we could never put out to the bleak, unsighted world of people with no depth - soon should they laugh at our words, for they are of amoeba nature, overpowering with their mass consciousness & insect rebellion The Invidual’s thoughtfulness, with vociferous bogus words & actions of no higher meaning.
The Druids of Time sit in candle lit rooms, smoking inspirational herb, wandering into pens and paper of imaginary rhymes that form shapes and emotions, dressed up in words that change the lives of the animated.
We are the Druids, philosophers of time and romantic charm.
Our words are in the hills, over the seas, crashing out into cores of dense molten,
filling the earth with
upliftment.
Saving the human race from thought drought. BETRAYAL OF TWO TIMES (The Garden)
Two betrayals spread out evenly, the beginning and the end.
Two gardens proposing death in the hidden.
Deception from these two kinds led us to be born - for a blood
so new stained our future, saving us from the sacrifice.
Isn’t it true that the Serpent
and Judas’ greed were as ripe as the fruits that brought us here and in that poisoned our choice.
Can you imagine the first shedding
invocation of a difference.
Innocence is cruel, like an extremely trusting Lamb led to the slaughter.
Innocence makes each and everyone of us victims, all following the new order of death
rising to a new life of naked rebirth.
Many of us betray ourselves, kissing death on the cheek.
Young death so appealing, you can fall in love with it.
My death was so ripe, so fruitful that it changed life.
I do not blame my elders or the great teachers for my death. I was just turned on by its thrill, it was so different.
I wanted to see what was on the other side.
WISDOM
Sitting here in my study mire, what can I from knowledge acquire?
Dog-eared; brittle, leathery books lay dust dormant on these study shelves.
What can I acquire I plead - is it fame, fortune, a degree or wisdom;
all three can make me happy, but wisdom I guess all men seek in the fortified depths of life.
The world cannot cheat a wise man - only he himself. So what do I do great source of unseen presence? What can make me solemn and wise?
‘Wisdom is found in yourself and your reality with life and how much you are willing to see in the unseen. Seek wisdom out, don’t wait for it to find you.’
O great Visage, source of life, touch my eyes, ears, mouth and heart, to make me understand the world clearer.
UNTITLEDEager to down the biting snake holding firm
its body clear its venom golden.
Fool you are
to be in its lure.
A numb head
heavy feet.
Another side - wish you were here, wish you could feel me,
All the moments passed and outlived, we have either made into movie or poem.
The record of time never ceases to end, keeping the diamond on track and in tune to the labyrinth lives we have led.
Obstacle on obstacle, pain bound with obstacle is void of expression, like a lost proposal to a
mute girl.
I was once told to forget
the expectant eye and close my own to the audience of pressure.
Staying in a world of your own is safer
collusion with another could be disastrous, for the bits retained might not be your own.
Ancient photograph, scale of time
preserved with memory kept with a glance.
The young never get old and the old never die. Eyes re-occur in the smiling of pain,
to the mourner
who kills the dream with drink.
We walked
and talked
and got lost in
our words,
at the end of our
conversation we found ourselves in some
other vicinity.
Words have got us where we are today
- back.
THE END
I lay clasped in the hand of my master, guided through
passion and dream.
Hungry highway
slowly feeding
the insatiable City, traffic.
Behind the wheel
like patterns steered
we, traffic.
Into contemporary needs & new ways to feed the City’s magnet
we, traffic.The City is not a place where we assemble for our way of life,
it is where we stir up
to honour our toast with, traffic jam.
Poignant rebuke
under a wilful crucifix.
Paused suspension in sudden outcry
will he release himself and discard the
thorny branch, or shall he give up, sink his head and fade into the throng?
Don’t you remember his words that stood bold and made you cry.
Have you forgotten already?
‘Why did you leave me and
join the goats, ramming
the blunt tool into my palm,
causing blood to spill over the tree, over the hill that firmly supported my thorn.’
extracting it from the pretence
Amen
SACRED BOWER
‘I shall make the uninvited guest informal and forecast a canopy of caustic to ooze the pious entrant.’
Dark, dazed side effects, equally weird and evil. To touch would be immediate entry.Mist or steam.
Settling or rising.
Settling next to her under the sheets. Rising discreetly, discreetly pouncing.
Caught tight in an outfit of fornication,
never out growing it, never vowing.
It comforts, proper and sober, for all what she is, is a mother figure of option.
I do not wish to blindly propagate or lustfully in discomfort to connect and disconnect in the selfish hour.
A minute of love overpowers all these aspects modestly, with accomplishment.‘Offer him something, quick, quick.’
‘Tea or whiskey sir?’
‘Are you finding it perennial between the words or shall you cope?’
‘Uh! Whiskey please if you do.’
Cold growing di