Well that was last week
& this is now
& yes …
it actually is
to him
This President of the United States
who has just endorsed
an accused
child-molestor …
…
THE PRESIDENT OF THESE HERE
UNITED STATES
HAS ENDORSED
AN ACCUSED
*******!
…
“He denied it”
says Trump,
of Roy Moore
this man who has 8,
yes …
8 women accusers …
together with witnesses
from the time,
& corroborative evidence
from the time,
& tears …
from the time,
& fear …
from the time,
…
& if there’s special
place in hell
let it house
Trump
& Moore
& Moore’s enablers
& Republican justifiers
& equivocating TV hosts
& the Evangelical apologists
…
& as for Trump
& as for Moore …
the moral bankruptcy here
leads me to simply say
in anger, disgust & horror …
may the dark pitiless depths
of a sulfurous burning pit
be their’s for eternity,
…
or close to.

“How these gals came up with this,
I don’t know.
They must have had some
sweet dreams somewhere
down the line.”
…
Oh yes for sure
Pastor Earl Wise,
sweet, sweet dreams
of violent ****** assault
in a locked vehicle
in a dark car park
behind the diner
in the dead of night,
…
“Plus,
there are
some 14-year-olds
who …
the way they look,
could pass for 20,”
…
Oh I know
just take a little
look at that
little 14 year
one over
there’s,
easy to see
as 20,
so easy.
…
“I don’t know
how much
these women
are getting paid,
but I can only believe
they’re getting
a healthy sum,”
…
Oh yes,
perhaps George Soros,
or some secret Jewish
liberal slush fund,
or perhaps those
homosexuals,
wouldn’t put
it past them,
no sirree Bob.
…
Earl Wise is a Christian,
just to let
you know,
just in case …
you were wondering
& such,
him being a Pastor
& all.

In a sign of
the complete & utter
moral capitulation
to the designs of power
& the primacy of the old
stone cold ‘ends justify means’
the leader of the United States
Republican Party just this morn
came out in whole-hearted
personal actual phone-call support
of an accused ******* & someone who
was actually on a mall watch list
as a grown assed man …
Roy ‘Ten Commandments’ Moore.
….
& if this news doesn’t just get to you as
it should then you obviously
contain a heart of depthless
dense dark blackness
& find it oh so
easy to quite
simply ignore
the tears
of the assaulted,
an attempted ****,
& innocent
child victims of
this man’s vile pursuit
of pleasure, power
& evil gratification.
…
******* you Moore,
Trump & all who
enable …
That’s it.

… & crawls drooling to the fresh putrid grave
of one recently deceased Charlie Manson
to perform midnight esoteric rituals of rebirth
& renewal as kneeling en masse before
the still fresh soil Manson’s bitter gnarled
fingers appear from below to scoop & clear
the way for his primed & rested body to
leap free like some rancid steaming genie
set loose once more upon the world,
…
whilst McConnell, Hatch & the esteemed
Mo Brooks of Alabama await graveside in
their cloaks of be-dazzling mirrored splendour
to lend succor to the newly reborn & just plain
get their will done ethics be ****** & sure
as **** he’s Charlie but lets put the past behind
us & march on forth to a sweet new world of
righteous Christian revenge, massaged &
pleasured millionaire classes & a stranded
& forlorn weak & weary everyday folks who
by gosh darned if they can’t make it on their
own … then … ah shucks, so be it.
…
The fresh & revitalized Charlie was then oh
so politely & with just so much deference
escorted red-carpet-like to an awaiting golden
chariot headed by two gleaming & snorting
whiter than white horses whose whip-lash
reins were grasped oh so tightly by one
Donald J. Trump in all his fatuous orange
glory …
…
& the victorious vehicle of Republican
moral victory carried its newly crowned
poster-child, Ambassador of Goodwill,
Our Boy **** Right He Is! to the
hallowed halls of Congress for a rapturous
near-incandescent welcome & general
‘got you now leftist America’ parade of
Glory, Glory God Almighty Lookee
Here … deal with it ****.

Kissinger's in the House today,
trailing choking ****** fumes
kicking aside limbless tiny bodies
too, too innocent by far,
all dripping entrails & shattering
dry bones gladly underfoot
as he lopes horrendously
all death rictus grin & such
as he once again justifies
to St Peter at the gates
the millions crushed, obliterated
blown into tiny misty red fragments
as he played his all-mighty diplomatic
history lessons on a helpless, distant
once green & fertile land.

