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

 

 

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

 

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the polka dotted blind quail

when i had just been born

the blind quail he did speak to me

crowning my bald soft head

he told me i was to be free

he told me i was to be free

 

In that room where the babies wail

I was taught the wisdom

Of

the polka dotted blind quail

Of

the polka dotted blind quail

 

I wondered free for many a year

With a polka dotted blind quail

Brooding on my feathered soft head  

so on the bleed he could be fed

All the world’s sad unending tales

All the world’s sad unending tales

 

I walked until my tongue was

a dried stump

Till i lay down on the banks of a river

Where diminished moon shadows

came to jump

Where diminished moon shadows

came to jump

 

I woke and the polka dotted blind quail

From my cursed bald head had sailed

And The wind that had left me cold and pale

Had left my bones also veiled

Had left my bones also veiled

 

In that room where the babies wail

I was taught the wisdom

Of  

the polka dotted blind quail

Of

the polka dotted blind quail

 

 

©bg 2019

Analogue and analog

Daddy bought me a black dog

Sent the mongrel to me in the mail

Should of shot him down on the farm

Or let me know

that dam black dog was chain mail

 

Guess my heart let him of the chain

Guess that dog wolfed down my heart

Thought that black dog would bury it safe

But i can feel

my heart burn every time that dog does fart

 

Yeah

daddy had a big black dog

Dredged up from the black bog

Yeah

Me and him would drink that black grog

choking back the hairs of that black dog

Yeah while

Listing to our futures dark monologue

Yeah while

Staring into the abyss ,rocking on a log

 

Daddy brought me a big black hearse

Sent the meat wagon over with a chauffeur

Should of filled it up before the horses left

Or let me know

My salvation we needed to defer

 

Guess i’m the stake that holds the chain

Guess i’m eclipsed by that black hole

Thought i could throw that hammer back

But i can feel

The caving in of my butthole

 

Yeah

daddy had a big black dog

Dredged up from the black bog

Yeah

Me and him would drink that black grog

choking back the hairs of that black dog

Yeah while

Listing to our futures dark monologue

Yeah while

Staring into the abyss ,rocking on a log

 

Daddy bought some land for me

Sent the title through the mail

he Should off known my life’s in flames

Or let me know

Not to drink an atomic cocktail

 

Guess the cross didn’t fall far from the tree

Guess darkness will soon fall over the land

Thought i’d just hang around for one more shadow 

But i can see

The writing on the wishing wells walls off sand  

 

Yeah

daddy had a big black dog

Dredged up from the black bog

Yeah

Me and him would drink that black grog

choking back the hairs of that black dog

Yeah while

Listing to our futures dark monologue

Yeah while

Staring into the abyss ,rocking on a log

Seeing our fates in Analogue and analog

 

©bg 2019

an epilogue haiku

man,dust in the wind   

burnt through sand like black gold fuel

behind glass towers

©bg 2019

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”