following desire

I left my room for a hermitage

at the foot of the Snowy

A friend once said going to

the country won’t change things

everywhere you go

you take yourself

past histories-

childhood

pubescent youth

climbing & falling

the ladder

discovering desire

go moan-go moan alone

alcohol,  dope and sex

Yeah desire

suck that desire right

down to the marrow

until its in every cell

drown in it ,

read Kerouac,

Ginsburg, Burroughs

those paragons of virtue

go down Bohemia

go down hipsters

go down till

you hit the bottom

and here in my

hermitage I have

heavenly Buddha books,

and Thomas Merton,

Dharma Bum Jack

Mountains and Rivers Gary

only me and a few books

no booze because I’m

miles from any pub,

no distractions

because miles from

any girls

Only temptation my mind

and that’s pretty big

but I look and see

crazy Vincent lost in

Arles and all you can

say is

how fucking crazy is

this.

 

 

in the morning

in the morning when you rise, do you think of me,

do you wonder, if I’m still crazy

or do you think I’ve found God, Buddha, Allah,

or some crazed hippie commune ideal.

In the morning when you rise, do you think of me,

do you wonder if I’m off chasing windmills.

A crazy lion poet who reads to walls

and clouds wandering the sky

and hears the roar of waves

clapping his genius.

Do you think I’ve found an ¬†erotic

Gertrude Stein able to converse without

the physical fucking or is somewhat

more more boring, I like to write

and I give thanks to Hemingway and Nin,

Miller and Bronte, Di Prima and Walden,

Pollock and his mistresses…everything…

 

In the morning when you rise, do you

think of me, maybe, maybe,

for a moment.

stones of the earth

Stones need the earth

to feel its warmth to hold the evolution of the beginning less time

a lighting bolt gave light to the earth

striking deep within the thigh of man wounding him

making him feel pain-

Water mingles with guitar as invisible signs

begin to materialise as a crow soars hard against the sky-

And the dream we walk in –

is full of love won and lost, and a man called Nobody

dances with feathers in his mouth

while all around buildings of steel are draped in flowers,

and I, well, I just want to fuck!

Still

What is left after the fucking?

The War’s rage on

The multinationals gorge

The poor are still poor

True rapists always rape

And the Church still lies

While Putin is the new Czar

and Castro has found God

The angry remain angry

The racist loves to hate

The peaceniks love to love

as the guns and bombs

continue to kill

White is still white

Black is always black

Difference is different

And still the fucking goes on……

thank God for fucking!

 

Yellow flowers

I heard that Hamlet went mad

because of unrequited love

I wear a brass cuff

‘Doubt thou the stars are fire;

Doubt truth truth to be a liar;

Doubt that the sun doth move;

But never doubt I love’.

I cannot find an ocean deep

enough to swallow my pain,

I understand how Vincent

went mad.

What was it like?

What was it like when

you were waiting to be

born,

was it dark and wet,

was there light in there,

did you hear voices,

arguments, lovemaking

sounds, sounds of birds,

sounds of anger,

did you hear laughter,

did you feel pain,

did the moon speak to

you

while you lay curled,

did you dream of sand

mountains,

burnt water, a flowering

stone, an empty cloud

cutting the sky,

did you touch sadness,

did you touch the heart

that beats

when you are caught by

the wings of

love,

what was it like when

you were waiting to be

born,

was there happiness?