Forgiveness? Ha!

And we're off ...
the week has started ...

is it every day we're reminded
how fucken dense this man is?

how utterly, immeasurably ignorant
is this solid mass of orange nothingness
that's tinged with the green of envy,
the dark bile of bigotry,
& the ever present yellow
of moral cowardice,

shaded with coal black
labyrinthian hollows & dense thickets
of double-speak & blatant
lies.

Oh this man!

This pitiful caricature of every
far-too-rich fat cat you laffed at
in the Sunday comix,

all over-fed yet never satisfied,
trophy wife upon his velvet arm,
shy & lonely son left to play with imaginary
friends in a gilded palace of pillowed luxury
& golden gushing faucets of milk & honey
& all those fancy trinkets that declare to
himself each day,
... "Oh how I've made it!"

This bottomless well,
this mind of vacancies &
negative sub-atoms,
pure void of edgeless darkness
infinite & oh so very still,

this encyclopedia of the vacuum,
this mole of the intellect,
this dustbin of the present,
overflowing with inane
***-bits of elemental
irrelevance,
this!

& the horror is of course
that 60 odd million Americans
gave this jestered fool
the reins of power
in the most powerful
& consequential
nation on this
fragile & hurting
one & only
planet earth.

Americans ... Is it just Americans you're talking
about here Trump? ...
those chosen,
those special people,
those singular red-blooded people,

because I'm a little confused here
as you didn't seem to consider Syrian
refugees as bleeding the same red blood
even when it flowed so freely for them over
there in their pitiless homeland,

& Hispanic immigrants,
they bled red too,
or being rapists & murderers
was it a tainted red?

& black folks?
was their blood red?
from reading your White Supremacist
re-tweets I figured darker skinned Americans
had some innate handicaps or un-American
tendencies & thus their blood was a might
different to us white folks,

& Muslims?
do they bleed red too?
or is it a special breed of red,
an Islamic red?
a special sort of red that favors
deportation as says Brietbart news
or that forbids them entry as per your
unforgivable attempt at en-masse criminalization.

There was no bleeding of the same red blood
as you appealed to the lowest denominator in
white folk bigotry during your successful rise
to top of the heap in Republican vengefulness,
bitterness & just plain Supremacist American
red blooded horror was there?

No, there wasn't.

Can we feel a fearful nausea as we sense the
gate to the pit of hell gently open & two blazing
red eyes gleam oh so malevolently as they gaze
out into the world for fresh victims,
but of course ...

Can we feel a hatred a deep that it seems out of all
proportion but actually when we ponder it at night
& see parades of washed-up, drowned, sodden
refugee children littering sandy shores,
but of course ...

Can we feel a loathing so profound when we realize
that what he's doing is really with all this is filling
his own coffers with mounds of gold while grinning
so awfully at the suckers he makes of us all,
but of course ...

Can we feel an anger so encompassing that at times
it seems to consume us in its vast inescapable darkness
as we see the old folks hunger, the sick get sicker, the
weak get weaker,
but of course ...

Can we desire some sort of cathartic & ****** revolution
where heads site agape & vacant on spikes & sweet sisters
of the revolution storm ramparts & free prisoners & then
round up their own amongst the swelling bloated rich
& the eternal enemies of the people,
but of course ...

Can we feel o.k. with these thoughts, these fantasies born
of an acute & abiding knowledge of how awful these times
are & promise to be & embrace them & shout them from
the rooftops & declare in all honesty,

******* you & swift be the justice, amen.

Trump rallied today
which in plain language
means he absorbed the adoration
of a large group of white folks all red-hatted
& sign-waving as if the election was still going
on & Gods Chosen walked among them one more
time just for the fun of it,

& he trotted out the usual enemies of their illusion
& his incompetence & blatant lies,
the press …

for if its daily being pointed out that you fail,
lie & basically don’t know what the hell you’re
doing then labeling those who point this out as
‘enemies of the people’ is I guess one way to
handle it,

& he played the tunes & he pontificated & simple
minded angry Americans praised him to the skies
& felt better about life as The Great Leader promised
better days even though he’s basically done very little
to help your average folk & the courts have challenged
his attempted edicts & his wall is still unfunded & his
tax cuts essentially give more money to rich folks,
but never mind,

‘Make America Great’ resounded through the stadium
as the white common folks found their voice, their man,
their savior & the rich get richer, & the seas get higher,
& the ice melts, & the innocent get deported & Planned
Parenthood gets defunded & we essentially enter a new
age of barbarism, ignorance & good old down home
flag waving victory of the deluded, fooled & just plain
simple.

