the sky turns swiftly grey
from the sea a lovely soothing breeze emits sultry good times
the palms begin their sway in the wind
like inebriated women
so many things go through your minds
and i feel like rimbaud becalmed in africa
selling guns and coffee when the poetry dried up
and i feel like paul g who went to tahiti
where he painted those half naked belles in the sun
and in the tropical afternoons when the real lovers
tangled inside their world of mists and mysteries
and humphrey christmas on the christmas islands
and long nights stretched out around tables and chinese lanterns
and how christmas has amplified all our lonelinesses
it has not placated the gulf between us
it has not located the deepest emptiness
into which this warm afternoon will soon rush
i live my life like a fool in the mode of passion
aye there are 3 modes of conduct
3 modes of food
3 modes of everything concerning humans
mode of ignorance
mode of passion
mode of goodness
every everything is but an admixture of these 3
you can see it in us all saint all beast all fool
i succumb to passion
i fight and i yell
i become infuriated my fiery nature scorches me…only me
i lay wasted in the ruins of my angers
my lusts fill me with a lustre of dripping sweat
i attack music i attack sex i attack love i attack the words
i swell up in an unbearable flame
typically bursting and then slumbering like a mountain
for years and years
when i drift in some narcotic state and i should know
i have mastered all drugs and they have mastered me
the search for aphrodesia the search for unquenchable desire
the search for the deepest knowledge
in the most sacred and profane places and events
blasted idiots and loyal crew
on my long voyage they fall by the wayside
obviously i have offended some god
fate plays with me in the most obvious manner
stupid things get stupider
i rage and curse n i bluster n i fume
i let it all get to me
luckily my strict observance of yogas rituals
keep my vital humours balanced
else my spleen and bile overpower me
at othertimes
i am zen calm
in the gentle afternoons of summer this year
this year so come n gone
this year over scarcely had it begun
the breeze comes through my window now
it whispers of tahiti it whispers of hawaii
it whispers of other days and other times
when i was young
before my mother n father ever met
and before their mothers n fathers
before i was focussed through a thousand years of englishness
popping out the end of it all some spoilt little brat
never fought in a war
never joined the bloody army
well its true i wouldnt be like this
i might be a bit bloody tougher
i always wish i was tougher
tougher than discipline tougher than hardness….
the gardens around here in jerusalem on the sea are gorgeous
the flowers are every hue that could be made from the sandy soil
they bob in this marvellous breeze now
this is not life writing this
this is a hiatus
real life beckons beyond the threshold
grey warm windy weather
the balcony and the mats call out
my bonzai plant is flourishing because i loved it
the aliens fucked with me n gave me a homing implant
sometime tomorrow you will hear or see the proof of this
it will cross your mind…eh ?… its just like he said…
the city is silent
the vicissitudes of 2009 swirl in undercurrents
a solitary bus heaves n struggles in the distance and is gone
the olde n weary poet
sits shirtless in his untidy dirty seaside shack
he writes as the breeze kisses his back
he writes as the children ebb n flow around him
he writes in the long silences of christmas
that meanlingless hopeless stupid thing christmas
not jeshuas birthday at all
some winter solstice thing
get thee behind me santa
i dont understand it
i have not met one merry person today
ah the red roofs of bondi
ah the green leaves and bobbing flowerheads
ah summer
ah
and ah indeed