POETRY

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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

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