This tuesday April 25th in the year of the lord 2017
being in a good, good mood & wishing to send love
& solidarity to all innocent living beings upon this
fragile lonesome earth I hereby declare my complete
& undying love for the lowly but almost beyond magnificent
Praying Mantis,

that sweet  & oh so delicate creature,
that green being which rests so tranquil upon twig & branch
legs as hands, as in prayer, as pleading, attentive & so, so
quiet,

All Power to the small green creatures & all recognition of
their undeniable right to walk this earth in peace & joy as
any of us oh so arrogant two-legged blundering creatures
supposedly made in god's image,

I have seen god in the form of the Mantis, & sure enough
its beauty & light is beyond magnificent.

Beam that love now.

There is a small town in the far north
of India which sits just about the
base of the Himalayas & I had a
a small adventure there as I played
the game of bailing out some friends
on a dope charge from the stockade
where the chief smoked hashish with
a smile & a jailed sadhu who’d chopped
someone’s head off in a ritual because
he became the goddess Kali for awhile
taught the four of them some yoga,

but mostly I remember it because of the
complete & utter peace I found to be just
sitting by the river & letting the sound of it
as it tumbled through the rocks wipe my
mind clean & I was at peace at last,

but I moved on after awhile to the town
of Simla further north & there I saw a
dancing bear & the Himalayan snows
& so I guess there are always new places
to be aren’t there.

George Best had it,
Wily Coyote tries so hard
that we have to
give it to him,

Gandhi for some reason
doesn't have it
special
though he is,

Geronimo has it,
as does Cochise,
Back Elk
& Sitting Bull,
actually Custer has
a little too,
despite all
his failings,

& the dude who jumped
from space,
has it,
oh yes he does,

& Woodpeckers have it
as do Kingfishers,
& Tigers have it,
for **** sure,
but then
so do
Lemurs,

Great Whites
just ooze it,
cannot argue
with that one,

San Francisco has it
L.A. doesn't,
Detroit did have it,
& deserves to
win it back,

***** has it,
though who can
know that
these days,
English food
definitely doesn't,
oh but Thai,
oh Thai
really does,

my son has it,
when he's
all done up
for a
school concert,
or actually
any old time
really,
cos I just
see to
in him.

On the Bart today some young
African-American kids got on &
one girl had a Black Lives Matter
t-shirt on,

I wanted to say hello & very nice
shirt but of course I didn't for a
multitude of reasons but it
did leave me feeling alright with
the world for once,

that she'd worn this to school
& taken the effort to show to
the world her statement & her
solidarity this tuesday afternoon,

still caught up in the glow as
I write this to be honest.

Young Donald is so very bigly hoping
that he can rest his fat golden *** in
the Queen's oh so golden carriage
when he visits those green, green lands
as he's used to sitting on golden stuff
& it makes him feel so very ...
special & important,

he's instructed his minions to pull strings
twist arms & just plain plead for this to be
allowed as he is just all pumped about the
idea of sticking his big orange head out of
the golden carriage so as he can wave to
the adoring multitudes,

it might even be better than the time they
allowed him to sit in that big, big truck &
toot that big, big horn ...

oh my is he excited.

Me ... I hope there's a riotous seething mob
that makes the storming of the bastille look
like a rowdy friday night at the pub,
but me,

I guess I'm just a dreamer.

Our Great & Wise Leader was just so busy
basking in his omnipotent all-knowingness
& radiating light that reached the four corners
of the world where millions were at this very
moment reflecting on the so, so many Time
covers he'd graced that our Huge Orange One
needed a nudge from his missus to snap him
out of his bigly reverie in which his coffers were
filling, & his bigness was getting bigger & his triumph
over all living beings was being chorused in the very
heavens above,

oh lord he was lost for awhile there as he forgot
to put his hand over his heart
during the anthem,

thanks Melania.

