Poetry

I've given up the quest for Poetic Truth. I've realised that one man's poetry is another man's doggerel. In spite of this, some of the stuff I've written seem to hold a personal truth for myself and don't quite fit into a prose category.

HIGH NOON PEACE SERMON OF THE ROCK letter to my unborn son

HIGH NOON

god with a gun

rests in the gutter

bleeding from the hip

the new boy in town

with silver tipped boots

has a snail in his head

jesus on speed

stands in the doorway

too frightened to run

there's a new boy in town

who hunts with the head

hoping for heaven

PEACE

stolen thoughts pervade an

ever swirling smoke dream

while we wait

ever pensive

on the edge of breakthrough

ever broken

on the lip of madness

crazed rats with the beast in their eyes

take umbrage,

take everything

that isn't welded to a tank turret

while we pay homage

to the gods made of flesh

in a river of bile

that crosses the synapse

of our generation

SERMON OF THE ROCK

like a searchlight

i look out

over eternity

waiting for that moment

when all the swimmers

are back on shore

safe from that dark vacuum

beyond the breakers

i saw the best minds of my generation

tempted by the under-tow

of ennui

letter to my unborn son

you almost made it

little one

a few months

a deep breath

and you would have come

to this beautiful

painful

world

they called me at night

while you were fighting the demons

i couldn't believe you were

making your move so early

you were clearly not intent on sticking to the plan

that had sufficed

since the first amoeba

i saw the craziness

you brought out in everyone

and realised

you were ahead of your time

to die before you are born

is fitting comment

and a Good Choice

since we couldn't give you a life

with promise

i nevertheless hope you're having fun

wherever you are

because i intend seeing you again.

Wishing You were Here,

dad