an inheritance haiku

dead be dust or ash  

children are our only souls

don’t leave them in hell

©bg 2019

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When the guns reported live

I played my broken ten guitars

Underneath

A dark cobweb star

Still hoping all will see a thousand stars

High up in a trees crow nest

Underneath

Clouds that promise thunder   

I played my broken ten guitars

Underneath

A dark cobweb  star

Still hoping all will see a thousand stars

 

He was born with arms made for hugging

But he exchanged them for cold metal arms  

Then he went out mad to do some slugging

And the world sore how hate speech harms

 

When the guns reported back

Hate hate hate hate

When the guns reported back

Hate hate hate hate

and children’s bodies piled up high

and children’s bodies piled up high

 

The bullets lead with no loving questions

to fifty children they gave the kiss of death

Don’t blame us for this one man’s aggressions

Say politicians with the same foul breath

 

As the guns reporting  back

Hate hate hate hate

as the guns reporting back

Hate hate hate hate

while children’s bodies pile up high

while children’s bodies pile up high

 

I still play my broken ten guitars

Underneath

A dark cobweb star

Still hoping all will see a thousand stars

High up in a trees crows nest

Underneath

Clouds that promise thunder   

I still play my ten broken guitars

Still hoping all will see a thousand stars

©bg 2019

 

Image result for gunman in christchurch photos

 

hey folks the ten guitars lyrics by Engelbert Humperdinck that i  refer to in my poem are  highlighted in green.

 

Telegrams from a little world called Malice

Dear

beloved

indigent

Nobodaddy

let’s have a séance,

to hear the emptiness

of what you have to proffer

beyond your christmas coloured lights

fried by prophets befouled stale pissed words

ablaze in darkroom bloody drunk wine .STOP.

 

masquerading as an apostles ghost

I’m a witness at the creation ball

where the first belle eve was skewered  

with a spare barbecue rib  

under a glass ceiling

where cuckold titans

viciously judge

eves METOO

moment.

STOP.

 

my

eyes close,

images

of flowery

pop psychologist

taking constipated

dumps in my brooding vortex    

use my particle memories  

as clumping odourless cat litter

yet my raindog spirit sees paw prints. STOP.

as a tourist i dared to follow slaves

down alleyways paved in lost sandals

into lost troubadours caverns   

where i imbibe rum libre’s

on a little planet

known as Malice

orbiting

glory.

STOP.

 

nights

after

my last wake

when my vision

beholds Mary’ Blues  

i smoke dem stale old  

Camel cigarette butts

behind telegraph cross-shaped poles
where my second escape goes unseen

cause i’m just another salt pillar. STOP.

 

i went to the underground Colosseum
where i watched a nativity play.

the cast were sexless mannequins.
skipping mary’s METOO scene

to her cuckold husbands

son being born

fictile.

STOP.

 

there’s

a train

to the coast,

the tickets cost

thirty years give or take

but I saved for my own

undisclosed deliverance

to Elysium’s potter fields

where i’ll lie in a delirium

till dawn when i’ll rise to walk naked. STOP.

 

i

picked up

a black stone  

whose eyes were closed

whose tongue would not speak

above the spring Martyr’s tree

i dropped the rock on it’s head

the rock turned white hot as it fell

smashing like a rotten cuckoo’s egg

foul water cleansed the martyr’s sin .STOP.

 

brethrens need sistrens to swallow their seed
to spawn circumcised zombie poxed hordes
to drag the mountain through pillars

where virgin sistrens await

their fates METOO moment

neath their pavilion

in paradise

enslaved.

STOP.

 

I,

and i

use loosely

a ego term

of self endearment,

to send you telegrams

my divine Nobodaddy
as your androcentric scriptures

caused this METOO apocalypse storm

during which all fathers should be judged.STOP

©bg 2012/2019

 

Dear Readers,

I first wrote this poem in 2010/2011 and published the poem on my Banishedman blog in 2011 in a different form and wording in some parts but not what i was saying, that sadly remains the same today.

I began rewriting this poem in 2018 but as you all know or dodn’t ,i’ve been rather side tracked with haiku’s and a novel which never seems to get closer to being finished.

This is my view of where the androcentric culture came from , from which the Metoo movement arose in response to the androcentric tyranny via the suffragette movement , then as womens liberation ,to the Metoo movement of today.

Kindest regards bg

“viva la Evolucion”

 

 

walking through a righteous wonderland

im drinking cuba libres at my favorite bar

watching the harbour drowning the fish

listening to a clown playing a crack guitar

watching the harbour drowning the fish

in the water i see future reflections

fetuses fall from plagued filled clouds

in the water i see future reflections

mirrored cities melting into plastic seas  

on the cover of time i see billionaires

i hear their lawyers scoop up their scat

on the cover of time i see villainaires  

i hear their lawyers love singing scat

out the backdoor of my mind i’m tripping

there’s a wall off money lining tight pockets

out my backdoor my numbed minds unzipping

my neighbours out making deals with rockets

i go walking on a xenophobics utopia planet

white washed textbooks grow like cotton

i go walking on a xenophobics utopia planet

fact bugs sound sweet but soon smell rotten

on the cover of time i see billionaires

i hear their lawyers scoop up their scat

on the cover of time i see villainaires  

i hear their lawyers love singing scat

©bg 2018