The pure core of The Donald,
that is when he's stripped down
to his essential essence much like
the very last doll in the Russian doll
set-up where one reveals another is
colored green & has pictures of
Washington, Hamilton, & Jackson
includes a religious proclamation
together with some esoteric Masonic
or such magic pyramid with an all-seeing
floating eye & an eagle grasping vegetation
in its claws as curious almost tantric circles
overhead & Latin sayings abound all tattooed
& water-marked to stop counterfeiters
& numbered & in series & signatures
& bold, bold numbers ...

the core of The Donald is denominated & in
the very greenest of greens.

You all do realize I hope that
Republicans McConnell, Rubio,
Chaffetz, Hatch, & Paul Ryan
all forcefully denied Obama's
2013 request to Congress for
authorization to strike in Syria
after Assad's use of chemical
weapons in the city of Ghouta,
they all answered an emphatic
No! ...

with various shades of political
double-talk, America First, &
"oh look where it might lead"
pontificating & conservative
posturing,

but now! ...

oh now when Trump launches
a missile strike they're all praise
and "God Bless America" &
proud, & pumped & feeling
like real Americans again,

oh good god the hypocrisy,
the shallow interest driven
ethics, the lies, the brazen
pretence & self-serving
awfulness of these cold
calculating humans of
ours.

Well ...
truth be told
that's not actually true
if we are realistic & honest,

it's an attempt by the weak
& the down-trodden
& the wronged
to find some sort of relief 
by saying to themselves
"Oh, the Lord
will judge ...
or ... you'll get what's coming"

when in fact there's is no reason
why the bad guy should get
any natural reckoning
is there?

there is no heaven & pearly gates,
no karmic law of justice & retribution,
read some Nietzsche if you need
philosophical reasoning to work
this out but really its plain as
day isn't it,

justice & accounting & all such
righting of wrongs are all up to
us simple skin & bone humans,

God doesn't judge,
& you don't get reborn
as a lowly grasshopper
you don't ...
sorry to say perhaps.

Justice is not thine oh lord,
vengeance & judgement
are ours & ours alone,
don't waste time waiting
for some unseen but inevitable
law of the universe.

Act!

Donald found it quite the final & totally
last straw that little children were being
gassed & slaughtered horribly in Syria
& so sent over some missiles at $1 million
a pop but before doing so let the Russkies
& Assad know they were coming & even
then deliberately managed to avoid actually
hitting the runways which if you were not
aware are actually a vital component of a
runway & so today said airport is back in
operation,

so Donald was so deeply moved by dying
children that he put aside his refugee ban
& his muslim ban & his overseas aid cuts
& his previous dismissal of Obama's attempts
to act & sent off a few missiles but first let
the bad guys know they were coming.

Donald is moved,
oh yes indeed
so moved.

From the street below
comes drifting
into my
scented room ...

to grow
& grow ...
the sound
of many voices
harmonious
in song,

unable at first
to comprehend ...
but then realizing
"Om Namah Shivaya"
is being repeated
over & over ...

a hymn of praise
from the mouths
& hearts
of women
& girls
to the Great
Lord Shiva,

& it will continue
all evening long.

Leaping & striding
comes a passing chaos
of ashen men,

adorned in chalks
of blue & grey,

glorious in cloth
of red & gold,

with a tiger-skin
glimpsed rippling
upon shoulders bare,

& as royalty
perched atop elephants,
beasts lumbering & bedecked,

ancient people
their mouths to shell & trumpet,

to announce
the moment
this late
afternoon.

Come back Barack ...
oh my how we miss
you so,

I know you weren't perfect
in that Commander in Chief
bombing innocent folks overseas
sort of way,

but Sweet Jesus at least
you are not Trump,

you had some natural dignity
as a decent man with his heart
in the right place for most of
the time & you tried, at least
you tried to make things better
for all folks,

& you could shed a tear for the
children & you could take a joke
& you could chuckle with the
best of them & you did have
good dance moves & your
hair wasn't some sort of
freeze-dried candy floss
sort of thing,

& you didn't re-tweet Fascists,
& didn't scapegoat, & lie, & work
every single angle possible to
put a few more dollars in your
bank account,

& you had a keen intelligence for
important things such as the health
of your citizens & the world they live
in & you wouldn't say Islamic terrorism
because you knew it was a dangerous
& short-sighted & in the end truly awful
way to play into the hands of the enemy,

& you kneeled down to talk to kids in
mini-pope mobiles, & you had an honesty
& a calm reasoned approach that even
if that was too much at times at least
you didn't jump into the fire and wade
in the dark morass of prejudice & ignorance,

& you didn't appoint all your family to
powerful positions so they too could work
that dollar angle & you didn't promise
idiocies to gullible desperate idiots &
you at least weren't a ****** predator
& a two-bit snake-oil salesman who
worked a three-card monte with a
'University' so as to fleece the believers,

& you weren't called Donald Trump &
you were at least a Democrat & son of
a gun look at us now!

Kristina Palten walked ...
yes, walked,
through the Islamic country of Iran
an ancient land & a journey
of 1144 miles on foot,

day one she cried with fear
& yet as day followed day
she was met by strangers
giving food, water & offers of
shelter for the night,

she shared breakfast,
lunch & dinner with
Islamic families from
an Islamic country,

& Kristina Palten
leaves me with a
genuine feeling
of warmth & sincere
respect,

Kristina Palten
I am in awe
& send my
very best greetings.

"I don't care ...
I don't care ..."

Well I would to be honest ...

I'd miss them those long-hairs
with their bongos, flowers &
hula hoops, long skirts, velvet
jackets, bells & sweet scented ****
& smiles & trying just to be happy
& leaving you all behind with your
exploitation & misery & wars & death
& sullen brown slow decay,

I would care,

"if all the hippies
cut of  
all their hair"

I would.

Hendrix lives ... by sweet Jesus yes he does!

The redwoods were so immensely
present and just plain there! ...
as we stood at the base
and looked up & into
the filtering bright
sunlight and
the high, high
branches,

that I wished I was
seventeen again & that
I could take some Acid
& just plain put my
arms around them
& oh so softly weep,

it would have been a beautiful
moment that I would cherish
forever & lord almighty would
I have felt so much better
about all & everything.

Tamla Motown,
my soccer team Tottenham
for so many sweet memories,
my old girlfriend Stella ... I know
I should have Stella,
I know,

tigers,
brown bears & the lowly centipede,
Charlie Chaplin, that old ****** son of a gun,
Laurel & Hardy, just because ...
Tarkovsky movies ... Toshiro Mifune,

anything with custard,
apple pie,
fresh bread,
Indian folks for the way they
shake their heads for yes,
Indian folks for their god
that charming Ganesh,
books,

Sci-fi movies ... lots of them anyway,
children laughing,
children playing,
& thus playgrounds,

serious folks who pay attention,
Anarchists ... of course,
my old grannie for her
attentions,
English food when it actually
works,

trees,
birds, bees,
old Chinese folks up at dawn
to collect cans,
& my Facebook friends,
take care you all now.

Are they human those folks out there
who gut legislation to protect us all &
each & every breathing life-form on this
fragile Earth of ours?

Are they?

Does their blood flow as you & I or is
it replaced at night by limping hunch-backed
servants as they rest stiffly at night in
lead coffins secure under oh so normal
looking suburban ranch houses?

Does it?

Do they eat as we do by which I mean
placing food in their mouths & biting
down or is some weird looking dry
space-man looking powder flown in
daily from the planet Zarcon to be
diluted with strange lethal brews &
sipped stealthily at midnight?

Do they?

Do they reproduce by means of some
hideously ***** placing of certain parts
in other certain parts while gathering in
naked groups at certain designated rural
retreats from which even the males leave
pregnant & ready to pop after only 7 days,

Do they?

Are they human these vile creatures more
akin to loathsome phantoms from a deep inky
black darkness that is a child's feverish
nightmare in that they move on two legs
but suddenly you realize as they close in
that Sweet Jesus what the **** have I
encountered late at night in this dark alley?

Are they?

And do they mutter in a low vibration too dense
for normal folks to catch a solemn hymn of praise
to some Dark Overlord or All-Powerful unforgiving
master of theirs who resides fathoms deep in
a sullen barren cave of ignorance & cynical
pitiless laughter?

Do they?

Republicans ... are they human?

Would you rather the majestic pure white polar bear had a home in this world or that Paul Ryan took a slow, slow boat
to China & then turned around & came back, & then again,
& again?

... the humble Praying Mantis was able to bask in the sunshine
on a leaf of its choosing or that Trump was locked away for
70 years in a dank & dismal people's cell?

... all the bees, & all the dainty flying creatures could buzz here & there as was their want or that Mitch 'Gruesome' McConnell was marooned forever on a distant deserted isle?

... the startling life-form that is coral could take its own sweet time covering rocks & outcrops & undersea crags or that Mike Pence quite suddenly & terminally lost his ability to function in any way whatsoever?

... the soon-to-be starved nomadic people, the soon-to-be flooded
coastal peoples & the soon-to-be parched farmers of India were to be given direct financial & physical assistance by expropriated & toiling Masters of Industry & sundry media lackeys?

... that the delicate flowers, the tall & mighty trees, the vital green, green grass could just a go on going on, & anyone, anyone at all who ticked that box declaring Climate Change a hoax be pitilessly overseen constructing vital networks of deep, deep canals, oh for the remainder of their natural life?

... Would you rather one less Republican politician or one less soaring & majestic wind-tumbling vulture?

... Would you rather ...

Well ...
that's it then,
we're officially done,
game about over ...

life as we know it now forever
changed by some ignorant
two-bit hustler in the White
House who signed off today
on a 'freeing from regulation'
something Capitalists have a deep
yearning for, look it up, & thus leading
to 4 years of pollution, toxic gases, rising
seas, dying wildlife, flooded villages & soon
worldwide shortages & drought & death ...

but America will be o.k. with it's hamburgers,
beans, & Doritos ... so I guess its just tough for
the rest of you's cos we'll be just dandy in this
here Land of the Free.

******* you Republicans till Hell freezes over
& the humble bear hunts for the last time.
... coming sooner than later after this morning.

I'd like them all
each & every one
down to the last
smug,
self-satisfied,
smart,
oh-so-smart
deniers,

lined up,
arm in arm,
just standing there
waiting ...
at the sea-shore,

& planting
tiny sticks
with flags
representing the
yet to be born
whose families
will find
their villages,
their homes,
their whole history
& livelihood
gone ...
under water,
gone.

I'd make them all
spend day
after day
constructing walls
with grains of sand
to stem the tide,

& I'd like a few
of the most
powerful ones
to simply, really,
just
stay there,
as the tide rolled in
& the waves washed the shore.

Deniers ...
may somehow
you just
be there
RIGHT
when
it happens.

William ...
we need you now,
come on back,

soft-shoe-shuffle on back,
mordantly wander
on back,
undertaker-drag
on back,

comment on the conventions,
acidly notice things,
flagrantly ...
destroy things,

whilst muttering mutations,
just plain cut-the-rug
right out
from under,

the creationists,
the snake-handlers,
the dumb-**** religionists,
the paranoid drug czars,
the oh so ignorant
blonde talking heads,
that *******
Zimmerman,

The war is still being fought,
and Uncle Bill ...
We need you!

It is called 'The Painting'
& begins with a line
containing the word
black,

which made me think of charcoal,
which then led to the drawings
composed by students
when I modeled
in art school,

& then the poem goes on
to speak of
'a delicate lock of blond hair'

& I picture the fair-haired girl
who I never spoke to
but whose shy & inviting smile
haunts me now,

& I wonder how it might have been,
our friendship.

An aqua-marine dragonfly
hovers in the clarified
light of dusk,
I walk slowly
the risen earth pathway
through the vibrant
green fields
on the outskirts
of the village.

A bell tolls once,
arresting in silence
the moment of foot-fall,
making real
the careful route
along the trodden path
to my house.

As evening comes
we drink tea
& all watch
as a blind man
approaches slowly
along the beach,

feeling his way
amongst us
to ask
for the same
as the tape-deck
plays the song
"Helpless ... helpless ... helpless."

If Earth First are still with us anymore
& they have some sort of ultra-militant
underground band of dedicated & utterly
uncompromising soldiers ready to defend
their mother earth at the drop of a hat &
of course after some careful preparation
could they please just get on with it before
its too late & carry this man off to a dingy
basement where he can watch re-runs
of This Living Planet while in-between-times
peasant farmers & fishermen directly affected
by rising sea levels as we speak come before
him to tell their tales & weep.

Having removed my shoes,
how different!
as I enter the temple.

                                                     By the bank of the river,
                                                     pointing to God,
                                                     - the washer-man.

The young prostitutes
laughing
as they bought new shoes.

                                                      Smo­king,  
                                                      with an old man,
                                                      I cannot pretend to be otherwise.

Just one fresh salad
would lead
to twenty-one days sickness.

                                                      ­ Night-time has fallen,
                                                       hundreds of thousands of bodies,
                                                       lying draped in the streets.

Tied to a coconut tree,
drying in the sun,
the tail of a manta ray.

                                                       Believing he was Kali,
                                                       he chopped off a head,
                                                       yet his smile was so gentle.

Twilight on the hotel verandah,
witnessing huge black fruit-bats,
cascading from the trees.

                                                       That cloudy afternoon,
                                                      ­ a boy & I chased a rat,
                                                       our shorts & sandals dancing.

From the fog by the bridge,
softly the transvestite would call,
each winter's moon.

                                                       As I wander the temple
                                                       swallows dart to & fro,
                                                       - the cool stone!

The beautiful children
holding lengths of thread
with large hornets
attached,

tied by one leg
and flying again
& again
around
their heads.

Freshly bathed & shivering
in the cool weak sunlight
of the early morning
the boy returns
to his bed,

the quiet young couple
who sleep gently nearby,
prepare their first
sweet smoke
of the morning
as a string is drawn
back & forth inside
the chillum pipe
to clean it,

& then the hashish is warmed
so as to soften it before  
it's crumbled & mixed
with the tobacco from
a broken cigarette
kneaded in the
palm of the hand,

a small stone is placed inside
to anchor the mix yet
leave room for air
to flow & then
a damp rag is
wrapped around
the narrow end
to cool the smoke,

the woman holds the pipe
quite intricately it seems
to you at first but it's just
to create a space
so as to draw the
mix deep into
her lungs,

"Bom Siva Shankar"
intones the man as
she places her mouth
upon the joined hands
and draws that first
fiery draught
of purest black
Afghani hashish.

The chillum circulates
& the day has begun
as the youth of a
rejected Western World
envelop themselves
in the smell of dung
fires, incense, &
the Krishna chant
from the small
idol at the
corner
nearby.

As the fingerless *****
grasps my hand
in a gesture of friendship,

persistent groups
of ***** children
tug at my sleeves,

whilst pink-eyed in the sun
the lone albino
stumbles
in the gutter,

in which the starving dog
furiously devours
fresh human waste;

& the helpless young man
withe the twisted limbs
lies gazing at the pitiless sky,

where the red & blue
paper kite
sways slowly in the breeze,

above the huge white cow,
sitting placidly
in the middle of the road,

beside which
the family of five
begin their evening meal.

Can a pretty girl
in a short red dress
take away
this emptiness?

Hold me close
squeeze me tight
fill my soul
with rays of light?

Used to be that
the prettiest girls
were actually boys
but no more,
for nowadays
there's a whole mess
of the most gorgeous women
in heels & short tight dresses,
standing on the corners
as offerings to the ways
of men,

some so youthful
that their long sweet legs
totter & tremble
in their fancy shoes
as do the steps
of a new-born
upon the vast
plains of Africa,

& strutting jazzily
their tender flesh
to catch an eye
& then lean
in provocative geometry
into car windows
to state terms
& size customers,

with small handbags
squeezed tight
to their sides,

as they gather in groups
emanating an ****** power
seemingly enhanced
by numbers,

& yet to stroll by
& listen in
reveals nothing more
than simple gossip
& observation,

for after all these
are only working girls
not goddesses at
their ease.

The Great Negotiator
likes to play golf actually
likes to play a lot of golf
even though he touted
from the podium that he'd
be too busy to play golf
unlike that lazy Obama
who couldn't get enough
golf time it appeared didn't it,

& The Great Negotiator has
visited his golf clubs 13 times
in 100 days but his staff
like to kind of not talk about
it too much really do they,
it actually being kind of a
sensitive topic,

& the Master Deal Maker
would be winning so much
you'd be tired of him winning
& then maybe just perhaps
he might find time for a round
of golf in between the many
deals he'd be pulling off
left, right, & centre & winning,
winning, winning in his first
100 days as the Great Negotiator
who could make a deal & get
things done,

& all that other stuff he endlessly
spouted forth in that vapid earnest
New York deal making whisper of his,

oh yes ... The Great Negotiator.

So frightful beautiful harridan
your extended & startling tongue
red rapturous rolling eyes
dark, dark skin,

sword, sickle & trident
already stained,
dripping ...
& lapped by the dogs
at your Divine feet.

Around your neck
glazed eyed
silent,
threaded, beaded
blank faced,
your victims skulls,

surprised no doubt,
at your swiftness,
caught in mid-flight
in activities bold
& terrible.

Lieutenant William Calley,
Captain Ernest Medina,
Lieutenant Frank Barker,
So, so many from Charlie Company
guilty on that fateful day
in My Lai 4
South Vietnam
March 16
1968.

'73 ... '74
oh, 16 or so,
a news headline
in that conservative
of newspapers
The Daily Telegraph
engaged me,
'Hippy Camp in the Himalayas
Broken up by the Police'
or as close
as I recall,

& from that
moment on
my ambition
was clear,
my future
set,

Dad might
have preferred
college or
a decent job,
but heck
no ..
a hippy camp
in the Himalayas,

& as soon as
school was over
off I went
on the
Magic Bus
to find
a home.

I'm a little funny looking
I must confess,
all chunky boxy & truck-like
with 2 big old horns
that look quite deadly
but really we just
use them for show mostly,
oh & digging around
in termite hills,

I do hear though
that you humans
really cherish them
for folk cures &
help with your
***** & such,
you know
important
scientific stuff,

but then again
we can make a fearsome
fearsome charge
at a land-rover
full of folks
all with their
cameras & such,

at least we used to
till we became
fucken extinct!

Bad ...
bad like Vasquez from Aliens
all strut & ******
balancing on her
heavy Latina hip
a friggin' phenomenal
machine-gun thing,
& then sharing the grenade
with that **** of a lieutenant
& blowing themselves
& the alien
sky
absolutely
high.

Bad ...
bad like the little officer
in Master & Commander,
only about 12
at most,
along the way
loses an arm
& at the end
rallies the men
as they board
the French vessel
all shouts & "at 'em men, 'at em"
with his one arm
aloft,
his fancy hat,
just fitting.

Bad ...
bad like Chaka Khan,
Neil Young rockin'
All Along the Watchtower
backed by
Booket T,
bad like Ali, Jimi,
Patti & James.

Bad ...
bad like the Irish guy
in Dead Men's Shoes
who gas-mask wearing
& so merciless
runs them down
one by one
whilst chatting gently
with his younger brother
who we realize
near the end
is actually
already dead
& he's avenging
for his brother,
with his brother,
in his heart.

Bad ...
bad like Bela,
***** Riot,
& the Isley's
playing
Machine gun
live
in 1973.

Bad like panthers,
tigers,
leopards & pumas.

Bad ...

Mama's on her iPhone
checking out
'Worst Places to Live in America'
heck
I guess anywhere's
better
than here.

The youngster's all a tiz
& teary because
his new bracelet making
thingy is actually
a real drag
to work with,

& me,
I'm all a glaze-eyed
looking at my bank account
& its negative
$35,

oh,
& did I mention
there's now a hole
in my boot
to match
my socks,

ha!

Matthew about
oh ... 2 or so,
side by side
banging away
with our hammers,
mine standard,
his a small
plastic thing,
from a
Bob The Builder kit.

I miss the head,
cuss a little,
a minute later,
I hear him
muttering
as he works
& I stop
to listen,

"****, ****, **** .."
is the whispered
sound,
oh he's learning
what workmen
do.

"The realization
                                not the knowledge,

for this wasn't verbal or abstract,

         but the DIRECT, TOTAL AWARENESS, from the inside,

so to say, of LOVE as the primary & fundamental cosmic

          FACT.

I was this fact;

or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that

this fact occupied the place where I HAD BEEN."


Aldous Huxley, English writer, died 1963.
A quote respectfully, deeply so, arranged on the page by Martin B.

Dappled             smooth

marble stones
                             falling,

onto a heap of feathers
              
                              slowly.

A train of bones.

Sharks ...

                             swift & deadly.

Playlist by the fire
as we drink tea
& roll one,
circa 1983.

The Cure & Talking Heads,
Big Youth & The Congos,
Killing Joke & Dennis Bovell,
Patti Smith & Misty in Roots,

Mike stroking his long
long beard,
Kim always up & down
like a yo-yo,
I hung loose as the guy
from next door put his
head round the door
to see if we had anything,

he was a laugher that one,
used to watch the snooker
on a small black & white
tv with the sound down
while he listened to Keith
Jarrett play his piano,

nice guy.